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“He was fired for gross incompetence,” Stefano said evenly. “And for abusing the staff. Mercurio will start fresh next season. Though my wife is amazingly talented, she’s focused on raising our daughter. Thank you.”
“Your Highness!” Other reporters and bloggers were already fighting their way through the crowds backstage.
Stefano grabbed Tess’s hand. “Excuse us.”
Holding her hand tightly, he pulled her away. The front of the palais was just as much of a madhouse. People were yelling things out to them and blocking their path, and everywhere Tess looked she saw camera phones recording them.
For the first time, she understood the need for bodyguards as Leon suddenly appeared to help clear a path through the crowds. She didn’t exhale until they were safely in the back seat of the limo.
The chauffeur drove them away, with Leon sitting in the front seat beside him.
Stefano turned to her. “I’m glad you were here tonight, Tess.” Reaching out, he cupped her cheek. “Thank you for what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“The right thing,” he said quietly. “No matter the cost.”
The sparkling city lights glittered beneath the autumn drizzle as the limo flew through the Paris night. Taking her into his strong arms, Stefano kissed her.
*
A week later, Stefano rose wearily from his desk in his private office of Gioreale’s Paris headquarters. It was almost midnight, and the building was quiet. Even Agathe Durand had gone home, at his orders.
Rolling his shoulders, he went to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. No ice, not water. Just Scotch. Taking it back to the window, he stood looking out at the cold October night.
The large window overlooked the modern, bright steel-and-glass buildings of La Défense, Paris’s business district to the west of the city. The moon seemed frosted with ice crystals in the darkness.
Stefano felt like a fool. He still had no designer for Mercurio. The luxury brand was in free fall. Before, it had been merely unfashionable; now it was a joke.
As threatened, Caspar von Schreck had gone to work for Zacco. Stefano took a gulp of Scotch. He thought of how often in the past he’d casually stolen key employees from rivals. In this case, he suspected Fenella Montfort might get more than she’d bargained for.
Her first mistake, he thought. Much good may it do her.
Stefano felt restless. He paced two steps in front of the window, then took another drink. He didn’t feel like himself, because Prince Stefano Zacco di Gioreale always won, and this wasn’t winning.
He’d spent the last week doing damage limitation, reassuring the press and Gioreale’s shareholders that the Mercurio disaster was trivial and the future was bright.
Stefano took one more drink, staring out at the frosty Paris night. Enough, he thought. He set down the unfinished glass.
He was going home.
Locking up his office, he bade bonsoir to the overnight security guards. When he left the building, he felt the shock of cold air against his skin. Autumn was almost over, he realized. Winter was nearly here.
He looked back at the Gioreale building. He suddenly longed to be done with it. All of it. Fashion. Shareholders. Crazy designers. He closed his eyes, imagining a soft, warm land of orange groves, with vineyards ripening in the sunshine.
Gioreale. He’d named his company after his title. It was also the name of his family’s ancient castle in Sicily, as well as the nearby village, neither of which he’d seen since he was a boy.
It was strange that he suddenly missed it now. For most of his life, he’d thought of Gioreale as the lonely prison of his childhood, before his parents had sent him to an American boarding school at twelve. Why did he now yearn for that warmth, for the scent of lemons and the exotic spice of the Mediterranean Sea?
Getting in his Ferrari, he drove back to the 7th arrondissement lost in thought. He reached his elegant residential building and parked in the garage, then took the private elevator to the penthouse floor. He felt he’d barely seen Tess or Esme all week.
He arrived to find his luxurious, sprawling apartment was dark. Of course. They’d gone to bed. He set down his briefcase and hung up his coat. Through the windows, he saw the illuminated Eiffel Tower shining brightly in the night. Then, late as it was, that too went dark.
He noticed a single light gleaming down the hall. His wife was awake. Tess had waited for him every night, no matter how late, no matter how often he told her she should get her rest.
“You’re back earlier than usual,” Tess said, smiling. Hiding a yawn, she sat up in bed, setting aside her novel. “I’m so happy you’re home.”
Her green eyes shone up at him adoringly. As if she—
