The Divorce Party

by Jennifer Hayward

  “Admit it—you like coming to see me.”

  “Are you kidding?” He dropped the towel in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s the highlight of my week. The pain I can take, when I’m getting the inside scoop on all the gossip. You get more press than I do—and frankly,” he admitted sheepishly, “that’s not a good thing.”

  Lilly laughed. “Believe me—I’d happily pass it along if I could.”

  “I bet you would.” He grinned. “That photo of your husband tangling with the doctor? Priceless.”

  Maybe somewhat less than priceless. She was now back as a fixture in all the gossip rags. She’d spent the weekend fuming at Riccardo’s caveman tactics. Both with Harry and in the bedroom.

  “He has his moments,” she murmured, looking back at the clipboard. “Same time tomorrow?”

  He nodded and blew her a kiss. She smiled and watched him leave. Muscular, gorgeous, charming and making millions...Trent would have had most women on their knees with his overt flirtatiousness. Lilly, however, was fixated on her own brutish male.

  What in the world had gotten into her? She’d nearly toppled. Slept with him and done something she’d have sorely regretted. All because she still couldn’t keep her hands to herself when it came to Riccardo.

  She twirled a chunk of hair around her finger. They had exchanged a total of about a hundred words since that scene in the bedroom. If he was in the kitchen when she came down, she took her coffee onto the patio. If she came down first, he went and watched the news in his study.

  It couldn’t go on like this.

  Unresolved issues lay between them like unexploded mines. Yet Saturday night had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt she never wanted to live the life of Riccardo’s society wife ever again. That she’d been right to leave when she had.

  That she wasn’t capable of living it beyond the six months she’d committed to.

  So why did everything feel so wrong? Why couldn’t she just do what she needed to in public and to hell with how things were at home? She tossed her clipboard on her desk and grabbed the notes on her afternoon patients so she could file them. She had pushed a set of notes into a folder and slid it back into the drawer before realizing she’d completely mixed the two patients up. Damn. She pulled the two folders out again.

  A loud piano piece filled the air. She frowned. Her new ringtone. Note to self: change that. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it to her ear while she fixed the notes.

  “Lilly Anderson.”

  “De Campo,” Riccardo’s rich drawl oozed across the line. “Really, Lilly, you have to get with the program.”

  “I don’t use your name professionally. You know that.”

  “I don’t like it. I’m calling to ask your permission to ask Katy to clear your schedule for Thursday and Friday.”

  Her husband’s drily delivered request made Lilly frown and push the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with her foot. Riccardo asking for her permission to do something? Was he sick? On some type of mood-altering medication?

  She cleared her throat and chose her words carefully. “I have clinics at the hospital on Thurdsay and Friday. Is it important?”

  “I’d like to take you to Barbados for the weekend.”

  “The Caribbean island of Barbados?”

  “The one and only,” he confirmed, amusement lacing his tone. “A friend of mine offered up his place for the weekend.”

  She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed on her nail. “So it’s a business thing?”

  “No.” His voice deepened to that silky tone that made her toes squish in her shoes. “Definitely not business.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. “Riccardo—”

  He sighed. “We need a truce. We need to talk, Lil. Somewhere by ourselves, with no photographers, no one interrupting us, neither of us rushing off to work... Just us.”

  She couldn’t deny that. It was just that it sounded sort of...terrifying. She rested her hip on the corner of the desk and the guilty thought came to her that maybe, maybe, if she’d talked to him from the start instead of shutting down things would have been different.

  A snapping sound filled the air. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and stared, horrified, at her broken nail. She hadn’t bitten her nails in exactly twelve months.

  “You still there?”

  “Yes.”

  Another sigh. “I’m pretending I’m asking, but I’m not really, you know.”

  She smiled. At least she knew her husband hadn’t been abducted by aliens. She stared down at her wreck of a nail and swallowed hard. “To be clear—this is a discussion? That’s all?”

  “A discussion,” he agreed firmly. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

  “Okay, then, yes.” It would be closure for them both.

  “Good. Will you tell Katy or will I?”

  “I will.”

  “Bene. I’m off for dinner with the boys and Antonio.” His voice took on a sardonic edge. “Wish me luck.”

  “Keep your cool. You’ll be fine.”

  A meaningful silence came down the phone line. “Already lost it. Ciao, bella.”

  “Ciao.”

  Lilly pressed the end button, her skin tingling from the effects of those two softly spoken words. Would there ever come a day when that didn’t make her want to throw caution to the wind and do exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do?

  She fought the sinking feeling she had just made a huge mistake and dialed her sister.

  Alex answered with a distracted, “Hello.”

  “It’s your sister. Got a sec?”

  “Always. How are you holding up? Riccardo mix it up with anyone lately?”

  “Very funny.” Lilly pulled a pristine nail out of her mouth before she trashed that one too. “We have to reschedule brunch. I’m going to be away this weekend.”

