The Heir the Prince Secures

The electronic music and flashing lights that added such drama to the darkness abruptly faded with a loud scratching squeal. The Hokey Pokey played on the loudspeakers, the old children’s song sounding somehow threatening rather than playful. The first model disappeared, and new models started rapidly coming down the catwalk one by one, wearing large, cartoonish animal masks that completely covered their heads, as if to distract the audience from all the lumpy beige and greige dresses.

A hush fell across the crowd, then tittering laughter. Camera phones came up.

And that was even before a model wearing a lion mask, who probably couldn’t see well through the huge fuzzy mane, tripped on her high heels and fell off the catwalk, landing on the lap of a senior editor of Vogue Italia. The other models kept walking as if nothing had happened.

Stefano felt his wife’s gentle hand on his arm. She was watching him with worried eyes. He realized his hands had tightened into fists.

The show seemed to last forever. When it was finally over, Caspar von Schreck, the young, trendy designer whom everyone on the Gioreale board of directors had pleaded for Stefano to hire, came out wearing a full lumberjack beard, baggy tweed trousers and an open shirt. Holding his little dog against his chest, he waved at the crowd and bowed as if he had done something amazing.

He had, Stefano realized. With one stroke, he’d just caused Stefano to lose his chance at buying back the company that had been in his family for generations.

No. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t von Schreck’s fault. It was Stefano’s. He should have insisted on seeing the designs in advance. He should have known that just because the designer was talented, it didn’t also mean that he wasn’t crazy drunk on his own vanity.

“Oh, my God,” a socialite breathed behind them, turning to speak into her camera for social media. “Did you all see that? My Halloween costume is sorted!”

Stefano rose abruptly to his feet, his jaw tight, and headed backstage.

He already knew that the stock price would plummet tomorrow. Even though Stefano was Gioreale’s CEO and primary shareholder, he’d still have to explain this disgrace to other shareholders and the media, and explain how, under his leadership, Mercurio had gone from stock loser to international laughingstock.

“Stefano—”

Behind him, Tess’s voice was pleading, but he didn’t stop for her. He couldn’t.

There was only one person he wanted to talk to right now. And it would be all he could do not to talk with his fists.

*

Tess felt sick to her stomach as she followed Stefano backstage. This was the Mercurio fashion show?

Where was the fashion?

All she’d seen was a bunch of starved-looking girls, many of them younger than her cousins, walking in clothes that looked like ripped-up grocery bags, stumbling down the catwalk in ridiculous animal helmets. It might be called performance art; to Tess it was just silly.

This was the show her husband had so badly wanted to be perfect. She glanced at Stefano’s tight shoulders in his tailored black jacket as he strode ahead of her through the crowd. Although she felt badly for him, something told her that her sympathy would be unwelcome.

Backstage was a madhouse of stylists and models with racks of clothes and people everywhere.

An American reporter, the cohost of an influential morning talk show, stepped into his path, hovering with a live camera crew.

“Your Highness! Prince Stefano! May I get a comment? What did you think of Mercurio’s spring collection?”

“We are, of course, very proud,” Stefano ground out, “to have such a daring, avant-garde artist as our creative director. His vision is world changing.”

Tess could see from her husband’s taut jaw how he really felt about it, no matter the PR spin he was trying to put on it. Then she heard wild yelling and barking.

Turning, she saw Caspar von Schreck loudly berating a young woman. His little dog was barking, adding to the noise. The shamed girl stood in tears, holding the lion mask in her arms.

Tess recognized Kebe, the beautiful model Stefano had once given a ride home in New York. She was the model who’d tripped on stage, Tess realized. She barely looked older than her nineteen-year-old cousin Natalie.

“You idiot,” Caspar von Schreck was screaming into her face, flecks of spittle flying. “You clumsy clod!”

“Please, Mr. von Schreck,” the girl whispered. Her shoulders slumped. “It was an accident...”

“You ruined my show with your incompetence!” the bearded designer shrieked. “I’m going to make sure you never work in this business again!”

Tess moved without even realizing it. She stood between the tearful young girl and the world-famous designer.

The man’s bloodshot eyes narrowed as he sneered at Tess. “And what do you want?”