The Heir the Prince Secures

“Business is booming, which is reflected in Zacco’s stock price, and will make it harder to convince her to sell. But I assure you,” he whispered, cradling her cheek, “you have nothing to worry about, cara. All I want from her is Zacco. Believe me.”

She bit her plump, pink lower lip. “And what do you want from me?”

“From you?” he said huskily. “Everything.”

He kissed her again, deeply. It was far easier to take her in his arms with no baby seat between them in the back seat. When the limo stopped, it took him a moment to notice. The back door opened, but he didn’t feel the cold air.

The driver politely cleared his throat. “We’re here, Your Highness.”

Reluctantly Stefano pulled away from the embrace and tenderly rubbed away a smear of lipstick from Tess’s cheek. At the same moment she reached up and wiped it off his lips. Looking at each other, they gave an awkward laugh. Then, after getting out of the car, he held out his arm. “Come,” he said in a low voice. “I can hardly wait to introduce you.”

CHAPTER SIX

STEFANO THOUGHT HE knew luxury, but this was truly over the top.

The Zacco party was in full swing at Fenella Montfort’s luxurious, five-story town house near Kensington Palace. Everything was lavish, from the flowers to the champagne to the army of uniformed servants. He himself certainly had his share of household employees, but Fenella’s party was staffed at levels that made Downton Abbey look chintzy.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the Zacco brand. Everything from pillows to brocade curtains was festooned with the famous curlicue Zs.

Stefano’s stomach clenched. He thought of how his lawyers’ negotiations had already stalled. Fenella’s lawyers were stonewalling, claiming she had no desire to sell. Zacco, always glamorous, had become wildly fashionable since Fenella had become CEO.

The offbeat, colorful, ridiculously expensive clothes were now splashed all over magazine covers, trendy with Hollywood, old-money and social-media celebrities alike. The stock price had increased 20 percent in the last year.

In that same time, Stefano’s own new fashion brand, Mercurio, had tanked. Their previous creative director’s lackluster designs had done poorly in every market. It took a special sort of skill, he thought grimly, to bomb simultaneously on every continent at once.

He consoled himself with the thought that Mercurio’s new collection, to be debuted in two weeks in Paris by the hot young designer he’d recently hired, would soon get the company back on track.

But the truth was Mercurio meant nothing to him compared to the brand that bore his family name. He had to get Zacco back at any price. If he couldn’t, what had he been working for all these years? What was the point of success if he couldn’t get what he wanted most?

“Your Highness!” a well-known German artist greeted him, shaking hands.

“Stefano—good to see you!” A famous model kissed him on each cheek, then, before Tess could decide to be jealous, the model kissed her exactly the same way and moved on to the next person.

A glamorous older woman with hip-length black hair walked by, trailing an entourage of wildly dressed young people. The woman paused when she saw Stefano.

“Your Highness,” she said, nodding her head briefly.

“Mrs. Sakurai,” he said, with the same respectful nod.

The woman glanced at Tess without recognition, then continued through the party with her entourage and a crowd of adoring fans in her wake.

Stefano turned to Tess. “That woman is—”

“Aiko Sakurai,” she breathed, staring after her. Stefano’s eyes widened.

“You know her?”

“I studied her in design school. She’s amazing. Her designs—” Tess shook her head. “I could only wish to be half so talented as her.”

“She’s older than you,” he pointed out. “She’s had more experience.”

“What she’s done as Zacco’s creative director isn’t just experience. It’s genius.”

“Yes, unfortunately. Thanks to her, Zacco’s valuation has gone up billions and become completely unaffordable,” he said grumpily. Catching himself, he looked down at Tess with a smile. “Come. There are others I want you to meet.”

For the next hour, they drank cocktails as he introduced her to CEOs and friends and journalists, all members of the international fashion jet set. They congratulated them on their marriage and were eager to meet Tess. No wonder, he thought. With his

wife’s warmth and beauty and charm, not to mention the inherent star power of being the unknown working-class Brooklyn girl who’d managed to tame a playboy like Stefano, Tess was quickly the most popular person in the room.