Phantom Marriage

For over a year, she’d ignored her uncle’s criticism, her aunt’s disappointed sighs and her friends’ teasing. She’d told herself Stefano would come back to her. But after seeing Hallie and Cristiano together, so happy together in their own little world, Tess had realized she was fooling herself.

Give it up. A memory came of Lola’s tart voice. He’s never coming back, Tess.

Tess stopped. As streams of people passed by her stroller on both sides of the sidewalk, she savagely wiped tears off her cheeks. She’d planned to take the subway back to Brooklyn with her baby rather than ask Hallie for a ride and risk crying in front of her. Her friends always teased her about being too cheerful and optimistic. She couldn’t let them know how she really felt inside.

But that was wrong. Hallie was her friend, and Tess had left without so much as a farewell. Taking a deep breath, she tried to smooth her face into a smile. She’d go back inside now and congratulate Hallie. And if she asked why Tess was crying—

As Tess started to turn, she walked into a wall.

Not a wall. A man.

For a second, she saw stars from the blunt force of hitting her head against his chest. Dizzy, she shook her head, mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “It was my fault—”

Then she saw him.

For a second, Tess couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded in her throat as she tilted her head back to stare at the man’s handsome face, his sharp cheekbones and jawline shadowed by the lights of the hotel’s grand porte cochere.

Tall and dark-haired, the man wore a sleek black jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, and trousers that fit snugly over powerful thighs. His tailored shirt was open a single button at the neck.

He wasn’t strictly handsome, perhaps. His aquiline profile was a bit too arrogant, the set of his square jaw too thuggish. But he gave the impression of intense masculine beauty. His face was arresting, his body powerful, giving him the look of a dark angel.

The man’s eyes widened, the irises so dark as to be almost black against his olive-colored

skin.

Tess’s lips parted.

“Stefano?” she whispered, gripping the handle of the stroller for balance. “Is it really you?”

She knew those dark eyes. That handsome face. Those cruel, sensual lips. She knew every bit of him. She’d dreamed of him, day and night, for over a year.

“Tess,” he murmured.

His low, husky voice caressed the short syllable of her name. So he was real, then. He was real.

“You came back for me,” she whispered. Joy rose inside her, brighter than all the lights of Broadway and Times Square put together. “You came back!”

His jaw tightened. He looked down at her from his lofty height, his broad shoulders towering over her. “What do you want?”

What did she want? She wanted to throw her arms around him, to cry out her happiness to all the world. After a difficult year, with everyone mocking her, this proved that happy endings still happened as long as your heart was true and you had faith. She’d been right!

But, as Tess moved to throw her arms around him, Stefano stepped back from her.

Something was wrong. She bit her lip, bewildered. “I am so happy to see you. Did you just get back?”

“Get back?”

“To New York.” When he didn’t answer, she continued with a blush, “Our night together, you said that you had to return to Europe but you’d be back soon—”

“Oh. Yes.” His chiseled face was dark with shadow beneath his hard cheekbones as the lights of passing traffic moved past them on the avenue. “I’ve been in New York often this summer. And now for Fashion Week, of course.”

“You’ve been here all this time?” A chill went through her as her joy withered inside her. She whispered, “And you didn’t want to see me?”

Stefano frowned. His voice was a low baritone. “I liked you very much, Tess. It was an amazing night. But…”

“But?” she croaked.