The Heir the Prince Secures

by Jennie Lucas

  Stefano looked doubtfully at a fabric contraption in the housekeeper’s hand. “What is it?”

  “A baby carrier!” Tess exclaimed. She’d wanted one for ages, but hadn’t had the money. When she started to put it on, Gerlanda stopped her.

  “It’s man-size. For the father.”

  Tess turned to Stefano with a huge grin. “Even better!”

  For the next few hours, they explored fields and vineyards, beneath the wide blue sky and golden light. Stefano held Tess’s hand and carried their baby on his back. As Stefano pointed out interesting features of the estate and Esme jabbered behind them softly, Tess looked down at her hand wrapped in his larger one and felt tears in her eyes.

  Stefano stopped abruptly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She tried to smile. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

  “So happy you’re crying?” he said suspiciously.

  “We’re a family,” she whispered, looking up at him.

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment he looked stricken.

  Then all trace of emotion was shuttered from his handsome face. “Of course we are.” His voice was cool. He dropped her hand. “Ah. There’s the winery.”

  Inside the squat, prosperous gray stone building, they found the winery staff busy serving the tourists in the tasting room, selling them bottles by the case. Seeing Stefano, one of the employees immediately took them back to the production area, where they found the vintner, a middle-aged man, looking harried amid all the vats.

  The employee went ahead and quietly spoke in the man’s ear. The vintner whirled and saw Stefano, and his face lit up. With a joyful clap, he strode forward and eagerly shook Stefano’s hand, bowing again and again. Turning to Tess, he welcomed her with an embrace, a kiss on each cheek and a rush of words in Sicilian.

  They spoke for an hour with the vintner and his staff, learning how the winery’s production and fame had flourished and grown. Then Tess started to notice some of the tourists peeking into the production area and surreptitiously snapping photos—not just of Stefano, but also of Tess. For a moment she was bewildered, then she remembered that, back in the real world, she was all over social media right now, and probably TV, as well. Being even temporarily famous made her uncomfortable. She was relieved when they finally left the winery and returned to the castle’s private land.

  “The winery’s doing well.” Stefano sounded shocked. “I didn’t realize. They’re shipping all over the world. They can barely keep up production.”

  “You didn’t know?” she said, surprised. “Don’t you own it?”

  “No, and that’s probably why they’re doing so well,” he said dryly. “The village owns it, as a cooperative.” He shook his head, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “All of Gioreale is thriving.”

  “Because you believed in them. Invested in them.”

  He frowned. “Of course I did. I grew up here. Who wouldn’t?”

  Your father, Tess thought, but she didn’t say it. It wasn’t her place. Family could be complicated, she knew. She didn’t like to hear criticism of her own father, though he’d died three years ago without ever trying to contact her. Even after his death, she’d tried to respect his wishes—by not going to his funeral or ever telling his other family of her existence.

  Was it right? Wrong? Tess didn’t know. All she did know was that love could be complicated, and sometimes it could be hard to tell it apart from hate.

  Which must be, she thought with a lump in her throat, why Stefano didn’t want any part of it.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Stefano said suddenly, giving her a wicked grin. “If we don’t eat this picnic, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  He led her to a grassy spot on the top of the highest hill, not too far from the castle. They spread a blanket so the baby could play. Six-month-old Esme’s idea of play was to try to clap her hands and catch her own feet, which always left her in a paroxysm of giggles.

  Beneath the October sunshine, they spread out the housekeeper’s picnic of fruit, sausages, cheese and freshly baked bread, and shared a bottle of the famous red Moscato the vintner had pressed on them. Beneath them, in the castle courtyard, they could see servants preparing tables for the harvest festival—hanging fairy lights, flowers and colorful decorations. As the afternoon waned, more villagers started arriving by foot and horse and car, all of them loaded down with food and wine.

  “You’re sure you want to go tonight?” Stefano said, tilting his head. “This is supposed to be our honeymoon.”

  “I want to go. It looks fun. The villagers love you,” Tess whispered, her heart in her throat. She took a deep breath. “And so do—” She lost her nerve. Stuffing her mouth with grapes and cheese, she swallowed. “Yum.”

  “It’s all grown on this estate.”

  “Delicious.”

  His dark eyes lit up. He murmured, “You’re delicious.”

  Leaning over on the blanket, he kissed her, and she felt her body rise. They kissed for a long time in the warmth of the October sun, until twilight approached and Esme needed to get ready for bed.

  Tess trembled, thinking how she’d nearly told him she loved him. What would have happened? The best case, she thought, was that he’d have said, Thanks, but no thanks.

  Worst case: he’d be packing now to leave her.

  That night, as they attended the harvest festival, surrounded by people who couldn’t wait to thank Stefano for all he’d done for them, she tried to convince herself that she could keep the secret for the rest of her life.

  She didn’t need Stefano to love her.

  It was enough that she loved him.

  Wasn’t it?

  Sitting beneath the fairy lights at the center table, Tess watched one person after another tell Stefano how he’d changed and bettered their lives. She tried not to love him. But it was hard, which was to say, impossible. And it hurt.

  Because she knew he’d never love her back.

