His lip curled. “I did not need a new wife. I needed a wife with the guts to tell me what was wrong. I needed a wife who was there for me at one of the lowest points of my life and instead you were gone.”
She recoiled. “I had lost myself, Riccardo. I had lost the ability to keep myself in balance. If I hadn’t left I would have reverted back to my old bad habits and destroyed myself.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You couldn’t have waited until I’d gotten back? Been there for me?”
She pushed hard against his chest and this time he let her go. Finding the sandy bottom with her feet, she stood facing him. “What happened in Italy? All I knew was that you’d been summoned there on Antonio’s orders.”
He scraped his wet hair out of his face. “It doesn’t matter now. We’re talking about why you left.”
“Goddammit, Riccardo.” She took a step closer and jabbed her finger in his face. “We are talking about why I left. You never talk. You never tell me how you’re feeling. What the hell happened in Tuscany?”
His face tightened into a stony stillness. “I knew the restaurant business was the future for De Campo. Knew we needed to diversify. Antonio didn’t agree. He forbade me to proceed with the plans I had for Orvietto.” He paused. “I signed the lease anyway.”
She let out a slow breath. “He lost his mind...?”
“He threatened to strip me of my title and kick me out of the company.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open. “He wouldn’t have done that.”
“He would have!”
She took a step back as he practically yelled the words at her.
“The only reason he didn’t was because my decision was right. I proved him wrong. Orvietto proved him wrong. But when I came back to New York that night I thought I’d lost everything. I’d given up the sport I loved for an old man who didn’t give a damn, I was about to lose my job at De Campo, and then I walked into our house—into our empty house—to find the only person who could make me feel better and a teary Magda informed me you’d gone. Gone.” His gaze, dark and tormented, swept over her. “I hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. I just looked at her and said, ‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’”
Lilly felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. She’d been so lost in her own private hell she’d been numbed against the bizarre, disjointed tone of his voice when he’d called that night from overseas.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears stinging the back of her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He looked away, the sun reflecting off the hard line of his jaw. “It isn’t always about you, Lilly.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I never thought it was.”
The waves lapped gently around them, the only sound in this private slice of paradise.
“How did things ever get so bad between you two?”
He looked back at her. “Between Antonio and I?”
She nodded.
“The day of my graduation from Harvard I told him I’d signed with TeamXT. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I couldn’t say no to. I’d been driving every summer, whenever I could, but this—this was my chance. I told Antonio I needed a couple of years to get it out of my system—that I’d join De Campo after that.” He shrugged. “I knew he wasn’t going to be happy, but I thought, given the opportunity, he might understand.” A bitter note filled his tone as he continued. “I should have known better. He gave me an ultimatum instead. Join De Campo or forget ever being a part of it.”
“You walked away?”
“We didn’t speak after that until he became ill and asked me to take over.”
“He expected you to come back after all that?”
He exhaled roughly. “You have to understand Antonio’s background. His father was a tyrant. He browbeat Antonio into running the business when all my father ever wanted to do was work with animals. He wanted to raise prize-winning racehorses, not prize-winning vines, but his father had built a thriving business and Antonio was expected to take over.”
“So by following your dream with racing you became everything he’d ever wanted to be?”
“Sì. I was the ultimate insult.”
“So why not choose Gabe to head the company? He has such a love for it.”
He grimaced. “Antonio is old-fashioned. He could never get past the fact that his eldest son should carry on as CEO. And, despite the animosity between us, we have always been the same. Tough sons-of-bitches who know how to get what we want.”
How true that was. She blinked, trying to absorb it all. “And what about your mother? She didn’t interject through all of this?”
“You’ve met her,” he said roughly. “My mother toes the party line. Their marriage is based on mutual ambition. Emotion doesn’t have anything to do with it. Not with her boys, either. She would have carted us off to boarding school in true aristocratic fashion if my father hadn’t insisted we learn the wine business.”
Emotions swirled inside her. Suddenly she wasn’t certain of anything anymore. Whether she’d been right to leave him. Whether she should have worked harder at her marriage. It was all riddled with intricacies she had no way of assimilating.
“So what now?” she asked huskily. “You wait while Antonio strings you along?”
He shook his head. “He’s retiring in three months. He’s promised to hand De Campo over to me then. If,” he murmured bitterly, “I continue to prove to him I deserve it.”
She flinched. “You could walk away. Go back to racing...”
His expression turned black as night. “I can’t go back.”
“You can do anything you want. You’re a winner, Riccardo. You move mountains when you need to.”
“You think I don’t want to?” The words exploded out of him. “Every morning when I was driving I woke up feeling lucky to be on this planet. I was free. I was alive. Everytime I stepped on that racetrack I challenged the very core of myself. I was the best. The adrenalin, that charge that came at the starting line from driving a vehicle more powerful than any other on the planet—it defined me.”
“So do it,” she urged. “You don’t owe Antonio anything. This is your life, not his.”
