by Jennie Lucas
“Here we go,” her uncle whispered. Tess nodded, and clutching his arm like a life preserver, she walked forward.
Hundreds of guests rose to their feet in the gilded ballroom, beneath soaring ceilings and sparkling crystal chandeliers. Tess looked around desperately for a friendly face among the glamorous strangers staring at her incredulously, as if wondering why on earth a handsome billionaire prince would lower himself to marrying the likes of her.
They didn’t know how much Tess desperately wished she wasn’t marrying him now.
Lola had been right. Why, oh, why hadn’t Tess gotten to know Stefano better before she’d agreed to be his wife? Why had she let herself get swept up in the romantic moment?
Why had she let her blindly, stupidly optimistic heart make the decision, instead of her brain?
Tess’s knees shook. Looking through the crowd, she finally saw her own friends and family, who gave her encouraging smiles. Her aunt had tears in her eyes. She saw her cousin Natalie, holding Esme, whispering happily to the baby as she pointed at Tess. Nearby, friends from her neighborhood waved at her. Women she knew from the single moms support group she’d attended last year beamed at her as she walked by, including the woman who’d introduced her to Hallie and Lola. Lacey Tremaine Drakos stood with her ruggedly handsome Greek husband, holding their baby in her arms.
Then Tess looked forward, saw Stefano, and everything else faded to a blur.
He stood alone beside the minister, without a best man, in front of the guests, beneath a canopy of roses. His dark eyes gleamed down at her.
The bastard.
Tess’s hands tightened on her bouquet. She would have dearly loved to smash his smug face with it.
As she reached the front, she barely heard the minister’s words. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Or her uncle’s answer: “Her aunt and I do.” She barely noticed the minister’s long-winded advice on the duties of marriage. He might as well have been reading from a technical manual written in hieroglyphics.
As the minister spoke the words that would make them husband and wife, all of Tess’s feelings and thoughts melted to one single overwhelming emotion for the man beside her.
Hate.
Stefano’s expression was cool and impersonal. As their gaze locked and held, it changed. His eyes turned dark, hungry.
Tess was suddenly aware that they were flying like an out-of-control train toward the end of the ceremony, when Stefano would claim her as his wife and kiss her.
Then, tonight, on their wedding night, he would do far more than kiss her.
Tess’s toes curled in her expensive white high heels. Out of pure hate, she told herself.
But the truth was more complicated. Even in her rage, as she watched the flick of his tongue against his cruel, sensual lips, her own lips tingled in response. Against her will, her whole body sizzled at his closeness, aching in its most secret places.
“And do you, Tesslyn Mae Foster, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Gazing up at Stefano, Tess hesitated, heart pounding in her throat. She could refuse him now. In front of everyone. Tell him to go to hell. She could.
Stefano waited, his eyes narrowing. Three hundred guests held their breath.
I’ll hire a team of lawyers to utterly destroy you and your family... I’ll take our daughter and make sure you never see her again.
“I do,” she ground out, furious and wretched.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister beamed at them. “You may kiss the bride.”
Stefano lifted her long, translucent white veil off her face, back over the diamond tiara. Reaching down, he cupped her face with his hands.
Her knees went wobbly. Part of her wanted to turn away, to kick him in the shins. To scream in his face.
But not all of her. Part of her still wanted him. Even now. Heaven help her.
As Stefano pulled her into his arms, so close she could almost hear the beat of his heart, she felt the warmth of his breath, sweet and spicy as cloves. She shivered, holding her breath, frozen beneath her tight bodice.
With agonizing slowness, he lowered his head. Then his lips touched hers, and electricity pulsed through her body. He deepened the kiss, twisting his tongue against hers, publicly claiming her as his possession. She gasped beneath the brutal onslaught of pleasure, and to her shame, a soft moan came from the back of her throat.
When he finally pulled away, applause mounted like a storm swell as guests rose to their feet with a cheer.
Stefano lowered his head, nuzzling her ear. He whispered huskily, “That was quite a kiss.”
