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The Heir The Prince Secures
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Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
TESS COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.
She glanced at Stefano out of the corner of her eye. They were sitting in the back seat of his expensive Rolls-Royce, with their baby in a car seat between them, as his uniformed driver maneuvered the morning rush-hour traffic already clogging the streets and avenues of New York in every direction.
She’d thought—really thought—that once he had proof he was Esme’s father that he would offer to help her somehow. Hadn’t he said that if he was the father, it would change everything?
Instead, he was taking her and Esme back to Brooklyn, to drop her off at her uncle’s bakery on his way to the airport. Leaving Tess to face her uncle’s wrath alone, while he flew off to London as planned.
Stefano had changed nothing.
Her disillusionment was complete.
“You’re very quiet,” Stefano said.
She couldn’t even talk to him right now. Leaning forward, she spoke to the driver. “Thanks for the ride. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to drive in Manhattan.”
“You don’t know how to drive?” Stefano said.
She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I’m a New York girl. I take the subway.”
But, as she spoke, her hand unconsciously stroked the smooth leather of the seat. It was a strangely sensual experience. But she’d only been in a luxury car like this once before. The night he’d seduced her. The night she’d conceived Esme.
“Ba-ba-ba,” the baby said wonderingly beside her, waving her fat arms. Tess looked down at Esme with a tender smile.
“Yes. Exactly.”
After Stefano had woken her up that morning, she’d fed and changed Esme, and brushed her own hair and teeth. A chauffeured Rolls-Royce had been waiting at the curb as they’d come out the front door of the Campania Hotel, and she’d found a brand-new infant car seat had already been installed in the back seat.
This must be what it’s like to be rich, Tess thought. Your path through life was always smooth, because paid employees ran ahead of you, clearing and tidying up every problem or delay. Even a child was no problem, apparently. You could just drop her off with a clear conscience and fly away on your jet.
“You’re angry with me,” Stefano said quietly.
As they traveled over the Brooklyn Bridge, Tess looked at him and immediately regretted it. “Why would I be angry?”
His eyes were dark and serious. “It’s better this way.”
“Better for who?”
“For you.” He looked at the happy, gurgling baby. “For her.”
Tess forced herself to smile. “You’re probably right.”
This would probably be the last time she’d ever see him, she realized. Stefano had made that clear since he’d woken her up and told her coldly that Esme was definitely his child, which, duh, she’d already known. What she’d hadn’t known, what she’d waited with painful hope to hear, was how he would react to the news.
But all he’d said was that he was taking her home. After that, he’d avoided looking at her while the hotel staff had brought down his luggage from his suite.
Which was its own answer, really. Even now that Stefano had proof that Esme was his child, in spite of his earlier words, he didn’t actually intend to do anything about it.
Tess was on her own.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. For over a year, she’d dreamed of Stefano returning to claim her, taking her in his arms, kissing her, begging her to be his bride. She’d dreamed of taking only one lover her whole life, and loving him for a lifetime. Being a family.
From the moment she’d met him on the street yesterday, she’d been forced to accept that, though Stefano Zacco might be a prince, he wasn’t anything like the Prince Charming she’d imagined him to be. Still, part of her, deep inside, had hoped that once he knew without a doubt that Esme was his child, he’d change.
She was so stupid. Why did she always seek hope even at times she should have clearly accepted defeat?
“I want only the best for you both,” Stefano said now. His black eyes pierced her heart.
His every action proved those words a lie. Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the passing buildings and said in a small voice, “So you’re off to London now?”
“Yes. To negotiate for Zacco.”
Her voice trembled a little as she said, “Good luck.”
“Grazie,” he said flatly.
They made their way through the most fashionable section of Brooklyn, toward the slightly less upscale neighborhood where her uncle’s bakery had been started by his grandfather in 1940. Heads on the sidewalks turned as the gleaming car passed by.
She felt a hollow pang in her belly as she whispered, “My uncle is going to be furious because I was out all night...”
“Why do you care? You are only here to collect your things, and the baby’s.”
Frowning, Tess looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
Stefano snorted. “Surely you cannot wish to remain here, working yourself to exhaustion for little pay.”
What choice do I have? She bit back the bitter words. She wouldn’t let Stefano think she was asking for his money or anything else not freely given.
She was being foolish, she knew. Her practical, financially focused friend Lola would be screaming at her right now to demand a hefty dose of child support, as was her right, and as he could easily afford.
But she couldn’t do it.
Tess had once wondered how her friend Hallie could have ever refused money from Cristiano Moretti under similar circumstances. Now, for the first time, she understood. It was because, after losing so much, sometimes a woman had only her pride left to cling to.
She set her jaw. “We’ll be fine.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve already called my lawyer.”
Confused, she turned to him. “A lawyer? Why?”
“Now that I have proof of Esme’s paternity, I cannot evade responsibility.”
She sucked in her breath. “What do you mean?”
“Tess.” Stefano’s dark eyes glittered in the gray morning light. “Did you really think I’d leave you and Esme without a penny? My driver will return later this morning to collect you and Esme, and take you to my lawyer’s office in Midtown. He’ll arrange for your bank account and funds to buy a nice apartment in any neighborhood you desire. My driver will be at your disposal anytime, day or night. All your needs will be provided for, anything you need to make your life more comfortable. A housekeeper, a cook, charge accounts at every department store, private school for Esme.”
Tess’s mouth was open. “What?”
Stefano gave a hard, careless smile. “Why does this surprise you? It is now my duty to provide for you. You will never have to work again, Tess. Or do anything you do not wish to do.”
Behind him, dimly Tess could see the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan skyline across the East River as the Rolls-Royce turned into her neighborhood.
When he’d said he wanted to take responsibility, for a moment she’d actually thought he intended to help raise their child, to be a real father; instead, he just meant money.
She should have been thrilled by his offer. Lola would have told her so in no uncertain terms. But she wasn’t. Stefano made her feel as if she and Esme were merely another unpleasant obligation, like an electricity bill.
Sadness filled her heart. Her shoulders sagged as she turned away, staring out at the Brooklyn street. Her street.
“Tess?”
As they pulled up in front of the bakery, she said in a low voice, “I don’t want your money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s all arranged. Watson will be back in about two hours, won’t you, Watson?”
“Maybe three, depending on the traffic, Your Highness.”
Stefano reached over the baby’s car seat to take Tess’s hand in his own. “You’re free,” he said in a low voice. “You and the baby can enjoy your lives.” He paused. “Someday you’ll find a man who deserves you both.”
“Thanks,” she said over the lump in her throat, pulling her hand away. His patronizing words burned her to the core. She would have preferred it if he’d told her that he found her boring and that he’d rather eat glass than raise a child. At least then she could have respected his honesty. Instead, he was trying to make it sound like he was abandoning Tess for her
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