She shifted her feet uncertainly on the tile floor. “You—you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t mean it,” she choked out, searching his gaze desperately. “A man like you could never be faithful to just one woman.”
“You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I’ve seen the damage of that in my parents’ marriage. I would never betray you.”
Tess bit her lip, looking up at him.
“Say yes, dearie!” cried the bakery’s only customer, an elderly woman nursing a coffee at the furthest table. “He’s a hunk!”
“I...” Tess looked down. Her dark eyelashes swept against the smattering of freckles on her pale cheeks. “I don’t understand. The only good reason to marry,” she said in a small voice, “is for love.”
“You once said you loved me,” he pointed out.
Her lips curved. “As you pointed out, that was before I even knew you.”
The edges of his lips quirked. “So, get to know me.”
Her eyes widened, then she shook her head, repeating stubbornly, “Love is the only reason for marriage.”
Stefano thought about arguing with her, of pointing out that, in his opinion, romantic love was at best a biological reaction brought on by hormones and pheromones to coax a couple into settling into domestic life; at worst it was a delusion, an intoxicating dream that people used like a drug to escape real life. But with Tess’s romantic heart, suddenly he knew all rational arguments would be wasted. Only an emotional appeal would work.
Deliberately, he lowered his head so his lips nearly brushed against her ear. He felt her shiver as he breathed in the scent of her red hair, like vanilla and flowers.
“You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be my wife. Only you.”
He felt her shiver as she pulled away. Her emerald eyes were almost pleading. “But...”
He cupped her cheek. “I can make you and Esme happy,” he said softly. “You’ll always be protected and safe. We’ll travel the world by private jet. You’ll have homes in Paris and Rome and St. Barts. A castle in Sicily.”
Her lips parted. “You have a castle?”
“It’s a bit of a ruin.” He gave her a wickedly seductive smile. “But yes.”
“A castle,” she whispered to herself.
Still, Tess didn’t say yes. Other women might have been lured with dreams of wealth and status—not her.
Stefano took a different tack.
“You had to drop out of design school,” he murmured, twisting a tendril of her red hair around his finger. “As my wife, you’ll be far more influential in the fashion world than any mere designer. You’ll be invited to every event. Runway shows. Fashion awards. Berlin. The Met Gala.”
“I will?” she breathed.
He drew her closer into his arms, not caring who saw. Even baby Esme seemed almost solemn, watching from the stroller.
“Let me make you a princess.” His hand gently stroked down her cheek to the edge of her throa
t, to her shoulder. His gaze fell to her pink lips as he whispered, “Let me give you the fairy tale.”
Tess’s eyes were huge. He could see she was tempted. But, still, she didn’t say yes.
Why?
He thought of everything he’d ever done to persuade a woman into his bed. He’d never imagined, he thought with grim amusement, that he’d someday need even greater charm to persuade a woman to wed.
What else could he offer, aside from the heart he did not have? What could he propose that wasn’t a lie?