by Jennie Lucas
Now, as Tess attended runway shows and actually met the people who designed the clothes, all her old dreams came flooding back. Even the most famous designers hadn’t always been famous, she realized. Once they had been just like her, with nothing but a dream.
Each night, after they returned to their hotel suite, she’d peek into her old suitcase, at the handmade designs she couldn’t leave behind. Her eyes always fell on a beautiful, shimmery green gown she’d made right after she’d dropped out of design school. Facing single motherhood without a career, she’d been discouraged and afraid. So she’d made the fairy-tale dress to give herself hope for the future.
She’d never gotten a chance to wear it. Since marrying Stefano, she’d only worn designer clothes from luxury brands. But each night she lightly touched the green dress. Maybe, someday, she’d wear it. Maybe, someday, she’d even design again. Maybe, someday, she’d be brave.
But not today. She was too busy spending every moment with the husband she wasn’t allowed to love and with her baby, who had never seemed happier.
She could survive, Tess told herself. She could live without love. Her baby’s happiness was worth any sacrifice.
She still got lots of attention. Whenever she and Stefano went out, people spoke to her warmly.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
“It’s so good to see you again, Your Highness.”
“You do us honor, Your Highness.”
After so many years of living in her uncle’s attic, feeling invisible and unwanted, it felt like warm sunshine after a long, cold winter.
Between fashion events, Stefano took Tess and Esme to see the sights of Milan. He seemed to relish her gasps at every tourist attraction. As she went into raptures over the Duomo or the Teatro alla Scala, he always kissed her, which made her blush. Which made him kiss her more.
Family was what mattered. Her baby’s happiness mattered. Tess’s romantic dreams? Those were in the past, to be put away like childhood toys.
But, sometimes, she had to hide how much it hurt.
Stefano wasn’t always happy, either. She knew he was brooding about the upcoming Mercurio show and the stalled negotiations for Zacco. Sometimes, she caught him glaring at nothing, his hands clenched. Once she overheard him yelling at his lawyers. Apparently, they’d hit a brick wall. The Montfort woman was still flatly refusing to sell.
The afternoon before they left Milan, Stefano announced they needed a getaway and took them to a villa on Lake Como owned by one of his friends. There, their family had a picnic on the terrace, beneath a rose-covered trellis.
As their baby played, Tess looked out at the autumn sunlight shining off the lake, matching the soft glow in Stefano’s dark eyes. Sitting beside her at the stone table, he took her in his arms as the first cold wind blew down from the mountains across Lake Como.
How can you be so cruel? Tess thought wildly, looking up into the gleam of his dark eyes. How can he look at me like that unless he loves me?
I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea... I’d never want to make you unhappy or break your heart.
Remembering his words, she felt a chill. Whatever she imagined in his eyes, she couldn’t let herself believe it. He’d told her outright not to love him. So she wouldn’t. Her heart ached. What else could she believe in?
She had to find a new dream. But what?
Then she suddenly knew.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HANDS IN POCKETS, Stefano paced back and forth across his sprawling Paris apartment. He stopped, turning to glare at Tess, who was sitting in a chair, getting her hair and makeup done.
“Where is it?” he demanded for the tenth time. She gave him a tranquil smile.
“It will be here. Any minute.”
“What’s taking so long?” he growled, clawing back his hair. “We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes.”
“We have time.”
He exhaled, grateful for Tess’s calm smile. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. It was funny, he thought. He’d owned this Paris apartment for years, the entire top floor of an exclusive building in the 7th arrondissement, with balconies overlooking the Eiffel Tower and autumn-hued trees of the Champ de Mars. It had never felt like home to him. Now, having a family here, it did. Esme didn’t just have her own bedroom, she had her own nursery suite. Ann Carter was already there, playing with the baby.
