He didn’t love her.
He hadn’t even tried.
Ice cut through her heart. She’d thought she knew him. In her mind, Prince Stefano Zacco was an honorable, dashing, scarred hero, Heathcliff and Mr. Darcy rolled into one. But the truth was that, throughout their marriage, as she’d made one compromise after another, sacrificing little fragments of herself for his sake, he hadn’t done the same.
“I told you I loved you,” she whispered, trying not to cry.
His jaw set. “And I told you, that’s not something I can give you. I wish it were.”
“You didn’t even try,” she said miserably.
Leaning forward, he grasped her hand over the table.
“I can’t,” he said quietly. “So just take what I can give you, Tess. Take it, and be happy.”
For a moment, she looked at him, at this magnificent great hall in the Sicilian castle, surrounded by diamonds and flowers and silver and expensive champagne, a fire roaring in the fireplace.
All this elegance and grace, she thought dully. All something out of a fairy tale. A fashion magazine.
Once, she’d yearned to be part of this world. If she stayed, if she agreed to his terms, she could be. All her childhood dreams could come true.
Except the one that really mattered.
Could she choose this beautiful, glamorous life, one that others would envy, when it meant she’d never be really, truly loved? Never ever, not until the day she died?
The answer thundered in her heart.
No.
Love was what she wanted. Real love.
And if Stefano couldn’t love her, she had to be true to her own heart.
Pulling her hand away, she looked at him with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She choked out, “I can’t.”
Stefano appeared astonished. Then his black eyes glittered in the firelight. “Can’t, or won’t?”
Her voice shook. “What’s the difference?”
His dark brows lowered like a thundercloud. He growled, “Then what the hell do you want?”
Tess looked at him and, with a deep breath, she made one final attempt.
“What I want,” she whispered, “is for you to be brave enough to admit you love me, too.”
*
It was suddenly quiet in the great hall. Stefano heard the crackle of the fire as logs snapped and burned. He heard the roar of blood pounding in his ears.
What I want is for you to be brave enough to admit you love me.
Stefano had spent the last four days running from her. He’d fled first to Paris, then London and Madrid. He’d done it to check on the efficiency of Gioreale’s regional offices.
No. That was a lie. He’d been desperate to escape Tess’s words. He couldn’t let her love him. He couldn’t love her back.
And, yet, he couldn’t leave her.
Today at dawn, he’d had the solution. Giving Tess, who’d never even graduated from design school, an important job at Mercurio was a huge risk. But it was a risk Stefano was willing to take. He wanted Tess to be happy. To be fulfilled.