His broad shoulders stiffened. “This is about honor. Not about doing what I want. Something I’m not sure you know much about. You walked away from your family and you walked away from me. But sometimes you have to hang in there, Lilly. Sometimes you have to fulfill the promises you’ve made. Even if it interferes with the grand plan.”
His anger rippled through her, the depth and fury of it rocking her back on her heels. It was too much. Too much had passed between them. There was no going back.
“I think we should get some breakfast,” she murmured, needing to break the intensity. “Mrs. Adams must have it ready by now.”
“By all means.” He nodded savagely. “Wouldn’t want the eggs to cool while you do a little soul-searching.”
She turned her back on him and started walking. Five and a half months. She could do this.
* * *
If it was possible to spend the day in heaven and feel as if you were in hell, then Lilly had managed to capture perfectly that peculiar and miserable experience. She’d spent the day on the private beach with an introspective version of her husband, surrounded by a shimmering sexual tension that was impossible to ignore despite the fact it seemed they were a million miles apart.
Somehow guilt had taken center stage. She should have been there for Riccardo when he’d been struggling. His account of coming home to find her gone had torn her heart out. No matter what she’d been going through, she should have been there for him.
She’d been incredibly selfish. Not only with her marriage. With her life. She’d had a dream for herself. To leave Mason Hill and never look back. But in pursuing that dream she
’d hurt a lot of people. Her parents, Lisbeth—who’d been left alone and defenseless, even if she had been too young to come with them—and her brother, who’d been left with her and Alex’s work on the farm. And, although she would do the same thing over, she’d had to leave to be who she was now, she was starting to realize that by being so wrapped up in herself she’d neglected the people she loved.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. Even now she was here and not with Lisbeth, helping her through her treatment.
When she got better, Lilly was going to bring her to New York to stay with her. She was going to make up for leaving her alone in Iowa.
* * *
“What are you thinking about?”
Riccardo’s idly delivered question was one of the few he’d uttered over their evening meal at the beachfront restaurant on Barbados’s south coast. It pulled her out of her thoughts and focused her attention on the man sitting across from her. Not that she’d been able to avoid acknowledging how good he looked. Dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, he had a relaxed and dangerously attractive air about him that every woman in the restaurant had already noticed. Including the Hollywood A-lister and the Mediterranean Princess sitting at right angles to them.
He hadn’t looked at one of them.
“So?” He lifted his hand and waved it at her.
She took a sip of her wine—just because Riccardo had refused alcohol tonight it didn’t mean she had to. “Is this going to be your new occupation? Analyzing me at every moment?”
His gaze narrowed. “Until I’m sure you’re telling the truth—si, it is.”
She waggled her fingers at him. “No secrets left here. I’m an open book.”
Except I still love you desperately.
“You’re thinking about something.”
About how she’d like to skip dessert, rush home and enjoy that incredible body of his as the final course... Which was absolutely, positively not going to happen.
His mouth tilted up at the corners. “You know the rules. You look at me like that—we leave.” He reached into his jeans pocket and threw his wallet on the table.
She stared at the wallet, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t looking at you like that. And we should at least look at the dessert menu.”
“Why? You never eat dessert.” He handed his credit card to the waiter. “Tell me what happened to your wedding rings.”
She set her glass down with a jerky movement. “I told you I’m not sure where they are.”
He lifted a brow. “I may be a lot of things, tesoro, but I’m not a fool. You’re far too careful with things to lose them. So where are they?”
Her gaze slid away from his. “I’m not sure you want to know.”
He lifted his brow higher.
“They might be in the East River.”
“Scusi?”
She swallowed hard. “I threw them off the Brooklyn Bridge.”
His jaw dropped. “You threw your fifty-thousand-dollar engagement ring off the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“I was angry.”
“You were angry?” For the first time in their married life her husband looked speechless.
She lifted her chin. “The day I left I was so mad, so hurt. I had a clinic in Brooklyn and on my way back I lost it. I felt so betrayed—about Chelsea, about what you’d done to us—that I asked my cab driver to stop and I just...”
“Threw them in,” he finished grimly.
“Sure I can’t get you anything else?” Their waiter popped a leather folder on their table.
“I wanted to have a liqueur.” Lilly searched desperately for anything that wouldn’t involve them being alone together.
“We can have one at the villa.”
“I’d prefer to have it here.” She looked desperately at the little bar that sat beside this restaurant on the beach. There was loud Calypso music playing and lots of locals hanging out on the front patio. “Why don’t we have one there? It looks like fun.”
He followed her gaze. “Trying to avoid the inevitable, Lil?”
“I’m trying to have a good time. You might try that every once in a while.”
The antagonism that flared in his gaze made her stomach do a little flip. He threw some money on the table and stood up.
“One drink.”
Breathing deeply at her momentary reprieve, Lilly settled herself on a stool at the beachside bar and smiled at the tall, dreadlocked Bajan bartender.
