Modern Romance September 2018 Books 5-8. Heidi Rice
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all, she’d thought Stefano was worth a year of total loyalty. How badly astray could those rose-colored glasses lead her?
There was only one way to be permanently sure of their security. One way to keep them safe.
He had to marry her.
Perhaps Stefano couldn’t love her. Even so, he could damn sure take care of her. And his child.
As he’d sat in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, the desire—the need—to permanently claim Tess as his own had rushed through him with the force of a tidal wave. When she had disappeared into the bakery, his driver had started to pull away from the curb.
“Stop!” Stefano had shouted.
He’d couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let them both disappear and trust that the next man would deserve Tess more than he did. He’d thought he could.
He was wrong.
Now Stefano looked down at her in the bakery’s soft light. He was dimly aware of some old love song playing on the radio. From behind the counter, four people, a man and woman and two teenaged girls with backpacks, watched with their mouths wide. Ah, yes, Stefano thought. That must be the aunt and uncle and cousins who’d made Tess speak with such fear about being a poor relation. Stefano could hardly wait to take her away from the bakery and treat her as she deserved—like a princess.
“Well?” he said gently. “What is your answer?”
She shifted her feet uncertainly on the tile floor. “You—you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t mean it,” she choked out, searching his gaze desperately. “A man like you could never be faithful to just one woman.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I’ve seen the damage of that in my parents’ marriage. I would never betray you.”
Tess bit her lip, looking up at him.
“Say yes, dearie!” cried the bakery’s only customer, an elderly woman nursing a coffee at the furthest table. “He’s a hunk!”
“I...” Tess looked down. Her dark eyelashes swept against the smattering of freckles on her pale cheeks. “I don’t understand. The only good reason to marry,” she said in a small voice, “is for love.”
“You once said you loved me,” he pointed out.
Her lips curved. “As you pointed out, that was before I even knew you.”
The edges of his lips quirked. “So, get to know me.”
Her eyes widened, then she shook her head, repeating stubbornly, “Love is the only reason for marriage.”
Stefano thought about arguing with her, of pointing out that, in his opinion, romantic love was at best a biological reaction brought on by hormones and pheromones to coax a couple into settling into domestic life; at worst it was a delusion, an intoxicating dream that people used like a drug to escape real life. But with Tess’s romantic heart, suddenly he knew all rational arguments would be wasted. Only an emotional appeal would work.
Deliberately, he lowered his head so his lips nearly brushed against her ear. He felt her shiver as he breathed in the scent of her red hair, like vanilla and flowers.
“You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be my wife. Only you.”
He felt her shiver as she pulled away. Her emerald eyes were almost pleading. “But...”
He cupped her cheek. “I can make you and Esme happy,” he said softly. “You’ll always be protected and safe. We’ll travel the world by private jet. You’ll have homes in Paris and Rome and St. Barts. A castle in Sicily.”
Her lips parted. “You have a castle?”
“It’s a bit of a ruin.” He gave her a wickedly seductive smile. “But yes.”
“A castle,” she whispered to herself.
Still, Tess didn’t say yes. Other women might have been lured with dreams of wealth and status—not her.
Stefano took a different tack.
“You had to drop out of design school,” he murmured, twisting a tendril of her red hair around his finger. “As my wife, you’ll be far more influential in the fashion world than any mere designer. You’ll be invited to every event. Runway shows. Fashion awards. Berlin. The Met Gala.”
“I will?” she breathed.
He drew her closer into his arms, not caring who saw. Even baby Esme seemed almost solemn, watching from the stroller.
“Let me make you a princess.” His hand gently stroked down her cheek to the edge of her throat, to her shoulder. His gaze fell to her pink lips as he whispered, “Let me give you the fairy tale.”
Tess’s eyes were huge. He could see she was tempted. But, still, she didn’t say yes.
Why?
He thought of everything he’d ever done to persuade a woman into his bed. He’d never imagined, he thought with grim amusement, that he’d someday need even greater charm to persuade a woman to wed.
What else could he offer, aside from the heart he did not have? What could he propose that wasn’t a lie?
Then he remembered what Tess cared about most.
“Let me give our daughter a name,” he said huskily. “Let me give her a home. Let me be her father. I want you as my wife. My family.”
Pulling the solid gold signet ring off his finger, Stefano slowly went down on one knee. All the women in the bakery gasped, but he had eyes only for her. He took her hand, looking up at her.
“Marry me, Tess.”
She sucked in her breath. He saw tears in her eyes, and he knew he had her.
“Until I can get you a diamond ring, I offer this.” He held up the signet ring. “It’s been in my family for generations. I give it as my pledge of fidelity. My promise of forever.” He looked up at her. “Will you, Tess? Will you be mine, not just now, but forever?”
For a moment, she seemed to hold her breath, as if caught between desire and fear.
“Say yes,” squealed one of her young cousins.
“Yes!” cried the other one.
“Do it, Tess,” her aunt said hoarsely. “Seize your dreams before it’s too late.”
The uncle was silent, watching them.
Tess shivered. Then her fingers tightened over his.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Triumph rushed through Stefano, greater than he’d ever felt before, even when he’d made his first million, when he’d made his first billion. This was better. What he’d assumed was an entitlement to be merely demanded—Tess’s hand in marriage—had become, with her hesitation, a prize to be fought for and won.
Still kneeling, he fervently kissed her hand, then slid on the gold signet ring engraved with the Zacco coat of arms. Her fingers were too delicate, so it would fit only on her thumb, and even then, she had to keep her hand closed.
“We’ll get you another ring immediately,” he promised, rising to his feet. But he didn’t release her hand. He loved the feel of her smaller hand in his own, and soon he would have more of her.
All of her.
Tess gave him a shy smile. “I like your ring fine.”
“Plain gold? No. You’ll have a diamond. The best in the city.” Only one woman in a million, he thought, would have said she didn’t need a big diamond ring. Only one woman would have been reluctant to marry him unless it was for the right reasons. A woman who