“No. There’s something else.”
Fenella’s eyes gleamed. “You’re right, of course.” She tilted her head. “I’m throwing the fashion journalists a bone. Having you at the party gives them drama to write about. The handsome billionaire prince attending a party for the company his family lost. Your presence makes the Zacco brand seem even more valuable. That’s what really matters, isn’t it?” Watching him, she smiled. “The success of my brand.”
Her brand.
She’d lured him here as an insult, he realized. A taunt.
A rush of anger went through Stefano’s heart. He controlled it, giving her a ruthless smile. “In that case, I wish you good evening, Ms. Montfort.”
She sipped her champagne. “And you, Your Highness.”
Turning away stiffly, he set down his own half-empty glass and strode through the crowd of people until he found his wife. He took Tess by the elbow. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” She’d been having a good time talking to all the people around her. She looked disappointed. “Right now?”
“Right now,” he said grimly.
As the limo returned them to Mayfair, Stefano stared out at the sparkling London night.
The handsome billionaire prince attending a party for the company his family lost. Your presence makes the Zacco brand seem even more valuable. That’s what really matters, isn’t it? The success of my brand.
The memory of Fenella’s taunting voice echoed through him as they drove through the city. Tess, after a few attempts to talk to him, finally gave up. The evening, which had begun in such hopeful pleasure, ended in silence.
Once they arrived back at their hotel suite, Tess rushed to check on their sleeping baby. Ann Carter rose to her feet from the chair where she’d been knitting some baby-sized slippers. Esme had obviously been well cared for.
Stefano spoke to her quietly, then the woman left for her own hotel suite on another floor. It would cost an exorbitant amount to have her on retainer for the next month, but, to Stefano, no price was too high for his child’s or his wife’s comfort. He’d always believed the cliché: You get what you pay for.
But he’d never imagined Fenella Montfort would refuse to sell at any price. How could she?
Pulling off his black tie, he walked heavily to the bedroom. He tossed down his jacket. His jaw was hard as he looked at himself in the shadowy mirror.
He had to find a way. He would. By right, Zacco belonged to him. It was his family’s company, their legacy.
He had expected Tess to join him in the bedroom. When she did not, he went looking for her. The nursery was dark, the only sound Esme’s gentle snores. The main room was empty.
He finally found Tess on the moonlit terrace overlooking Hyde Park. She was hugging the faux fur stole around her shoulders, looking out into the night.
“What are you doing out here?”
Squaring her shoulders, she faced him quietly. “What happened tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did we leave so suddenly?”
Stefano was tempted to deny, to bluster, to evade. To stonewall.
Instead, he heard himself say, “Fenella Montfort won’t sell Zacco.”
Tess’s eyes widened. He waited for her to say something flippant. Instead, coming forward, wordlessly she wrapped her arms around him.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, accepting the offered comfort. Then he drew back, tightening his jaw. “I’ll find a way to convince her.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I will.”
“You already have so much,” Tess said slowly. “Mercurio, Fontana. Real estate, companies that sell sports cars, jewelry. Do you really need Zacco back that badly?” Searching his gaze, she said, “Couldn’t you just let it go?”