  “What lifestyle-of-the-rich-and-famous event is he taking you to?”

  “None. We’re going to Barbados together.”

  “Damn. I would put up with him for a weekend like that.”

  Lilly smiled. “Gabe’s still in town, you know.”

  “Mmm, yes—well, I’m afraid I’m not up for twenty-four-seven sparring. Dr. Overlea just called to say he’s scheduled Lisbeth in for some pretreatments next week. I’m going to head home and keep her company so she doesn’t stress.”

  Lilly’s throat tightened. “I didn’t think he was going to be able to get her in so soon.”

  “He needs to do this before he schedules treatment with the clinic in Switzerland.”

  “Right.” She swallowed hard. “I—” Hell. The conversation with Riccardo was important, but her sister’s health was more so.

  “Lil—it’s fine. I’ll go.” Her sister’s voice softened. “You guys need time together.”

  She chewed on her lip. Alex probably thought she and Riccardo were having hot reunion sex every night... She so desperately wanted to tell her that, no, they weren’t, that they were hardly talking to each other and she was hopelessly confused, but she couldn’t. Not if she was to keep her and Riccardo’s deal.

  “You’ll call me if you need me? I’ll come right back.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

  “By the way—one of the girls here just showed me some of the stuff the tabloids are saying about you. Please tell me you’re not reading it?”

  “I’m not reading it.” Only a bit. One or two particularly horrid pieces...

  “Yes, you are. I can tell. You have to stop it, Lil. It’s awful, destructive stuff and not a bit true. I’ve never seen you looking so good.”

  Lilly sighed. “I’m fine, Alex. I promise.” Only her sister knew how deep her body issues went and she called
her on it when she needed to.

  “You sure?”

  “I gave my whole wardrobe to charity,” she said drily. “Riccardo almost had a fit.”

  “The whole thing?” her sister squeaked.

  “All of it.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that.”

  “I know... Al?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you really think people never change?”

  She sighed. “Are you talking about Riccardo?”

  “Yes.”

  And why, exactly, was she?

  Her sister cleared her throat. “When we were looking at those tabloids this morning, one of the girls here looked at that photo of you and Riccardo kissing—which is dreamy, by the way, and I don’t do dreamy, as you know—and she got this stupid, expression on her face and said, ‘I just want that. To be that much in love.’”

  Lilly felt the stitches she’d triple-sewed around her heart rip, leaving it jagged and raw. She wanted to be that much in love again. But that wasn’t her and Riccardo anymore, and telling herself that was possible was foolish.

  “So,” her sister continued, “while I think he might be the most arrogant son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met, I know what you have is special, Lil, and that man is crazy about you in his own demented way. Which leads me to believe he’s going to do whatever it takes to keep you.”

  Lilly stood there, wishing she’d never asked the question in the first place.

  “Do me a favor?” Alex’s voice lost its sarcasm and took on a serious note.

  “Name it.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t get pregnant.”

  Lilly stared at the phone, horrified. Then remembered her sister didn’t know. Didn’t know this was all a charade. “Of course I won’t. That would complicate everything.”

  “Exactly.”

  Exactly. She glanced at her watch. “I’m done for the day, and Riccardo’s out with the boys. You up to swimsuit-shopping? You’re the only one I know who’ll give me an honest opinion.”

  They made arrangements to meet and Lilly hung up, more worried with every passing moment that a “conversation” in Barbados with her sexier than hell husband was a disaster waiting to happen.

  One thing she knew for sure. She could never, never tell him about why she’d entered into this deal. About Lisbeth. Because she didn’t trust him not to use that against her. And Lisbeth was all that mattered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LILLY STOOD ON the patio of Charles Greene’s very beautiful, very exclusive Barbados estate overlooking Heron Bay. The sparkling, water-soaked playground of the world’s rich and famous, the bay was dotted with luxury hotels and villas that sat on heavenly golden sand beaches and the most stunning clear turquoise water Lilly had ever seen.

  If you were the world’s most famous golfer you took over Heron Bay’s five-thousand-dollar-a-night marquee hotel for a sunset marriage featuring heads of state, rock stars and movie icons. If you were Charles Greene, British billionaire and heir to a heavy machinery fortune, you bought this gorgeous six-bedroom villa on the ocean and kept it for yourself.

  Charles and Riccardo had done business together on a few occasions, and had formed a close personal relationship in addition to their working one. With Charles away on business in the UK, the villa was theirs. A private oasis in paradise.

  At any other time in her life Lilly would have been ecstatic to be here. But not tonight. Not when she was about to learn the truth about her marriage.

  She kept her feet planted firmly on the concrete. Tonight was not about running. It was about facing her demons.

  She drank in the sheet of shimmering perfect blue sea in front of her, its color morphing from light to dark turquoise, then to a marine blue the further out the eye traveled. Were relationships like that? she wondered. Were there gradations and depths she and Riccardo had yet to explore? Or would this be the end for them?

