Stefano returned his grin, then looked at Tess. “Besides. I know Moretti, and he has too much pride in his hotel to ever serve any guest badly. Even me. He contents himself by merely marking up my bill to an exorbitant amount.”
Tess glanced at Dalton, feeling awkward to be discussing Cristiano like this, in
front of one of his employees. She asked Stefano helplessly, “Don’t you mind all the conflict?”
“No.”
“You like it!” she accused.
Stefano said with a careless smile, “A man can be measured by the quality of his enemies.”
“My mother used to say that you can be measured by the strength of your love for family and friends.”
He snorted. “That is the most sentimental thing I have ever heard in my life. What was your mother’s profession?”
“Theater actress.” A flash of grief went through her as she thought of her loving but impractical mother, dragging her as a child through summer stock plays and minor roles in small New England towns. She added softly, “Though she was never very successful at it.”
“And your father?”
She felt a different kind of grief. “My mother raised me alone.” She raised her chin. “You can set me down anytime. I’m perfectly able to stand.”
“Not yet,” he said shortly. “Not until we reach my suite.”
With a sigh, Tess watched the elevator numbers go higher. Her baby gave another soft whine from the stroller. Esme was tired and she needed to be fed. At this rate, they wouldn’t be home till midnight. Tess hated the thought of coming home so late and facing her uncle’s wrath.
The elevator door slid open, and Stefano carried her down the hall. As Dalton held open the door, he took her into the suite.
Tess looked around her in amazement.
The royal suite was lavish, spread out across the corner of one of the Campania’s highest floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided views of Manhattan from every room. Carrying her into the elegant living room, which had a grand piano in the corner, Stefano finally set her down gently on a white sofa.
“Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m not an invalid.” She started to get up from the sofa, then felt dizzy and fell back against the pillows. “I just want my baby—”
Without a word, Stefano went back to the foyer. She saw him reach into his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said, handing Dalton a folded fistful of bills.
“You’re so welcome,” the doorman replied fervently, and, with a respectful nod toward Tess, he left.
Kneeling in front of the stroller, Stefano unbuckled the unhappy baby, lifting her up into his arms.
Father and daughter looked at each other with the same dark eyes. Esme’s whimpering stopped. The baby reached out a flailing arm and touched her father’s face.
Stefano laughed, looking down at her. His expression changed. It became almost...tender. Watching them, Tess felt her heart twist in her chest.
Clearing his throat, he returned to the sofa and placed the baby in Tess’s arms. Esme immediately nuzzled toward her.
“Do you want anything else?” he asked.
With a lump in her throat, Tess shook her head. She couldn’t tell him the truth.
There was something she wanted, almost more than she could bear. Watching Stefano hold her baby, she’d wanted him to be the man she’d once believed him to be.
*
Two hours later, as Stefano shut the door behind the departing doctor, he looked back across the shadows of the royal suite. Tess and the baby had fallen asleep on the white sofa with the wide view of sparkling city lights. Beside her, there was an empty tray, with only crumbs left of her sandwich and soup. She’d gulped down three glasses of water, too.