He eyed them up. “On your honeymoon?”
Lilly choked.
“I wish we were,” Riccardo interjected drily. “The signora would like a drink.”
Mr. Dreadlocks, whose hair reached further down his back than her own, shifted his oh-so-cool gaze to her. “What can I get you?”
“How about the house specialty?”
He blinked. “The house specialty?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“Lewis,” he introduced himself, sticking a hand out. She took it, then he did the same to Riccardo. “The same?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. But make mine a half—I’m driving.”
Lewis pulled about five different bottles off the shelf and started mixing. Lilly could tell she’d made a big mistake by the time he got to bottle number three, which had no label on it and looked as if it was a home brew.
Riccardo held his glass up to hers, a challenging glitter in his ebony eyes. “Bottoms up.”
It was so strong it was all Lilly could do not to plug her nose and drink it that way. Those who liked straight alcohol might have found it passable, and Riccardo wasn’t having any trouble with it, but for Lilly, who wasn’t used to drinking liquor neat, every sip felt like a fire in her mouth and throat.
Every sip was also making her feel looser and much less inhibited. She permitted herself a good look at her droolworthy husband. Imagined stripping off that T-shirt and exploring every inch of his hard pecs and chest. Would allowing herself one more night be such a huge mistake? After all, it wasn’t as if this was easy, being here in such a romantic place. Maybe after this weekend, back in New York, she’d be able to keep a much firmer grip on her head.
Determinedly she rattled on to Lewis about how much she loved the island and asked him a million questions about himself.
Riccardo drained his glass and set it on the bar. “Time to go.”
She scrunched her face up and downed the rest of her drink. She was going to need it. She was definitely going to need it. Lewis waved goodnight and made them promise to come back.
Their walk to the car was filled with a weighty silence that played on Lilly’s nerve-endings like a bow. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire.
“What the hell was in that drink?” she muttered, leaning against the car while Riccardo opened her door.
He whipped the door open, then pushed her back against the Lamborghini. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt as he leaned down and took her mouth in a hard, punishing kiss that told her he was still furious about the rings. But it was the heat behind it that made her feel light-headed.
This was going to be off the scale.
* * *
Riccardo considered himself a skilled driver, but there was no finesse in the way he handled Charles Browne’s sleek sports car as they drove the windy coastal road home. Lilly was all over him. It was all he could do to keep the car on the road with her unbuttoning his shirt and sliding her hands over his chest.
“Lilly,” he groaned. “What are you doing?”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Racecar Driver?” she taunted, sliding her hands to his belt. “A little distraction and you can’t cope?”
He sucked in a breath as she tugged hard on the leather. “I never should have let you have that drink.”
“So true,” she murmured. The rasp of his zipper was agonizingly loud in the quiet confines of the car. “Too late now.”
Her fingers brushed over him. He jerked so hard the car went sliding across the road. He shoved her away from him and yanked hard on the wheel to avoid a ditch. “If you want to live, keep your hands off me.”
She slunk back against the seat. He glanced at her impatient expression. Dio. What had gotten into his wife? He hadn’t seen this Lilly since—when? He couldn’t remember.
His body throbbing with an urgency that was near combustible, he started inwardly reciting the specs of the engine under the Lamborghini’s hood. One after another he went through the parts, until he’d exhausted every single screw and cap and they were on the side road to the villa.
He brought the car to a growling halt in the garage, walked around to Lilly’s side and pulled her out. “You’re paying for that,” he promised, pushing her in front of him and out of the garage. “That was seriously stupid, Lilly.”
His wife appeared not to care. In fact she stood there, her cat’s eyes challenging him, focused on him, as he unlocked the door to the villa. He urged her inside and locked it. The want in her gaze undid him.
He threw her over his shoulder and headed upstairs.
“You know I like this,” she teased.
“Your payment hasn’t even begun.”
He set her down on the floor of their bedroom, then shrugged out of his shirt, ripped off his belt and ditched his pants. Lilly’s eyes were big as saucers as he pushed her against the wall and ran his hand over the soft flesh of her breasts, temptingly full under her cotton dress, then down over her trembling stomach.
“Ric—”
He moved his hands over her hips and under the flirty dress that had been driving him crazy all night. Her flesh was warm, and toned, and control was in short supply.
“Feel free to tell me when the punishment is over.”
He pushed her thighs apart and slid the heel of his hand up over the heat of her. “You will know.”
She was trembling under his hands. He reached up, snagged his fingers in the sides of her barely-there thong and pulled it down over her long legs. She was beautiful and intoxicating, his Lilly, and she whispered something unintelligible as he stood and buried his fingers in her hair, kissing her senseless. She had the most perfect lips he’d ever encountered in a woman—full, perfectly shaped, and without a collagen injection in sight. And if he hadn’t been so intent on teaching her a lesson he would have suggested she wrap them around another part of his anatomy.
The Divorce Party Page 13