The Heir the Prince Secures

by Jennie Lucas

  He shivered, remembering.

  “I can’t wait to see everything,” she said softly, looking out at the city. “London, Milan, Paris. I can’t believe I’ll be attending three different Fashion Weeks, back to back.”

  “You never attended the one in New York?”

  She snorted. “Fashion Week is for famous people, not poor design students. I’ve seen pictures on social media, though. I always wondered what it would be like.”

  “To see a runway show?”

  “To hold one of my own.” She gave him a wistful smile. “To be a designer for a major house.”

  Was she hinting that she wanted a job at Mercurio or Fontana? No, surely not. Why would Tess want to work, to hold down a grueling job with long hours that often paid little, when she could live with him in luxury? Stefano smiled at her. “You’ll meet Mercurio’s new designer in Paris,” he said huskily. “And see all the shows up close.”

  Tess returned his smile. “Do you usually sit in the front row?”

  He shrugged. “I could. But I generally leave that to celebrities. I prefer to be in the second row. I don’t need to be photographed. I’m there for business.”

  “And to check out your rivals?” she said, handing their cooing baby a giraffe toy.

  He gave Tess a startled look. She grinned, then said cheerfully, “I used to buy pastries from the bakery down the block for that exact same reason.”

  How funny she was, Stefano thought, his gaze tracing her sweet, pretty face, her pink lips, swollen from a night of kisses. His body stirred again.

  It amazed him that he could still want her, after the night they’d had. He’d married Tess out of sense of duty, and because he desired her. What he hadn’t expected was that he’d enjoy her company so much, even in the daytime. Talking with her. Being with her.

  Somehow, Tess made everything in Stefano’s life, everything he’d previously been bored with, seem different and new.

  Climbing aboard their private jet in New York that morning, Tess had exclaimed over its large, luxurious cabin, newly outfitted with a travel crib and baby toys. Her eyes had been wide as saucers.

  “First time on a private jet?” he’d asked her, smiling.

  “First time on a plane!”

  It was no wonder she’d been excited. When the flight attendant had offered to make them drinks and dinner, Tess had followed Louisa into the galley, to “help.” Stefano was mystified. He always kept a distance from his own employees, even if they’d worked for him for years. His executive assistant, Agathe Durand, had been with him for fifteen years, but until her grandson became seriously ill last year, Stefano had known almost nothing about her family. He respected his employees’ right to privacy and expected them to respect his. Tess obviously felt differently. By the end of the flight, Tess and the flight attendant were apparently best friends.

  The flight attendant glowed under Tess’s friendly attention, and so did the two pilots, at her over-the-top praise. Tess’s sweet, hopeful nature was like sunshine, he realized, making everyone happier around her. Opening people’s hearts.

  Not his, of course. He didn’t have a heart, so he was immune. But he enjoyed the effect she had on others. He was amused by her company and enjoyed the novelty of looking at the world through her less cynical eyes. Her warmth and idealistic heart were good qualities for a wife and mother.

  Plus, she blew his mind in bed.

  Stefano glanced at her now, sitting on the other side of the baby’s car seat in the back of the Bentley. She was exclaiming over everything—even ordinary things such as red post boxes and black taxi cabs. Feeling his gaze, she gave him a happy smile, but he saw faint shadows beneath her eyes. As much time as they’d spent in bed, they hadn’t slept a great deal. He was used to taking business calls and discussing the latest numbers at all hours, but he’d been surprised to discover Tess was awake just as much with the baby. He was accustomed to pushing himself to the limit, but he wanted Tess to be comfortable. He’d already sent a message to his assistant to find a nanny as soon as possible.

  “What’s that?” As the car slowed, Tess craned her neck to look out their window.

  He smiled. “Our hotel.”

  “Wow,” she breathed, looking up at the grand Victorian hotel, its stone turrets towering over them.

  After the Bentley stopped, the hotel’s uniformed doorman opened the door. After unbuckling the baby seat, Tess let him help her out, with Esme in her arms.