Tess stared at him, trembling between fury and desire. Fury won.
Smiling for the crowd, she ground out through her teeth, “I hope you enjoyed it. Because that’s the last time I’ll ever let you kiss me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Allow me to present,” the minister cried, “Their Highnesses Prince Stefano and Princess Tess Zacco di Gioreale!”
Holding her hand tightly, Stefano turned and waved at his friends, smiling like a happy bridegroom.
Tess knew a storm was coming. She could feel it building, like low-rolling thunder rattling toward them without mercy.
Her new husband intended to seduce her. To possess her. She couldn’t let him.
It was all she could think about during the wedding reception immediately afterward in the grand ballroom. She felt the hum of her body’s desire and grimly fought it, tooth and nail, until she nearly panted with exhaustion, even as she went through the motions of what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Tess forced herself to smile until her cheeks ached as she accepted the congratulations of her family and friends. She held poses for endless wedding photographs. She mechanically ate an elegant dinner of salmon, baby potatoes and asparagus in a lemon-butter sauce, followed by wedding cake. She sipped champagne as toasts were offered by strangers.
She forced herself to make polite responses as Stefano introduced her to many fashion industry insiders, including the extremely thin, severely chic Fenella Montfort, whom he introduced as the majority shareholder of the Zacco brand. He’d added with a charming smile, “Though we’ll talk more about that in London, won’t we, Fenella?”
“If we must,” the older woman said coolly.
As Tess’s desire fought against her howling fury, her mind scrambled for a way to escape this marriage. Could she go to Hallie and Cristiano for help? Ask them to assist her in filing for a divorce?
But even if Cristiano Moretti gave her all his man-eating lawyers, she knew that divorce would be an endless, bloody war, with Esme its greatest victim.
Lost in her own churning emotions, Tess barely noticed when, after she tossed the wedding bouquet and Lola accidentally caught it, the blonde turned pale and immediately dropped it to the floor. Lola practically ran out of the reception, pausing only to grab her baby’s stroller as other female guests fought for the bouquet in a flurry of rose petals. Normally Tess would have been alarmed for her friend.
But not today. Today nothing could reach her through her own haze of rage and fear.
Until this.
The tradition of the groom pulling the garter off the bride’s leg was supposed to be a harmless bit of fun, a sly nod to tradition to entertain wedding guests. Now, as Stefano knelt before Tess, who was seated in a chair, her heartbeat went to a thousand as he pushed up her full skirts. His dark eyes burned through hers as he slowly pulled the blue satin garter down her leg. His fingertips brushed against her bare skin.
Time slowed. She forgot her anger and fear. In this moment, all she could see was the hunger in his eyes, pulling her down into the flames.
Though they were surrounded by hundreds of strangers, it was just the two of them. Alone.
When he finally turned away, to toss the garter into the crowd of eager single men, Tess rose abruptly to her feet with a strangled gasp. She muttered, “I have to check on
Esme,” and fled for the head table.
“I’ll come with you,” he replied.
As he followed her back to the table, Tess was careful not to let Stefano touch her, not even her hand.
When they reached the elaborate, flower-decorated table for the wedding party and close family, Tess was dismayed to find Esme sitting happily in her cousin Natalie’s arms. If the baby had been fussy, it would have been an excellent excuse for Tess to take her and go.
But go where? She could hardly return to her aunt and uncle’s apartment tonight. All of Tess and Esme’s meager belongings had been packed in two shabby suitcases and were already upstairs in Stefano’s hotel suite, where she was supposed to sleep tonight. Natalie had volunteered to babysit Esme until they collected her on their way to the airport in the morning.
“I can’t believe you guys did it,” Hallie said, sitting comfortably beside Cristiano at the table. She shook her head. “How on earth did you pull such a big wedding together in one day?”
“Ask Moretti,” Stefano replied smoothly. Reaching for his flute, he took a sip of champagne. “All I did was tell him to arrange it.”