“I’m dying to see Mercurio’s new spring collection,” said Genevieve Vincent, the stylist doing Tess’s hair, a friend of his. She smiled, tilting her head. “I’m sure you’ve already seen it, Stefano. What’s your honest opinion? I promise not to mention it in my blog—much.”
“Sorry, Genevieve. I can’t discuss it,” Stefano said. “But it’s going to be amazing.”
“Really? So you have seen it.” Genevieve looked hopeful. “Amazing, eh? Can I take that as a quote?”
He hesitated. The truth was, Caspar von Schreck, his new designer, had refused to let Stefano see any of the designs in advance, saying it would interfere with his creative process. But the man had promised to send samples of the best dresses for Tess to wear to the big runway show tonight.
The last thing Stefano needed was for rumors like “CEO tepid about new collection” to sink Mercurio’s new season before it even started. Praise seemed safe enough.
“It’s wonderful,” he said firmly. “The whole world will be impressed. And, yes, quote me.”
There was a hard knock at the door. The three of them looked at one another.
“See, Stefano?” Tess said cheerfully. “You worried over nothing!”
He heard his bodyguard in the foyer, answering the door. A moment later, Leon rolled in a large garment rack. The clothing was hidden by a thick canvas printed with the Mercurio logo of big block Ms.
“Finally,” Stefano said under his breath. Hurrying forward, he yanked off the cover.
His eyes went wide. Only three hangers, looking forlorn, hung from the enormous rack. He grabbed the first dress, hoping to be reassured that the new collection would be the success that Mercurio—and he—so desperately needed.
But he couldn’t make sense of it. He looked at the first dress, then the next, then the last. All three dresses were an unattractive shade of beige, with ragged, asymmetrical hems and strangely placed cutouts on the hips and breasts that seemed to defy the bounds of decency.
Genevieve stood beside him, her eyes wide. “Those are from Mercurio?”
Stefano bared his teeth in a smile. “Very...innovative, aren’t they?”
“Innovative?” Tess stood on the other side of him now, her lovely face incredulous. “Are you crazy?” She looked at the three dresses with increasing desperation. “They’re hideous!”
She was speaking his greatest fear aloud.
“Just choose one.” His voice was harsh. “And get dressed. I’ll check on the baby. Then we must go.”
Stefano went down the hall, trying to keep calm. Outside the nursery door, he paused, taking several deep breaths, his hands clenched at his sides. His designer knew what he was doing. The man was widely in demand. Everyone had said Caspar von Schreck was the best.
Obviously, Stefano must not understand the latest trends. And Tess and Genevieve didn’t, either.
At least he prayed it was so. Or he was about to be humiliated. And when his conglomerate’s share price plummeted, he’d literally pay the price.
Pushing the thought away, he smiled and went into the nursery. His baby daughter’s face lit up when she saw him.
“Bah-bah!” she said, reaching for him.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” the nanny said. “We were just reading a book.”
“I see that.” Lifting Esme up in his arms, he hugged her, breathing in the sweet smell of the baby’s dark hair. His heart swelled with some emotion he didn’t recognize—pride? Yes. It had to be pride. “Buonanotte,” he whispered to her, then returned the baby to Ann Carter’s arms.
As the nanny went back to readin
g a book about a duck and a truck, Stefano hesitated in the hallway. To his surprise, he almost wished he could stay. He wished he and Tess could be the ones to cuddle with Esme, and read her the story about the duck. Let Ann Carter go to the Mercurio show.
But that was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Straightening the cuffs of his sleek black jacket, he checked his platinum cuff links and wondered which dress Tess had chosen to wear. Luckily his wife was so beautiful that she’d make even a washed-out, raggedy gown look good.
When he came out of the hallway into the main room, he saw Genevieve packing up. Tess was ready, wrapped in a long black cape. He frowned.
“So, which dress did you choose?”
A determined look came over her beautiful face. “It’s a surprise.”
“But you did find one.”
“Yes, I did.” Her gaze was evasive. “I need to say good-night to Esme.”
