The Heir the Prince Secures

Stefano took their baby from her uncle. Turning to Tess, he wrapped them both in the security of his powerful arms. His dark eyes were luminous with love and hope. “We’ll find new dreams together.”

With an unsteady laugh, Tess reached up and ran her hand over his rough, unshaven cheek. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I love you, wife,” he said huskily, instantly proving her statement wrong. Then he kissed her with all the sweetness and power of a dream that would last forever.

*

“Look, Esme!” Tess beamed as she pointed out the window toward the parade on Central Park West. “Santa!”

“She’s just seven months old. I think she might be a little young to care about Christmas,” Stefano said, smiling at them tenderly. Tess grinned back.

“It’s never too soon to start family traditions.”

They’d just bought their new co-op, and most of their furniture still hadn’t arrived, but Tess had desperately wanted them to move in before the New York Thanksgiving Day parade in late November.

“So we can start our first holiday season right,” she’d said. “Just think of all the memories we’ll make!”

Of course, Stefano had agreed. He couldn’t wait to make memories with Tess. In their bedroom. Tonight.

Coming forward now, he wrapped his wife and baby in his arms as they looked out the huge window at the view of the parade and Central Park beyond. The festive season had just begun.

Later today, friends and family would arrive for the traditional American feast of turkey and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. As their dishes and pots hadn’t arrived yet—they were lucky to even have a big table and chairs—the meal would be catered from one of the city’s finest restaurants.

Except for the desserts and rolls, of course. Those would be provided by Tess’s family.

No longer Foster Bros. Bakery, it was changing to the Foster Sisters, as her two young cousins were eager to take over. They’d been bored by college, and had instead taken a loan from Tess and Stefano—at exceedingly generous terms—to buy the bakery from their father and mother, who’d just left to sail the world. The older couple, who’d always secretly yearned for adventure, were finally seizing the day.

It was never too late to change your life. Or to change yourself. Hadn’t Stefano learned that better than anyone?

After his obsessive attention the previous month, his company, Gioreale, was running better than ever and had just hit its highest stock valuation in its history. Mercurio had received amazing press after hiring the respected, beloved designer, Aiko Sakurai. Mercurio’s stock price had gone up. Zacco’s had gone down.

But the Zacco brand now mattered as little to him as the Palazzo Zacco in Ragusa. Neither had anything to do with him, in spite of the name.

The name wasn’t important, Stefano had realized. Only the people.

Every time he remembered his years—decades—of unspeakable loneliness, of hollow wealth and cheap pleasures as he tried to pursue a useless goal, he shuddered a little, and thanked fate for sending his wife to save his soul.

Otherwise, who knew? He might be married now to Fenella Montfort. Ice went down at his spine at the thought.

The woman had quickly recovered from Stefano’s rejection and immediately started dating her company’s new designer, Caspar von Schreck. It had only been a few weeks, but already there’d been public clashes, fights and rumors of infidelity on both sides. Another shudder went through Stefano.

He was so happy to be out of that world. And so thankful to be in this one.

He looked down at his wife, so soft and loving. The gold signet ring glinted on her left hand. It had been resized to fit her slender ring finger. “I don’t want a diamond,” she’d told him. “I just want this. Because it’s part of you.” Remembering, Stefano’s arms tightened around Tess as their baby suddenly giggled, waving her stuffed giraffe.

“Mama,” Esme blurted out happily, causing Tess to squeal with delight, as she always did. Esme beamed proudly. It was a new trick she’d just learned a few days ago. Her first word.

“Dada,” Stefano said coaxingly now. “Dada.”

Perplexed, Esme stared at him, her fingers in her mouth. Then she pulled her hand away.

“Mama,” she repeated proudly.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Tess praised, covering her baby’s fat cheeks with kisses. Still giggling, his wife looked back at him. “I see you haven’t lost your competitive streak.”

“Never have. Never will. And since you don’t want me to invest in your company—”

“Hallie and I are doing very well, thank you.”