The Divorce Party

by Jennifer Hayward

  But payback was paramount. He slid a hand between her thighs, seeking and finding her hot wetness. She moaned and pressed closer, inviting him in as he slid a finger inside her.

  “Ric—”she said brokenly, shaking like a leaf.

  “Not over,” he said harshly, adding another finger and working her in a rhythm he knew would send her close to the edge.

  Her breathing was quick and tortured against his mouth. Her hips writhed against his hand. And he knew the point at which she would beg...

  “Please—I—”

  He removed his fingers from her and pushed her toward the bed. “I never make a promise I don’t keep, amore mio.”

  The front of her knees butted up against the edge of the mattress. He placed a palm in the small of her back and pushed her forward until her hands were braced on the bed.

  “Almost over,” he murmured. “Because I know you like it like this too.”

  She bit back a gasp as he pushed her dress up and nudged her legs apart.

  “Ric—”

  “Shh.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her back. “Keep your hands there and don’t move.”

  She stayed where she was. He felt his composure waver as he brushed himself against the wet heat of her, hard steel against soft velvet. Lilly groaned and grasped the bedcovers. She was as hot for him as he was for her, but he kept a torturous hold on himself as he slid into her slowly, inch by inch. She was incredibly vulnerable in this position and he needed her trust.

  “Good?” he asked hoarsely, giving her body a chance to adjust to the size and girth of him.

  She let out a strangled, urgent moan. He closed his eyes and let himself go. Let the desperate urgency of a man who was haunted by a woman take over as he drove into the tight, wet heat that embraced him like a glove.

  Too long he had wanted her. Too much he had missed her.

  His hands tightened on her hips as he took her close to the edge, then pulled back, wanting this to last, wanting to torture her as she’d tortured him. Wanting to give them both maximum pleasure. But his body tensed and swelled; his mind fixed on the torturously perfect fit of being inside of her again. Then the world splintered apart.

  He wanted, needed her to be there with him, and he almost cried out with relief when he felt her body contract around his, drawing out his own release until his harsh moan split the night air. The tightening of her body rolled over him like a shockwave, sending surge after surge of explosive pleasure through him.

  Dio. He scooped her trembling body off the bed and sat down with her limbs wrapped around him. She buried her head in his shoulder as if she couldn’t bear to break the connection. And the force of his emotion hit him like a tidal wave, stealing his breath.

  He was not over her. He was not even close to being over her.

  She had walked out on him without a backward glance. He had spent every night after that for at least a month thinking she would change her mind and come home.

  She hadn’t.

  He stood up with an abrupt movement and deposited Lilly on the bed. She stared up at him, a dazed look on her face, all tangled long limbs and physical satiation.

  Great sex, he told himself. That’s all it is. But it was enough to severely mess a man’s head up.

  “I’m going to go make sure everything’s locked up,” he said roughly.

  She was curled in a ball on her side of the bed when he came back. A tightness seized his belly so strong he almost reached down to gather her in his arms. But he kept his hands clenched tightly by his sides.

  She deserved to suffer.

  He’d suffered every night for a year. Let her feel his pain.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LILLY PEEKED HER head around her sister Lisbeth’s hospital room door, checking to see if she was awake. Their brother David, who’d driven Lisbeth down to New York last night for a series of tests before her treatment abroad, was sitting in a chair by the window.

  “Lilly!” Lisbeth practically screamed the word across the room at her, her blue eyes shining brightly. “You’re here!”

  Lilly crossed the room, gave her older brother a hug, then pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek. Lisbeth had an IV tube sticking out of her arm and looked so pale and small that a lump formed in her throat. This had to work. There was no alternative.

  “Where is Riccardo? Did you bring him?”

  Lilly shook her head and sat back. She needed to tell Riccardo about Lisbeth, and soon, because she and Alex intended on going to Switzerland with her. But it never seemed like the right time—not with the rollercoaster of emotion going on between them. “I will soon, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

  Her sister made a face. “Crappy, but the doctor’s hoping after all this I’m going to feel a whole lot better.”

  Lilly’s heart contracted, feeling too big for her chest. “Six weeks, Lizzie. You can do it.”

  “Does you and Riccardo being back together mean I can come stay with you guys when I’m better?” Lisbeth looked at her with eager eyes.

  Lilly kept her face straight, because to do anything else would be to reveal far too much to her sister and brother about her and Riccardo’s relationship. “You can come stay with us anytime.”

  You can come stay with me anytime.

  A satisfied smile curved her sister’s lips. “I think I need a life.”

  Lilly squeezed her hand. “Conserve your energy so we can fight this battle together. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  They stayed until Lisbeth got tired and David had to leave for home. Kissing their sister goodbye, they walked out into the hallway.

  “She’s going to be okay, right?” Lilly asked, looking up at her older brother.

  David pulled her into a hug. “Of course she is.”