A moment later, they left his luxury apartment. Their bodyguard held an umbrella overhead to keep out the cold October drizzle, soft as mist. As their limousine drove them across Paris, Tess held her long cape carefully over her gown. She wouldn’t let Stefano see even an inch of it.
She obviously desired to reveal her dress dramatically on the red carpet, he thought. It might have amused him if the stakes hadn’t been so high. After all, how much surprise was possible, really? One beige dress was very like another.
Stefano looked out at the sparkling City of Light, thinking how important tonight’s event was, not just to Mercurio, but to him personally.
If Caspar von Schreck’s new spring collection was a success, then Mercurio would flourish. Which meant the stock of Stefano’s parent company, Gioreale S.p.A, would rise. He’d be able to use it as collateral to make a new, higher offer to acquire Zacco from Fenella Montfort.
But if tonight wasn’t a success...
His hands tightened.
It just had to be.
Caspar von Schreck was the best, he repeated to himself. He was the hottest designer in the world. Everyone said so. How could it possibly fail?
The limo finally pulled up in front of the glamorous palais where the Mercurio show was being held. With all the secrecy and buzz, it had become the most-anticipated event of Paris Fashion Week.
The bodyguard opened his door. Buttoning his jacket, Stefano smoothed a confident smile over his features and stepped out.
The rain had stopped. Crowds cheered, recognizing him. So far, so good. Giving the crowd a short wave, he turned back to Tess. As he helped his wife out of the limo and onto the red carpet, cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions.
Ignoring them, Stefano looked down at his beautiful wife. He felt a flash of comfort. At least, no matter what, she was completely on his side.
Looking nervous but determined, Tess lifted her chin, then dropped the long black cape onto the red carpet.
Stefano’s jaw dropped as he saw her dress.
Not beige.
Not ragged.
Not Mercurio.
Tess wore a shimmering, diaphanous emerald dress that flattered both her figure and her coloring. Her green eyes sparkled in the light. Her red hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her full, sensual lips were the color of raspberries against her pale skin. She looked like a star on the red carpet.
There was a gasp, a sudden whirl of paparazzi frantically taking pictures.
“What a beautiful dress, Princess! Is that from Mercurio’s new spring collection?”
“Incredible!” another reporter shouted. “What a triumph!”
Slowly Tess turned to look at him, her eyes pleading. From the corner of his eye he saw their bodyguard collect her cape from the red carpet. Cameras flashed.
Stefano was frozen in shock.
His wife wasn’t wearing a dress from Mercurio’s new line. She wasn’t wearing Mercurio at all—or Fortuna or any of the Gioreale brands. She wasn’t even wearing Zacco.
He’d seen this exact dress in her suitcase. Seen her sighing over it once or twice, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He knew exactly what it was.
This amazing dress was Tess’s own design.
It was unheard-of to go rogue at an event like this. If you were an important guest of a fashion house’s runway show, you always wore their clothes even if they were borrowed from the company. You wore them as a mark of respect, to play the PR game.
So what did it say that the CEO’s new wife had snubbed the Mercurio brand to wear her own hand-stitched designs?
“Beautiful dress, Your Highness!” one of the reporters called to Tess. “So that’s a preview of tonight’s show?”
Tess blushed, looking more beautiful than ever. “No,” she said shyly, “actually, it’s—”
“It’s her design,” Stefano said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “My wife is an amazing new talent.”
Tess looked shocked, but not as shocked as the reporters. Stefano knew, in supporting Tess, he’d seem to be insulting his own company and his new designer. Not only was Tess wearing her own clothes, but Stefano was outright promoting them on the red carpet instead of Mercurio’s!
But what choice did he have? He set his jaw. How could Tess have put him in this position? How could she stab him in the back, injuring Mercurio’s reputation when everything was on the line?
Reporters surged breathlessly forward. “Prince Stefano, are you saying—”
“Is Caspar von Schreck’s job in jeopardy, Your Highness?”