  “Welcome to the Leighton Hotel London, madam,” the doorman said, then bowed to Stefano. “Welcome back, Your Highness.”

  “Hello, Walter. This is my wife.”

  The doorman’s eyes widened and he corrected himself, bowing to her, too. “Your Highness, welcome.”

  “Nice to meet you, Walter,” she said warmly, then took Stefano’s arm as he led her into the Leighton’s grand, gilded lobby. The service was impeccable, as always. They were whisked upstairs without even having to pause at the registration desk, with their luggage and new stroller brought behind them.

  Stefano always stayed in the same penthouse suite in London. As they entered the door, he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “Will this do for a honeymoon?”

  Holding their babbling baby against her hip, Tess walked through the suite’s five elegant rooms and terrace overlooking Hyde Park. “Wow,” she breathed again. Then she saw the flower arrangements and fruit baskets on the suite’s gleaming wooden table. “What are these?”

  “Congratulations on our marriage, I imagine. From friends who couldn’t attend the ceremony. And business acquaintances.” Coming forward, he kissed her. “Welcome to London, cara mia.” He kissed Esme’s fat cheek tenderly. “And you, mia figlia.”

  “Bah,” said the baby, waving her chunky arms at his nose.

  There was a peremptory knock at the door of the suite, and a chic white-haired woman entered, followed by a plump middle-aged blonde.

  “Tess,” he said, and took his wife’s hand, “I’d like you to meet my executive assistant, Agathe Durand.”

  “Congratulations again, Your Highness,” said the white-haired woman.

  “Thank you, Agathe.” He looked next at the plump blonde. “This is the nanny?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nanny?” said Tess.

  “I am most pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” the executive assistant said to Tess with a nod, then motioned to the middle-aged woman behind her. “This is Ann Carter, from the most respected nanny service in London. She’ll be traveling with your family for the next month.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Your Highness.” The nanny’s smile was kind. She looked at the baby. “And this is the little one?”

  “Er...hello.” Still holding Esme tight, Tess turned to Stefano with a bewildered frown. “Why do we need a nanny? Unless—” She brightened. “Are you offering me a job as a designer? Oh, Stefano!” Joy lit up her face. “You don’t know what this means to me. I don’t need any special treatment. I’ll be happy to be assistant to an assistant—”

  Stefano cut her off with a scowl. “You don’t need to work, Tess. I can more than provide for you.”

  Her face fell. “Then why a nanny?”

  He could hardly explain that he wanted to give her more time for sex and sleep, not with his employees listening to every word. So he stuck to half the truth. “As my wife, you’ll often have PR events to attend. Runway shows. Parties. Charity balls.” He grinned. “Art Basel. Weekends on the French Riviera or yachting on the Costa Smeralda.”

  “Me?” Tess looked flabbergasted. “I’ll be doing those things?”

  “You’re joining my life, and that’s how I live. Starting with a party tonight. You remember the woman who attended our wedding, Fenella Montfort?”

  Tess’s face was blank. “Um. Maybe?”

  “It’s fine. You were distracted.” He smiled. “She’s the primary shareholder of Zacco. Our lawyers have already started negotiations, but the company is hosting a party at he
r town house tonight, and I hoped...”

  “You hoped to use your charm to jump-start the negotiations?”

  “Exactly.”

  Tess looked at him and sighed. “Then of course we must go.”

  Taking her hand in his own, he kissed it. “Thank you, cara. I knew you would understand.”

  “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Ann Carter said, holding out her arms for Esme.

  With some visible reluctance, Tess handed her the baby as the nanny continued talking.

  “I’ve been caring for babies my whole life.” She smiled down at Esme. “We’ll get along very well, won’t we? Shall we go read stories in the nursery?”

  The baby gurgled with delight, waving her pudgy arms.

  Tess watched them, biting her lip. Stefano could see she was nervous at the thought of leaving their daughter with anyone besides family or friends.

  “It’ll be all right,” Stefano said, touching her shoulder. “The party isn’t far. We don’t have to be out late.”