  “I’m leaving now.”

  Mrs. Adams, the housekeeper who had greeted them and shown them to their rooms, appeared on the patio with a bottle of wine and a cooler in her hands. “Mr. De Campo thought you might enjoy a glass of wine while he showers.”

  Lilly forced a smile to her lips. “Thank you. He’s off the phone, then?”

  She nodded. “He said to tell you he’d be down in a few minutes.” She set the cooler down on the table and took some glasses out of a cupboard. “Did you say you’d been here before?”

  “Yes. A year ago.”

  Riccardo had come here on business and brought her with him. It had been right after news of his affair had surfaced and she’d spent the whole week trying to convince herself she shouldn’t doubt him. Trying to save her marriage.

  Until she’d seen the photos.

  “It’s a beautiful island,” she murmured, realizing the woman was waiting for her response. “We stayed further up the coast.”

  Her brief response had the desired effect. The housekeeper nodded and stuck her hands on her hips. “I’ll be back tomorrow to cook breakfast. Would you like me to pour you a glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you. I can pour it.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Lilly kept the plastic smile on her face until the housekeeper had disappeared into the house. Her body vibrated with a tension that hadn’t left her since they’d climbed aboard the De Campo jet and flown the five hours south to the island—a flight the entire duration of which Riccardo had worked. She pulled in a breath to steady herself, but the shallow pulls of air she managed to take in didn’t help much.

  She turned back to the sea and laced her hands together. “Stay in the moment. Allow yourself to feel and move through the pain...” Her therapist’s words were a grounding force when all she wanted to do was run. It had been her coping mechanism since she was a teenager and her parents had been having their no-holds-barred fights to run when she was in pain. To refuse to feel it.

  Making herself stand here was like being asked to walk over red-hot coals.

  “You haven’t had any wine.”

  Riccardo’s low, smooth observation contrasted sharply with the imminent hysteria she felt building within her. This had always been the pattern with them. Him handling everything with reason—with well-thought-out premeditation. Lilly shooting from the hip—driven by emotion.

  She turned around, a sharp condemnation on her lips. But he was so breathtakingly handsome in jeans and a navy polo shirt, his square-jawed, dark good looks only intensified by the casual attire, that the words fled her head.

  He was beautiful beyond the meaning of the word. Charisma oozed out of him like oxygen for the female race. And she knew then that this had been a big, huge mistake.

  Just as it had been to think she could claim ownership over a man every woman wanted.

  She turned back to look at the ocean. “You can pour me some now.”

  The knot in her stomach grew to an almost incapacitating level as she heard him walk across the patio and pour the wine. The sound of bubbling liquid hitting glass was deafeningly loud on the night air.

  He came to stand beside her, the smoky, spicy scent of him wrapping itself around her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She swiveled to face him. “You’ve been talking on that phone non-stop since we left. I thought we had a no work rule.”

  His mouth tightened. “It’s off now. I just had a few last things to go through with Gabe. By the way,” he added, raising a brow, “he asked Alex out for dinner and she turned him down flat. Said she was going back to Mason Hill for the weekend.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You two never go home. Is everything okay with your family?”

  She blanched. “Everything’s fine. Can we just get this over with?�
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  He kept that watchful dark gaze on her. Then handed her the glass of wine.

  She wrapped her fingers around the stem. The glass shook in her hand.

  “Lil—” His eyes moved from her shaking fingers to her face.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured. “You—you start.”

  He exhaled harshly, the nostrils of his perfectly straight Roman nose flaring.

  “What happened the night of the fashion show? Why were you so afraid to do it?”

  She blinked. She had not expected that to be his first question. “You know I’ve never been comfortable in that type of setting. I told you that when we first started dating.”

  “But you got over it. You thrived on it.”

  “I hated every minute of it. I trained myself to do it so I wouldn’t let you down.”

  Confusion flickered in his eyes. “Why? Why would a woman like you have confidence issues? You had the position, the wealth, the looks to back you. Why would you feel inferior?”

  She gave a twisted smile. “I come from a town of two thousand, five hundred people, Riccardo. I will always feel small-town, no matter how you dress me up or how many places you take me or how many etiquette rules you teach me.” She shook her head. “You swept me up into this glamorous life I had no coping skills for, tossed me into the deep end and expected me to swim.”

  He frowned. “But you never said anything. To me—you were just fine.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I was doing what I had to do. That was my job. My role as Lilly De Campo.”

  He exhaled heavily. “No one would ever have known you felt that way.”

  Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “I became extraordinarily good at faking it. And why not? I faked my way through our entire marriage.”

  His gaze sharpened on her face, a dangerous glint firing in its dark depths. “I think you’d better explain that.”

  “I never wanted that life, Riccardo. I told you that when you knocked me off my feet in that bar in SoHo. But you wouldn’t listen...you kept pushing until I said yes.”

  “We were in love with each other,” he growled.