  After all he’d gone through, who could blame his heart for turning numb? To Stefano, love must feel like pain. She could hardly bear to think of him as a lonely little boy, neglected and abandoned. Even his dog had been taken away.

  If only my love could heal you.

  Tess’s eyes widened as she straightened in her chair.

  If only she could show him that love wasn’t something to be feared, but embraced.

  If she could show him that true love could last a lifetime...

  When the harvest festival was finally over and everyone started cleaning up, Tess rose to her feet and found Gerlanda, to ask how she could help. In response, the housekeeper gave a hearty belly laugh.

  “You, do the cleaning? No. I forbid it. You do enough. You make our prince happy.”

  “Sí,” another woman said. “We want Prince Stefano’s happiness, after everything he’s done.” Turning away, she smiled. “And by the way he looks at you now, Princess, you make him very happy indeed.”

  Following the woman’s gaze, Tess turned. Stefano stood on the other side of the castle courtyard. His black eyes looked at her hungrily across the crowd. Their eyes locked in the velvety Sicilian night.

  He came forward, and took her hand.

  “It’s late,” he said huskily. She shivered at the heat of his touch. “Time for bed.”

  He led her into the castle and up the stairs. Their footsteps echoed against the worn stone. He never let go of her hand, only pausing to check on Esme, sleeping in the nursery next door. Then he led her to the bedroom.

  Silvery moonlight flooded the large window. Glancing out, she saw the full moon frosting the dark valley, reflecting against the black sea. Coming behind her, he gently rubbed her shoulders, pulling her back against his body. “Are you happy, cara?”

  She turned in her arms. “Very happy.”

  How long could she hide her love for him? She was suddenly scared as she glanced toward the enormous four-poster bed. Once she was naked in his arms, feeling him deep inside her, she
feared the truth would explode from her lips, and it might cost her everything.

  He must never know. He could never know.

  Unless...unless she could somehow heal him. Change him. Or was that just her foolish heart believing what she wanted to believe, instead of cold reality?

  Lowering his head to hers, Stefano kissed her passionately. She sighed, lost in his embrace. But, as he started to lead her toward the bed, she nervously pulled away, pretending to be interested in the shelves of leather-bound books stretching up the opposite wall.

  “So many books,” Tess said awkwardly, touching their spines. “They all look so old.”

  “They are, I suppose. I’ll show you the library downstairs sometime,” he replied in a low voice, pulling her back into his arms. “Thousands of books, some of them a thousand years old.”

  Her jaw dropped. “A thousand?”

  His sensual lips lifted into a smile. “I love how innocent you are. The smallest things impress you.”

  “A small thing—a great room full of books a thousand years old!”

  Stefano shrugged. “Small.”

  “Then what on earth would you call amazing?”

  Lifting his hand to her ponytail, he pulled out the tie, and her red hair came tumbling down the back of her cotton sundress.

  “Having you in my bed,” he whispered.

  Lifting her reverently in his arms, he carried her to the enormous four-poster bed. As he lowered his head to kiss her, she felt a sea breeze come in through the open window, scented with jasmine and exotic spices from distant shores. She felt the roughness of his jaw against her skin as he whispered words like an Italian invocation and kissed down the length of her body. Slowly he removed her clothes, and then his own. He made her feel she was on fire, lit from within.

  And through it all, with every beat of her heart, came the rhythm of the words she longed to say.

  I love you. I love you.

  But the last time she’d said those words, Stefano had left, intending never to return. Just because she’d said, I’m already falling in love with you.

  Strange. At the time, she’d honestly believed her words. She’d thought she knew what love was.

  Looking back, Tess realized she hadn’t known at all. She’d just been in love with the idea of love, and dazzled by a romantic, sensual night with the most handsome, powerful man she’d ever known.

  Real love was different.

  It wasn’t flowers or jewelry or poetic words. It wasn’t the fairy tale of a grand wedding or becoming a princess in a castle. It wasn’t even spectacular, mind-blowing sex.

  Real love was quieter.

  It grew when you weren’t looking. From moments of laughter, of sharing. From small kindnesses. Like all the little things Stefano did that he thought she wouldn’t notice, not just for her, but for others. For his employees. For his hometown. For their child.

  Despite his attempts to hide it, she’d discovered his deepest secret. Stefano’s title might be Prince, but in his heart, he was something even better.

  He was a good man.

  She knew him now, perhaps better than he knew himself. She knew him, and she loved him.

  Did she dare tell him? Would that be foolhardy—or brave? Would her honesty ruin their fragile happiness? Or would it be the start of a life more joyful than either of them could imagine?

  As Stefano held her in his arms that night, as she felt the weight of his body over hers and the soft Sicilian winds blowing in from the balcony against their hot skin, she felt tormented, even as she shuddered with pleasure beneath the slow stroke of her husband’s hands.

  Until, when he pushed himself inside her, making her cry out with ecstasy, she could take it no more. As he shuddered into her with a low roar, she gripped his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, Stefano.”

  *

  The next morning, Stefano woke with a strange feeling in his chest, finding he’d cradled Tess naked in his arms the whole night as they’d slept. A flash of vertigo went through him, leaving him woozy and sick.