  She took a deep breath. “All right.” She gave him a wan smile. “This party is important, right?”

  “It is.” Drawing her close, he kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you.”

  Thirty minutes later, he and Tess left the hotel in a luxury limousine. The burly bodyguard he kept on staff in Europe, Leon Rossi, sat in front beside the driver.

  Leaning close to Stefano in the back seat, Tess whispered, “Why a bodyguard?”

  “Don’t worry.” Stefano looked down at her. “He’ll wait in the car. There’s no threat. It’s simply best practice.”

  “You mean, all the other billionaires had a bodyguard, so you wanted one, too.”

  “Well...yes.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips. “And I wanted the best. I stole Leon away from his previous employer. Who was that again, Leon?”

  “Cristiano Moretti, boss.”

  Folding her arms, Tess shook her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “See? You do know me.”

  Stefano couldn’t stop looking at her. Tess was wearing a new dress, chosen from a selection sent up by the hotel’s luxury boutique. He’d offered to arrange a stylist, but Tess had refused. She’d done her own hair and makeup in twenty minutes. And she was the most impossibly beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Her bright red hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her ruby lips were full and ripe. Her bright green eyes stood out like emeralds, lined with black against her fair skin. Her hourglass figure was lush and enticing in the strapless sapphire-blue dress. A faux fur stole was draped around her bare shoulders to keep out the cool, slightly drizzly air of an autumn night in London.

  Stefano felt intoxicated with pride. Lowering his head, he kissed her, relishing the sweet taste of her soft lips.

  He drew back with a sigh. “I almost wish we didn’t have to go tonight.”

  “This Montfort woman, what’s she like?”

  He smiled down at her, running his hands through her silky hair. “Even more ruthless than her father. He was the one who bought Zacco. She took over after he retired.”

  “Is she married?”

  “Why?” His smile broadened. “Are you jealous?”

  “Just wondering,” she said evasively. The lights of the city passed over her lovely face as the limo drove through the London night.

  “As far as I can tell, she’s a workaholic. It’s a pity.” He sighed. “Zacco has done exceptionally well with her as CEO.”

  “Why is that a pity?”

  “Business is booming, which is reflected in Zacco’s stock price, and will make it harder to convince her to sell. But I assure you,” he whispered, cradling her cheek, “you have nothing to worry about, cara. All I want from her is Zacco. Believe me.”

  She bit her plump, pink lower lip. “And what do you want from me?”

  “From you?” he said huskily. “Everything.”

  He kissed her again, deeply. It was far easier to take her in his arms with no baby seat between them in the back seat. When the limo stopped, it took him a moment to notice. The back door opened, but he didn’t feel the cold air.

  The driver politely cleared his throat. “We’re here, Your Highness.”

  Reluctantly Stefano pulled away from the embrace and tenderly rubbed away a smear of lipstick from Tess’s cheek. At the same moment she reached up and wiped it off his lips. Looking at each other, they gave an awkward laugh. Then, after getting out of the car, he held out his arm. “Come,” he said in a low voice. “I can hardly wait to introduce you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  STEFANO THOUGHT HE knew luxury, but this was truly over the top.

  The Zacco party was in full swing at Fenella Montfort’s luxurious, five-story town house near Kensington Palace. Everything was lavish, from the flowers to the champagne to the army of uniformed servants. He himself certainly had his share of household employees, but Fenella’s party was staffed at levels that made Downton Abbey look chintzy.

  Everywhere he looked, he saw the Zacco brand. Everything from pillows to brocade curtains was festooned with the famous curlicue Zs.

  Stefano’s stomach clenched. He thought of how his lawyers’ negotiations had already stalled. Fenella’s lawyers were stonewalling, claiming she had no desire to sell. Zacco, always glamorous, had become wildly fashionable since Fenella had become CEO.

  The offbeat, colorful, ridiculously expensive clothes were now splashed all over magazine covers, trendy with Hollywood, old-money and social-media celebrities alike. The stock price had increased 20 percent in the last year.