“It wasn’t difficult, Zacco,” Cristiano said. “Not when the words you used were make it happen at any price.” The hotel tycoon sat with one arm draped over his wife’s shoulders, the other holding their adorable baby, Jack. He quirked an eyebrow. “There’s nothing we enjoy more at the Campania than unreasonable requests, as long as money’s no object. Even for a conniving bastard like you, Zacco.”
“Conniving?” Stefano bared his teeth into a smile. “You are the one who tried to cheat, by blocking my car in the race.” He shrugged. “If you wanted to win, you should have gone faster.”
“You could have caused an accident.”
“I knew you were a decent enough driver that you wouldn’t let that happen. Decent.” Stefano saluted him with his champagne flute. “Just slow.”
With a snort, Cristiano shook his head. “There are more important things in life than winning some cheap gold trophy in a charity race.” He stroked his wife’s shoulder. “It’s a foolish man who’s determined to win at any price.”
“So losers always say.”
The two powerful men glowered at each other, then suddenly they both laughed. Smiling, Hallie rose to her feet.
She looked at Tess. “It’s time for your first dance as bride and groom, isn’t it?”
The last thing Tess wanted to do right now was slow dance in her new husband’s arms. Her cheeks went hot as she looked down at her clasped hands. “I think we’ve had enough traditions for one day...”
“Oh, please,” Hallie begged. “I was planning to sing for your first dance. As a surprise.”
Put that way, it seemed churlish to refuse.
“All right,” Tess sighed. “Fine.”
“Yay.” Hallie looked down at her seated husband with a tender smile. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it.” Cristiano pulled her into his arms and lifted his lips to hers in a sensual kiss. “You’ll knock ’em dead.”
Watching the other couple, so deeply in love, Tess again felt a pang over what she now knew she would never have.
As Hallie hurried toward the microphone on the grand ballroom’s stage, Stefano held out his hand.
“Shall we?” he said, smiling down at her as if he hadn’t just blackmailed her into marriage and threatened to destroy her family and take her child away.
Glaring at him, Tess grudgingly put her hand in his and tried not to feel the electricity of his touch.
“And now,” Hallie announced over the microphone, “for their very first dance, the Prince and Princess of Gioreale!”
A hush fell across the crowd as Stefano led her, in a swirl of her white satin skirts, onto the dance floor.
To the outside world, Tess knew it must look like a romantic moment, the handsome prince in his sleek, well-cut tuxedo, the bride in a lavish wedding gown sparkling with diamonds, dancing in his arms. The truth was anything but romantic.
The orchestra began playing the music of the song Tess had requested, one made famous by Etta James and that she’d loved since she was a child—“At Last.” Hallie’s beautiful voice started singing the haunting words, telling the rapturous tale of long-lost love finally requited.
Yesterday Tess had dreamily thought it was perfect. Now, in her husband’s arms, all she felt was bitterness.
She looked up at his face.
“I hate you,” she whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”
Stefano looked down at her as they swayed, his handsome face arrogant. “You don’t hate me. You’re just angry. It will pass.”
“Are you crazy? You forced me to marry you.”
“I didn’t force you. I offered you a choice.”
“What—marry you or lose everything?”
His eyes gleamed in the spotlight as they danced to the music. “I knew you’d make the right decision.”
Tess yearned to stomp hard on his foot with one of her stiletto heels. Instead, she bared her teeth into a smile for the benefit of the guests watching them as he whirled her around the dance floor.
“You are a monster,” she said sweetly.
“Cheer up.” He pulled her hard against his body. “I told you the truth. I intend to make you very happy in our marriage. Starting tonight.”
He cupped her cheek, and desire crackled through her body, from her scalp to her toes and everywhere in between.
Breathing hard, she turned away.
“Go to hell,” she spit out, trying to hide her conflicting feelings. How could her body still want him, when she despised him?
“I intend to satisfy you in every way possible.” He stopped on the dance floor, looking down at her. “Tonight, you will be in my bed. Willingly and completely.”