  I love you, Stefano.

  He could still hear the tremble of Tess’s voice last night, see the piercing emotion in her emerald eyes. He’d been deep inside her, his whole body shuddering with pleasure, but when she’d spoken the words, something had gone through him, something greater than joy. Overwhelmed, he’d kissed her, again and again as she’d softly wept.

  “I was so scared to tell you,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his naked chest.

  “Don’t be scared,” he’d said, his heart in his throat. And he’d found himself whispering love poetry in Italian he’d thought he’d forgotten. Since they’d arrived in Sicily, the prison of his childhood had become paradise.

  He’d kissed her again, then held her until they’d both slept with their naked bodies intertwined. And for that brief moment, everything had felt right to him.

  Waking in the morning was different.

  I love you, Stefano.

  A chill went down his spine. A pounding anxiety formed at the base of his brain. He looked at Tess, cuddled against him beneath the blanket, her beautiful face tender, smiling in her sleep.

  Stefano couldn’t breathe.

  He had to get out of here.

  Jumping up, he went to the closet. Pulling on boxers and dark trousers, he grabbed a suitcase that Salvatore had unpacked for them the night before. He came back toward the wardrobe.

  “What are you doing?”

  He saw Tess watching him in the shadowy pink light. Sleepy as a kitten, she looked soft and adorable and it made the feeling in his chest tighten a little more.

  “Getting dressed.”

  She yawned, stretching her arms. “Is the baby awake?”

  “No, not yet.”

  He thought of how he’d quoted love poetry last night, and he felt sick. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. A man could not be held to account for what he might say in the arms of a beautiful woman.

  But he knew what was really happening. Why he’d slept in her arms last night better than he ever had before. And that he must not—could not—let it happen. Because the moment he relaxed, the moment he surrendered to emotional weakness, everything would crumble beneath his feet.

  Stay in control, he ordered himself, clenching his hands at his sides. You feel nothing.

  “Stefano?”

  “I have to go,” he said flatly.

  “What?” She sat up in bed, looking shocked. “Go where?”

  “I must return to Paris to start the search for Mercurio’s new designer. And then London, to see if I can convince Fenella Montfort to sell her shares.”

  But even as he spoke, he knew there was no way to buy Zacco now. Not unless he sold everything he owned outright, and maybe not even then. The woman had made it clear she had no desire to sell.

  But Stefano had to give Tess some reason for his departure, and he couldn’t explain the real reason. Not when he barely understood it himself.

  “Oh.” Tess looked down at her body, still covered by the luxurious cotton sheets. She gave him a forced, cheerful smile. “I guess it was silly of me to think we could stay in Sicily forever. Of course not. You run a billion-dollar conglomerate. So when do we leave?”

  “I’m leaving now.” He paused. “You and Esme will remain.”

  “What?” She clutched the sheet higher, over her naked body that just hours before had been hot and tangled beneath his own. “No!”

  “You will do as I tell you.” He couldn’t bear to look at her beautiful, anguished face. Turning away, he stuffed a few more things in his suitcase.

  “This is because I told you I love you, isn’t it?” Tess’s voice trembled. “I knew this would happen! I knew it!”

  Stefano looked away. Outside, he could see the hills leading to a pink horizon over the distant Mediterranean and, beyond that, Africa. Without a word, he pulled on a crisp white shirt and tuck
ed it into his trousers. Sitting in a nearby chair, he laced up his black leather shoes.

  “Please, Stefano,” she whispered. “Just talk to me.”

  His stomach tightened, but he forced himself to face her.

  Tess’s hands were clasped, her thick black eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.

  Dawn broke, and sunlight flooded the bedroom from the east-facing windows, frosting Tess’s beautiful face with warm golden light. As their eyes locked, he felt strangely vulnerable. And no wonder. He’d never revealed so much of his heart to any other living soul.

  Just that thought made the world start to spin again and that sick feeling rise in his chest.

  “I just have to go.” He looked away. “I will return in a few days. When I do...” He set his jaw. “We’ll talk.”

  “Stefano, don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Stefano felt a hard, rough twist in his chest at the pain in her voice. He crushed his feelings just as he’d been trained to do. Snapping the small suitcase shut, he kissed her forehead, then left without another word and without looking back.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS THE longest four days of Tess’s life.

  Four days of being alone in a remote Sicilian castle, being asked by the villagers and servants where Stefano had gone. Four days of eating alone in the great hall with only her baby for company. Four days of looking anxiously online for news of Stefano and discovering none.

  And four nights of sleeping alone in their big bed, dreaming of him. Four mornings of waking up with a knot in her throat, her heart hovering between hope and dread.

  Did Tess have any reason to hope?

  I will return in a few days. When I do, we’ll talk.

  He could love her, her heart stubbornly argued. She’d seen the way he looked at her when she’d told him she loved him. She’d felt the way he kissed her, whispering words in Italian that sounded like music. She loved him. And she thought he could love her if he let himself.

  But, for him, all love had ever meant was loss and pain.

  She could settle for him not loving her, she told herself on the first day. She could live her whole life without ever being loved, she told herself on the second. He couldn’t help it, she insisted on the third.