  In that same time, Stefano’s own new fashion brand, Mercurio, had tanked. Their previous creative director’s lackluster designs had done poorly in every market. It took a special sort of skill, he thought grimly, to bomb simultaneously on every continent at once.

  He consoled himself with the thought that Mercurio’s new collection, to be debuted in two weeks in Paris by the hot young designer he’d recently hired, would soon get the company back on track.

  But the truth was Mercurio meant nothing to him compared to the brand that bore his family name. He had to get Zacco back at any price. If he couldn’t, what had he been working for all these years? What was the point of success if he couldn’t get what he wanted most?

  “Your Highness!” a well-known German artist greeted him, shaking hands.

  “Stefano—good to see you!” A famous model kissed him on each cheek, then, before Tess could decide to be jealous, the model kissed her exactly the same way and moved on to the next person.

  A glamorous older woman with hip-length black hair walked by, trailing an entourage of wildly dressed young people. The woman paused when she saw Stefano.

  “Your Highness,” she said, nodding her head briefly.

  “Mrs. Sakurai,” he said, with the same respectful nod.

  The woman glanced at Tess without recognition, then continued through the party with her entourage and a crowd of adoring fans in her wake.

  Stefano turned to Tess. “That woman is—”

  “Aiko Sakurai,” she breathed, staring after her. Stefano’s eyes widened.

  “You know her?”

  “I studied her in design school. She’s amazing. Her designs—” Tess shook her head. “I could only wish to be half so talented as her.”

  “She’s older than you,” he pointed out. “She’s had more experience.”

  “What she’s done as Zacco’s creative director isn’t just experience. It’s genius.”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Thanks to her, Zacco’s valuation has gone up billions and become completely unaffordable,” he said grumpily. Catching himself, he looked down at Tess with a smile. “Come. There are others I want you to meet.”

  For the next hour, they drank cocktails as he introduced her to CEOs and friends and journalists, all members of the international fashion jet set. They congratulated them on their marriage and were eager to meet Tess. No wonder, he thought. With his
wife’s warmth and beauty and charm, not to mention the inherent star power of being the unknown working-class Brooklyn girl who’d managed to tame a playboy like Stefano, Tess was quickly the most popular person in the room.

  Stefano watched Tess affectionately as she spoke earnestly to a famous South African designer. She wasn’t intimidated by anyone. She treated everyone the same, from billionaires to waitstaff. Stefano liked that about her. Her honesty, her kindness. Even at a party filled with some of the most gorgeous, glamorous people in the world, he thought, no one could hold a candle to his wife.

  But where was their hostess? He scoured the crowd for Fenella Montfort’s tall, spare frame. He finally saw the woman talking to a prime minister and Rodrigo Cabrera, the Spanish media mogul.

  Setting his jaw, Stefano went to join them.

  “Good evening.” He nodded at each. “Your Excellency... Cabrera.” His eyes focused on his quarry. “Ms. Montfort.”

  “I hear you’re married, Prince Stefano,” Rodrigo Cabrera said, his eyes glinting. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Actually, you should doubly be thanked, Cabrera, since I met my wife at your party.”

  The Spaniard looked intrigued. “My party?”

  “Last summer, in New York. You were celebrating some movie of yours that had just reached a billion dollars box office worldwide. Tess was a waitress there.”

  “How extraordinary.”

  “Yes.” But as Stefano spoke, he was wondering how he could speak with Fenella Montfort alone, though Zacco’s London Fashion Week party did seem an inappropriate venue to convince her to sell her shares.

  She gave him a cold smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “Excuse us,” she said abruptly to the other two men. “Prince Stefano and I have something important to discuss.”

  “Of course,” said the prime minister with a bow.

  “Congratulations again,” Rodrigo Cabrera said coolly. “Actually making it to the altar is quite an accomplishment.”

  It seemed a strange comment, but Stefano forgot about it as he faced the woman who owned his family’s company.