The man’s bloodshot eyes narrowed as he sneered at Tess. “And what do you want?”
Tess stuck out her chin. “You’re the one who should never work in this business again, you horrible man!”
A gasp went through backstage, followed by a low, gleeful hiss. The designer’s eyes widened as silence fell and everyone turned to watch.
Von Schreck glared at Tess.
“And who are you?” He looked dismissively over her shimmering green gown. “You didn’t even wear Mercurio to the show. You are nobody!”
Tess felt suddenly calm.
“You’re right,” she said evenly. “I’m nobody. But I know good clothes when I see them, and the three dresses you sent us today were the ugliest clothes in history!”
“The three...” The designer’s eyes widened. “Wait. Are you—?”
“And you must know it, because why else would you force these poor girls to wear animal helmets? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
A low current of malicious laughter went through the backstage area. The designer was obviously not well liked even among his own people.
The designer’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he took a step toward her. “Shut up.”
“How dare you bully everyone!” He’d probably been cruel to his underlings, she thought, just like the poor tearful girl behind her. Imagining someone being so mean to her cousins or her daughter, Tess glared at him. “You might be famous,” she said, her back snapping straight, “but the truth is, you’re nothing but a no-talent hack!”
Von Schreck gave an enraged growl, drawing his hand back, as if to hit Tess across the face.
But his arm was caught.
“Don’t even think about it,” Stefano said coldly. He threw the man’s arm aside. “You’re fired, von Schreck.”
The designer’s face went pale. “Fired?”
“I agree with everything my wife just said.” Stefano looked at him. “Now get the hell out.”
Caspar von Schreck sucked in his breath, his cheeks red as he looked around them, at the live camera crew and the models recording the moment on their camera phones. He stiffened.
“You can’t fire me. I quit!” The designer tossed his head, causing his beard to flutter like a flag. “Mercurio doesn’t deserve my amazing talent.” Looking around, he proclaimed loudly, “Last week, Fenella Montfort offered me a job at Zacco, and I’m going to take it! That’s a real fashion house!” As his dog barked noisily in his arms, he added maliciously, “Didn’t Zacco used to be your company, Your Highness?”
Stefano took a step toward him, his dark eyes glittering. “Get out.”
“Good luck finding a designer half as genius as me!” With a final toss of his beard, Caspar von Schreck turned on his heel and left, his dog yipping back at them angrily.
Exhaling in relief, Tess smiled up at Stefano, feeling so proud of him her heart could burst. Turning to the tearstained young model behind her, she said, “Are you all right?”
Kebe nodded, her eyes big. “Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. “You had no reason to take my side.”
“I had every reason. You’re my husband’s friend.” Tess shook her head. “And no one has the right to treat people that way!”
Feeling a jacket suddenly covering her own bare shoulders, Tess looked up at Stefano. A strange emotion glowed in his dark eyes. He said quietly, “I’m glad you were here.”
Her heart warmed beneath his glance.
Stefano glanced at Kebe. “Your mother will be heartbroken when she hears how you were treated. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell her how you both rushed to my defense.” Kebe grimaced. “But first I’m going to change out of this hideous dress.”
“Prince Stefano!” The American reporter was panting in her rush to stick a microphone into his face. “There’s a rumor going around that you deliberately fired von Schreck so you could replace him with your new wife, though she has no fashion experience whatsoever... Any comment?”
Tess’s eyes went wide with shock. “No, it’s not true.”
“He was fired for gross incompetence,” Stefano said evenly. “And for abusing the staff. Mercurio will start fresh next season. Though my wife is amazingly talented, she’s focused on raising our daughter. Thank you.”
“Your Highness!” Other reporters and bloggers were already fighting their way through the crowds backstage.
Stefano grabbed Tess’s hand. “Excuse us.”
Holding her hand tightly, he pulled her away. The front of the palais was just as much of a madhouse. People were yelling things out to them and blocking their path, and everywhere Tess looked she saw camera phones recording them.
For the first time, she understood the need for bodyguards as Leon suddenly appeared to help clear a path through the crowds. She didn’t exhale until they were safely in the back seat of the limo.
The chauffeur drove them away, with Leon sitting in the front seat beside him.
Stefano turned to her. “I’m glad you were here tonight, Tess.” Reaching out, he cupped her cheek. “Thank you for what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“The right thing,” he said quietly. “No matter the cost.”
The sparkling city lights glittered beneath the autumn drizzle as the limo flew through the Paris night. Taking her into his strong arms, Stefano kissed her.
* * *
A week later, Stefano rose wearily from his desk in his private office of Gioreale’s Paris headquarters. It was almost midnight, and the building was quiet. Even Agathe Durand had gone home, at his orders.
Rolling his shoulders, he went to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. No ice, not water. Just Scotch. Taking it back to the window, he stood looking out at the cold October night.
The large window overlooked the modern, bright steel-and-glass buildings of La Défense, Paris’s business district to the west of the city. The moon seemed frosted with ice crystals in the darkness.
Stefano felt like a fool. He still had no designer for Mercurio. The luxury brand was in free fall. Before, it had been merely unfashionable; now it was a joke.
As threatened, Caspar von Schreck had gone to work for Zacco. Stefano took a gulp of Scotch. He thought of how often in the past he’d casually stolen key employees from rivals. In this case, he suspected Fenella Montfort might get more than she’d bargained for.
Her first mistake, he thought. Much good may it do her.
Stefano felt restless. He paced two steps in front of the window, then took another drink. He didn’t feel like himself, because Prince Stefano Zacco di Gioreale always won, and this wasn’t winning.
He’d spent the last week doing damage limitation, reassuring the press and Gioreale’s shareholders that the Mercurio disaster was trivial and the future was bright.
Stefano took one more drink, staring out at the frosty Paris night. Enough, he thought. He set down the unfinished glass.
He was going home.
Locking up his office, he bade bonsoir to the overnight security guards. When he left the building, he felt the shock of cold air against his skin. Autumn was almost over, he realized. Winter was nearly here.
He looked back at