The Heir the Prince Secures

“No.” Taking her in his arms, Stefano said quietly, “Tess. Look at me.”

Although she didn’t want to obey, she could not resist. She opened her eyes, and the intensity of his glittering eyes scared her.

“I don’t want you to be my mistress, Tess. I don’t want you to be my nanny.” His dark eyes burned through her. “I want you to be my wife.”

*

Tess’s beautiful face looked pale against her scarlet-red hair as she stood in the faded bakery. Her green eyes were shocked, even horrified.

Stefano was a little shocked himself. He marveled at how quickly everything had changed. Yesterday, before he’d known about the baby, marriage had been the last thing on his mind.

His own parents had hardly made him think well of the institution, and none of the ice-cold heiresses and greedy, pouting models Stefano had dated had ever tempted him to change his mind. Taking them to bed was more than enough.

Even an hour ago, knowing that Esme was his child, he’d grimly intended to let Tess go, leaving just his money to sustain them.

But when he’d watched Tess put their baby in a stroller and leave him, walking toward the bakery, he’d felt a jolt like a cold knife slicing through his solar plexus.

He hadn’t wanted her to go.

Then he’d seen two men pass her on the sidewalk, slowing their walk to smile at her. Farther down the street, they’d turned back to look at her again. Their polite smiles changed to leers as they elbowed each other. Stefano could only imagine what the two men were saying about her. Or what they’d like to do to her.

The knife in Stefano’s gut had twisted deeper. He didn’t want to imagine Tess with another man. Ever. And yet he’d let her go so she could find a man who could love her. A better man.

But what if the next man wasn’t better?

What if he was worse?

Admittedly love was a mysterious emotion to Stefano, as he’d never experienced it. From the outside, it seemed like a self-inflicted delusion, an addictive madness that people used as an excuse to behave badly. Love came like a hurricane and left like a tornado, leaving people trampled and homes destroyed.

It had been that way with his parents, and to an entire army of their discarded lovers and spouses, in their exhaustive quest for love. And all the while, they’d left their only child to languish in an isolated castle in the care of paid servants. To them, children were an unacceptable impediment to enjoying a love affair.

What if the man Tess chose was similarly selfish and cruel? What if he treated her badly? What if he cheated on her? Stole from her? Hit her?

What if, far from him being a better father than Stefano, he resented raising another man’s child and mistreated Esme? What if he abused her?

A cold shudder had gone down Stefano’s spine.

He’d thought giving up Tess and the baby was the right thing to do—for their sakes. In that moment, however, he’d suddenly realized he was leaving them to the mercy of wolves. And Tess, with her kind nature and optimistic heart, might not know the difference until it was too late.

After 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?”