Trembling, she lifted her chin. In spite of her best efforts, her voice trembled as she taunted, “In your dreams.”
“My dreams always come true.” Stefano cupped her face in both his hands. “I always win, like Moretti said. I take what I want, at any price. And what I want—” he slowly lowered his mouth to hers “—is you.”
Tess held her breath. She knew she should push him away, resist, but she couldn’t. When his lips finally pressed against hers, the intoxication of his caress made her feel dizzy. She had to clutch his shoulders to keep from falling. The world spun around her as if she’d drunk far more than one glass of champagne.
Dimly she heard whistling and hooting from the crowd, but they all seemed far away. In Stefano’s arms, swaying to this beautiful song she’d loved all her life, her anger faded for a moment and her old dream resurfaced in her heart. She’d yearned for him for so long. Her perfect man. Her handsome prince. Their kiss brought it all back, sending her soaring into the sky.
As the song ended, he pulled away and Tess slowly opened her eyes.
Stefano stared down at her, his dark eyes wide as if he’d felt the same shock, the two of them in their own private world.
Applause thundered around them—for their first dance as husband and wife, and for Hallie’s amazing performance.
Stricken, Tess touched her bruised lips. How could she keep kissing him like that? With everything in her heart? Her body ached for him, and her nipples felt tight beneath the smooth silk bodice.
For over a year, she’d been tormented by hot, sensual dreams of Stefano, of the night he’d taken her virginity and they’d conceived a child. She’d yearned for the man she’d imagined him to be. Now she knew the truth.
The dream still held sway over her.
She wanted to be in his bed. No matter how she tried to fight it. No matter how she pretended otherwise. Even now, looking up at him, she unconsciously licked her lips. She heard his soft groan and felt lost in his dark, hungry gaze.
Stefano took her hand. Without a word, he led her past the crowd, off the dance floor. He drew Tess past the tables and guests. Her full white satin skirts shimmered beneath the lig
hts of the glittering crystal chandeliers as he pulled her away from the gilded ballroom and out a side door, into a shadowy back service hallway.
Once they were alone, his restraint fled.
He pushed her roughly against the wall, kissing her hard, gripping her wrists. She kissed him back with fury, surrendering to the angry force of her own desire.
“You’re mine,” he growled, kissing down her throat. “Say it, Tess.”
Her head fell back as her veil tumbled and twisted around them.
“Yours,” she breathed, and knew she was lost.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS STEFANO KISSED down her throat, stroking the silky fabric of her dress, Tess closed her eyes, her body taut with need. She gasped as she felt the rough heat of his hands beneath the sweetheart neckline of her bodice, against her naked breasts.
Through the closed side door, she could hear the muffled sounds of music, laughter, dancing from the distant ballroom. The sounds of their wedding reception, still carrying on without them.
Here in this quiet, darkened hallway, they were alone. He swayed against her, and even through her thick white skirts, she could feel the force of his desire for her. They gripped each other, panting in the intensity of their need.
Abruptly he lifted her up against the wall. Her white skirts parted, her legs wrapped around his hips of their own accord. She felt his shaft pressing hard against her, through his trousers and the flimsy fabric of her panties.
Lowering his head, he kissed her passionately. Her fingertips dug into the shoulders of his tuxedo jacket. She wanted him closer, wanted more. With a low growl, he unzipped his fly.
Holding her backside, he pressed her hard against the wall. He shoved her delicate lace panties aside and pushed his enormous shaft inside her, filling her slowly, inch by delicious inch.
She gasped as she felt him hard and thick inside her, stretching her to the limit. Drawing back, he thrust again, even more deeply inside her wet, aching core. Desperate need pounded through her. She choked out a cry, gripping his shoulders.
His thrusts became harder, faster, as her white satin skirts shook and fluttered around them, the fabric opalescent and gleaming in the pale shadows of the hallway. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her full breasts overflowing the low-cut neckline of the boned corset, a sliver of her pink nipples now visible.