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Desire rushed through him, and amazement. Tess had never initiated lovemaking before. He kissed her hungrily, pushing her back against the enormous bed.
His hands ran roughly over her silk nightgown, and the even softer silk of her skin. He kissed her with all the passion in his soul, determined to make her body sing. And as he did, he tried to ignore the way his own heart threatened to come alive.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TESS SIGHED WITH PLEASURE, closing her eyes as she turned her face to the warm Sicilian sun.
The wind blew through her hair as Stefano drove the vintage red convertible. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf, and she was wearing a sundress and sandals. From the front seat of the car, she glanced back, smiling as their baby cooed happily from her car seat.
As soon as they’d arrived in Sicily on Stefano’s smallest private jet, Tess had felt free, like they’d left all their troubles behind, along with their bodyguards, assistants and even the trusted nanny. Stefano’s suits had disappeared, and he wore a casual black T-shirt and jeans that seemed to caress his powerful muscles. It was a different world.
Leaving the airport behind, they’d driven through the small city of Ragusa, where she’d goggled at an old mansion with stone faces carved into the balconies.
“The Palazzo Zacco,” he’d told her.
Her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Zacco?”
He snorted. “Don’t get excited. It’s not ours. It was built by a totally different family. No—” he’d looked up, switching the car’s gears with a grin “—our little place is up in the hills.”
They’d traveled the slender coastal road on the edge of the cobalt blue sea. Now they were going deeper into the island, past orange and olive groves. As the road climbed up the hills, they passed vineyards heavy with the last grapes waiting for harvest. In the distance, she saw a village tucked into a small valley.
“The village of Gioreale,” he said quietly. “Half destroyed by an earthquake in 1961. My father ruined the rest by neglect.” As they drew closer, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, as if he were bracing himself.
But as they entered the village, Tess looked incredulously at the well-kept charming pink stucco buildings and freshly painted green shutters. There was a profusion of flowers, and the cars parked on the streets were gleaming and new.
At the center of the village, near a small, well-maintained church, outdoor cafés lined a square filled with tourists taking pictures of the lavishly sculptured stone fountain.
“I thought you said it was a ruin,” Tess breathed as the convertible slowed. “A ghost town.”
Stefano was staring around with amazement that exceeded her own. “It was.” Blinking hard as if he didn’t believe his own eyes, he looked back at it through the rearview mirror. “The fountain—did you see that? It had water! It never did before.”
Tess tilted her head. “So it’s changed since you left?”
“Yes...” Stefano’s eyes widened. “But I never thought...” Not finishing the thought, he pressed on the gas. The red convertible flew up the next hill, as, in the back seat, Esme giggled and clapped her hands, clearly relishing the wind on her face.
Tess smiled back at her baby, then looked out at the rolling hills and took a deep breath of the fresh, fragrant air.
“It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined.” She held her hand out, in the direction of the sheep placidly grazing in a nearby field, and felt almost like she was flying. She looked at him. “I can’t believe I’m princess of this magical place.”
“Magical is right.” Shaking his head, he gave an amazed laugh. “Tourists. In Gioreale.”
Leaning back against the soft leather seat, Tess closed her eyes. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt so happy. The drama of Paris already felt like a world away.
Stefano had told her that his company’s stock price was down nine percent. Costing him hundreds of millions of euros.
Costing him Zacco.
Which wasn’t to say Mercurio hadn’t gotten lots of press. It had mostly just been negative. The story was everywhere, first of the runway show itself, with the models in animal masks, capped by poor Kebe tripping and falling into the audience; then of the aftermath. The video of Tess chewing out Caspar von Schreck had already been viewed a million times. Many people were calling her defense of the young model admirable, but a good few had been insulting and rude, asking how a mere trophy wife had the right to attack a true artist like von Schreck. The one thing everyone agreed on: Mercurio might not survive this disaster.
It was all so horrifying that Tess had quit social media entirely. On the flight to Sicily, she’d called Hallie and Lola. Her friends had both been indignant on her behalf.
“Some bully was yelling at a girl? Of course you had to say something,” Hallie said.
“You can’t let bullies win,” Lola had said, her voice oddly restrained.
Tess had been happy to hear her friends’ voices. Stefano had spent much of the flight pacing, speaking tersely to shareholders and board members from Buenos Aires to Berlin. Grimly he’d laid down the law: no new clothing would be manufactured or shipped out until they’d found a new designer. It would be a crushing blow for their business, especially the flagship boutique in New York.
But they’d left that all behind. In the convertible, Tess glanced at Stefano out of the corner of her eye. He was so handsome, and never more so than now.