“Is the spring collection a disappointment?”
Baring his teeth in a smile, Stefano said, “We’re very proud of Mercurio’s spring line. And tonight, you’ll see it for yourself. That’s all. Thank you.”
Gripping Tess’s arm, he walked her down the red carpet, not letting her stop for any other shouted questions.
“Thank you, oh, thank you, Stefano,” Tess whispered. She took a shuddering breath. “I was so scared what you’d say, but I couldn’t wear those dresses, I just couldn’t—”
“How could you, Tess?” he said under his breath. “The press think I am snubbing von Schreck and trying to launch you as a designer!”
She sucked in her breath. “So why did you support me?”
“The alternative was to let them think we were already having problems in our marriage. I had to act proud of you!”
“Act?” She turned pale. “You mean you’re not?”
Stefano ground his teeth. “You’re talented, Tess. No one can dispute that. Your dress—” his eyes traced over her curves “—is spectacular.”
Her eyes lit up. “Then—”
“But you can’t seriously want to launch your own company. Do you want to work eighty-hour weeks in a studio, leaving Esme with a nanny? Do you know what it’s like for a child to be raised that way? Because I do.”
Her jaw tightened. “Have you forgotten I’ve spent most of Esme’s life working flat out at my uncle’s bakery?”
“No. I haven’t,” he said grimly. “Nor have I forgotten the reason. Because I abandoned you without financial support.” Just thinking of how he’d left Tess and Esme destitute still made his stomach clench. “As long as you are my wife, you will have a comfortable life.”
“What if I don’t want to take it easy?” she retorted. “What if I want to follow my dreams?”
“What dreams? Being ‘an assistant to an assistant,’ as you charmingly put it, working endless days fetching coffee, doing very little design, for almost no pay?” he said scorchingly. “That’s your big dream, instead of caring for our daughter?”
Tess’s expression fell as they walked through the crowded foyer of the palais. “If I could find a way to do both...”
“Tonight the story was supposed to be Mercurio,” he ground out. “Instead, now it will be you.”
She looked abashed. With quiet defiance, she lifted her chin. “I couldn’t wear those dresses, Stefano. They were horrible. No woman alive would want to wear them.”
Her simple, obvious statement made
his heart stop.
Tess was right.
Stefano couldn’t imagine Caspar von Schreck’s beige, peculiar dresses on any woman of his acquaintance. What did that mean?
It meant that the new collection would fail.
It meant the stock price would fall.
It meant Zacco was lost for good.
As they entered the enormous ballroom in the palace, where Mercurio’s runway show would be held, Stefano forced himself to greet people, to act confident, as if he didn’t already know the battle was lost. As he spoke to acquaintances, he gripped his wife’s hand. He was relieved when the lights started to flicker, an indication that the show was about to begin.
They found their seats. For this one show, he’d wanted to sit in the front row. He looked around them at the cavernous space. Were those smoke machines?
Foreboding went through him.
A moment after they sat down, all the lights abruptly went off, turning the ballroom completely black.
For a moment, the hundreds of guests inside the palais were silent. He smelled smoke. Then dramatic electronic music began to thunder around them. A strobe light, high overhead, began to flash outrageous patterns against the smoke.
Pain rose to Stefano’s temples, throbbing in time to the loud music and pulsing lights.
The first model started down the catwalk, wearing a dress just like the ones von Schreck had sent them earlier. It did not look any better on the model than it had on the hanger. The dress’s cutouts highlighted strange parts of the model’s body—her lower belly, beneath her armpit and half her breast—making her look awkward and peculiar. The sickening beige color made the girl’s face look so washed-out she almost looked dead.
It’s a disaster, Stefano thought wildly. But at least he’d been prepared. At least things couldn’t get worse.
Then they got worse.
Avant-garde was how the most charitable magazines described the Mercurio show later. More typical words to describe it were epic fail and instant internet meme.
