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Holding her breath, she watched as he rocked the baby to sleep, then took the empty bottle from her lips and lifted her carefully into the crib. For a moment, he watched their baby sleep, and Tess’s heart swelled in her chest. Then, with a sigh, he started to turn.
Hurriedly Tess ducked back down the hall. Rushing back to their bedroom, she leaped into bed, pretending to be asleep in the dark. A moment later, she felt him climb into bed beside her.
“Stefano?” she whispered.
He paused. “I was just checking on the baby. She’s fine.” He kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”
Who wouldn’t love a man like that?
Not her, Tess repeated to herself desperately. She’d been burned. She’d been warned outright. She wasn’t stupid enough to go back for second helpings of pain!
She liked him, that was all. They shared a child. Shared a life. She liked how he listened when she talked, as if every word she said was fascinating. She liked how he looked at her, as if she was the most beautiful creature in the world. She liked how he cared for their baby so carefully, learning how to be a father when he’d barely had one himself.
> She wouldn’t love him. Of course she would not.
Fiercely determined, she held back her heart. She felt like she was clinging to the edge of an abyss, with white knuckles. It almost seemed like he was taunting her, the way he’d suddenly become the man she’d always dreamed of. Desperately she looked for his flaws.
After London, they spent an idyllic week in Milan, attending the most important runway shows and parties, staying in the best suite in the best hotel in the city. See? Flaw!
“You always want the best of everything,” Tess grumbled, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, I do,” he said huskily, pulling her into his arms. “Why do you think I married you?”
He kissed her, his lips hot and smooth as silk. Another flaw, she thought. His kisses. They tempted her to believe lies and to want things she could not have. Specifically: his heart.
It was like he wanted to destroy her.
She hid her growing misery over the next week in Milan as she wore new couture dresses every night, made by famous Italian designers that she’d previously only seen in magazines. Stylists did her makeup and hair. With their wonderful nanny watching their contented baby, Tess and Stefano went out every night. She met fascinating people, made lots of new friends, ate delicious food and, best of all, wore designer clothes to every event. Clothes that felt like art.
Clothes that, in her growing panic, suddenly felt like her only escape.
Growing up, Tess had often played dress-up, trying on her mother’s old costumes from an ancient trunk that had always come with them wherever they traveled.
After her mother died, her uncle had refused to allow Tess to bring the trunk into the already crowded apartment above the bakery. But Tess had never forgotten the difference clothes could make.
On the nights her mother performed on stage, Tess had seen the transformation. Clothes could change who you were and who people took you to be. Clothes could make you appear—even make you feel—old or young, hopeful or sad, rich or poor. Clothes could make you stand out or they could make you disappear. During her lonely years in high school in Brooklyn, when she couldn’t afford to buy new clothes, Tess had learned to sew.
Getting into fashion design school had been the happiest day of her life. She’d won a scholarship with her good grades, but she’d still had to scrimp and save for two years, which made her older than most of the other students. It had broken her heart when she’d had to give it up.
Now, as Tess attended runway shows and actually met the people who designed the clothes, all her old dreams came flooding back. Even the most famous designers hadn’t always been famous, she realized. Once they had been just like her, with nothing but a dream.
Each night, after they returned to their hotel suite, she’d peek into her old suitcase, at the handmade designs she couldn’t leave behind. Her eyes always fell on a beautiful, shimmery green gown she’d made right after she’d dropped out of design school. Facing single motherhood without a career, she’d been discouraged and afraid. So she’d made the fairy-tale dress to give herself hope for the future.
She’d never gotten a chance to wear it. Since marrying Stefano, she’d only worn designer clothes from luxury brands. But each night she lightly touched the green dress. Maybe, someday, she’d wear it. Maybe, someday, she’d even design again. Maybe, someday, she’d be brave.
But not today. She was too busy spending every moment with the husband she wasn’t allowed to love and with her baby, who had never seemed happier.
She could survive, Tess told herself. She could live without love. Her baby’s happiness was worth any sacrifice.
She still got lots of attention. Whenever she and Stefano went out, people spoke to her warmly.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
“It’s so good to see you again, Your Highness.”
“You do us honor, Your Highness.”
After so many years of living in her uncle’s attic, feeling invisible and unwanted, it felt like warm sunshine after a long, cold winter.
