all right, Miss Foster.” He glanced down at the baby. “She’s right here.”
“Thank you, Dalton,” she whispered. Then she glared at the powerful man carrying her. “Put me down.”
“No.” Stefano kept walking. His handsome face was implacable. “You fainted on the street.”
“I’m better now,” she said, struggling in his arms. “Put me down.”
His arms tightened around her. “When is the last time you ate?”
Tess struggled to remember. “This morning?”
“Aren’t you sure?”
She shook her head weakly. “I started work at four. The bakery opens at six, and my uncle doesn’t approve of eating in front of customers. On breaks I’m busy with Esme.” She looked away. “I meant to eat something tonight, but I had to feed Esme. So I just had a glass of champagne.” She put her hand on her forehead, still feeling dizzy. “She’s been teething, so I didn’t sleep much last night...”
Stefano shook his head as they approached the hotel’s gilded revolving door. “I’m taking you upstairs until a doctor looks you over.”
“It’s not necessary,” she said desperately. The last thing she wanted was to be vulnerable—in his arms or his hotel suite.
“A doctor,” he repeated, his glare fierce. “He’ll make sure you’re all right. Then we’ll get a paternity test.”
She stiffened in his arms even as he carried her through the door. How could he ask for a test? Her word should be enough!
The grand lobby of the Campania was huge and luxurious, with midcentury decor and turn-of-the-century architecture. Molded plaster ceilings with crystal chandeliers soared high above the marble floor and paneled walls. Glamorous hotel guests and patrons crowded around the gleaming oak bar at the center.
Tess felt conspicuous as they walked past. They made a strange parade, with Stefano carrying her in his arms and the doorman pushing the stroller behind them. People turned to stare.
A group of gorgeous, very tall, very thin young women gaped at them openly from their table at the lobby bar. Models, Tess thought. They were their own tribe in this city, and you could always tell.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” a man said as he passed, his eyes wide.
“Your Highness,” a woman greeted him, looking as if she were dying to ask all kinds of questions.
Stefano responded only with a nod and kept walking.
“Your Highness?” Tess looked up at him. “That other girl called you that earlier. I thought it was a joke.”
“I’m technically a prince,” he said tersely.
“Technically?”
“Italy is a republic. Aristocratic titles are now merely honorary,” he said flatly. “But my ancestors have been princes of Gioreale for hundreds of years.”
“Gioreale is a place?”
“In Sicily. Once it was an important market village. Now it’s a ghost of its former self. That is what I am.” His lips curved. “Prince of ghosts.”
Prince of ghosts. She thought she saw something haunted in his eyes. What was it? Emptiness? Pain? Despair?
“Miss Foster.” Mr. Loggia, the hotel’s general manager, came forward with an anxious frown. “What has happened? Are you injured?”
“She fainted, sir,” the doorman said from behind them. “Prince Stefano alerted me from down the street, and I rushed to help.”
“I see.” The manager, who’d never been anything but kind to Tess, turned to Stefano with a scowl. “What did you do?”
Stefano replied coldly in Italian, and the manager responded in the same language, lifting his chin.
Mr. Loggia whirled to face her. “Is he taking you against your will?”
Stefano bit out something in Italian that sounded very rude.
“Miss Foster?” the manager demanded.
Tess felt Stefano’s strong arms tighten around her, pressing her body against his powerful chest. As she looked at him, her lips tingled from his savage kiss by Times Square.
“No,” she admitted, her heart in her throat. “He’s right. I fainted.”
Stefano turned icily to the manager. “I’m taking her to my suite, Loggia. Send up the doctor. And room service. What would you like?” he asked Tess.
Food. He was talking about food? She shook her head dimly. “I don’t care.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Mrs. Moretti?” the manager asked her with a frown.
For a moment, Tess was tempted to take the offered escape. Then she glanced back at her whining, hungry baby in the stroller. She knew what it was like to grow up without a father. If there was even a chance that Stefano wanted to be part of their baby’s life, didn’t she have to find out?
Even if that meant she had to take a paternity test to make him finally believe her.
“It’s all right, Mr. Loggia,” she said, quietly resigned. “I want to go with him.”
She felt Stefano’s arms relax slightly.
“If you’re sure,” the manager said, looking between them in disbelief. “I’ll have room service send up your usual at once. And the hotel doctor, as well.”
“Grazie,” Stefano bit out sardonically, and turned away, carrying her to the elevator. The doorman pushed the stroller behind them.
“Mr. Loggia doesn’t seem to like you much,” Tess said.
“No,” he agreed, not seeming perturbed about it. “In spite of the fact I’m their highest-paying guest. But his bastard boss despises me.”
“Cristiano hates you?” Tess blinked in surprise. “Why would he?”
“You know Moretti?”
“His wife Hallie is one of my best friends.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “He and I were drivers in a charity car race last year. We were fighting for the win. His car was in my way, so I—very gently—bumped him over.”
“You hit his car?”
“He was blocking me. Cheating. He left me no choice. After I won, he tried to punch me in the face.”
Tess couldn’t imagine Cristiano losing his temper. He seemed so nice, especially tonight, when he’d declared his love for Hallie. “He punched you?”
“I