  She hugged him tight, her head feeling far, far too full. She loved her serious, hardworking sibling, even with his strict sense of right and wrong—which had clearly labeled her and Alex’s defection nine years ago wrong. Seeing him again after so long—what had it been? A year and a half? Two years—reminded her how much she missed him.

  Her brother pulled back. “You okay? You look like hell, sis.”

  No. She most definitely was not okay. But she couldn’t talk to David about it.

  “I’m fine. Just worried.”

  “Pretty damn amazing we can get her this treatment. She’ll be fine, Lil. We didn’t raise her to be a strong, sturdy farmgirl for nothing.”

  She nodded. “You sure you want to head back tonight? You could stay and start out early tomorrow. A few hours isn’t going to make a difference.”

  “It will the way things are now.” Her brother rubbed a hand against his face. “Even with the extra money you’ve been sending and the extra help we’ve hired we’ve all been working from sun-up till sun-down.”

  Guilt mixed with the maelstrom of emotion swirling through her. She felt as if she was hanging on by a thread. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You know we had to go.”

  The lines of fatigue softened around the corners of his mouth. “I know. In some ways I think Mom and Dad even understand too. But staying away isn’t going to change the past. It’s only driving the wedge deeper and deeper between you guys.”

  “I know.” And she knew she had to do something about it. “Are things any better between them?”

  “Not unless you count the fact they’ve given up fighting with each other.” He lifted his shoulders. “I think they’re just numb to it all now.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “I was thinking of coming home for Mom’s birthday.”

  “She would love that. She misses you, Lilly. She doesn’t say anything—you know Mom—but she does.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “About Lisbeth...”

&
nbsp; He shook his head. “She needs to get out. We can’t keep her where she doesn’t want to be.”

  “But the farm...”

  “We’ll manage. The extra money is helping a lot.”

  At least something good was coming out of a reconciliation that only seemed to get more complicated with every day that passed.

  Speaking of which... She glanced at her watch. “I need to go. I’m late for dinner with Riccardo.”

  She hugged her brother, watched as he headed in the direction of the parking garage and then pushed through the front doors of Memorial Sloan Kettering. Flagging a cab, she slid in and gave the driver directions to the restaurant where she was to meet Riccardo.

  She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. It had been seven weeks since her and Riccardo’s weekend in Barbados. Seven weeks during which she’d been telling herself she could walk out when their deal was done. Then she’d walked into her doctor’s office this morning to confirm what she’d been desperate to deny.

  She was pregnant. Exactly seven weeks pregnant. With her soon-to-be ex-husband’s baby.

  If she’d consciously set out to create a bigger disaster, she couldn’t have done so.

  How was a baby going to fit into all this?

  She stared numbly out at the rush-hour Manhattan traffic, bumper to bumper, horns blaring. She’d spent the past seven weeks trying to blend her and Riccardo’s lives in a way that eased confrontation. She’d done the things she had to do for her practice, refused to give up the friends and essential things that had made her life her own over the past year—and fulfilled her commitments as Riccardo’s wife. Surprisingly, it had worked rather well.

  Riccardo seemed bent on reducing the stress placed on her, and had instructed Paige to accept only the social invitations that were essential to De Campo’s interests. He was like a guard dog, monitoring her with annoying persistence. And it made her wonder if there would have been a different outcome for them if it had been like this all along.

  Pain stabbed at her insides. The ache inside her was deep and all-consuming. She’d been trying so hard to ignore her feelings for him—to keep herself intact. But every time she tried to put distance between them Riccardo would knock the walls down. He came home early, insisted they eat together, and this time around they actually talked. About which way the board was leaning toward a CEO. How delayed tiles meant Zambia would open a week late. About Antonio being a piece of work.

  And then there were the nights... He had followed through on his promise that there would be sexual intimacy. And it was the one thing she couldn’t deny him. Or herself.

  It was becoming harder and harder to remind herself that this was a business arrangement when in so many ways this was the marriage she’d never had.

  The cab swung to a halt in front of Toujours, a new, eclectic French bistro in the financial district which Riccardo was courting to stock De Campo’s new Napa Valley vintages. She had met the owner, Henri Thibout, formerly a chef in Paris, at a party a few weeks before, and knew Toujours was at the top of her husband’s expansion list.

  Henri stood as the maître d’ ushered her to the table. Lilly’s eyes widened when she saw the tall man standing behind him. Antonio. What was he doing here? Riccardo hadn’t mentioned anything about him being in town.

  “Lilly.” Henri, a short, balding man in his mid-fifties, who made up for it with bucketloads of charm, brushed twin kisses to her cheeks and introduced her to his head sommelier, Georges, and his wife Joanna.

  Riccardo stood and brushed a similar kiss to both her cheeks. She felt the tension radiating from him. Great, she thought, turning to Antonio. Exactly what she needed tonight. The battle of the De Campos.

  The big, burly, aristocratic man, with his hook nose and formidable features, failed to intimidate her tonight.

  Maybe because she was pregnant. If she said it ten more times maybe she’d believe it.

  Henri reached for the sparkling wine chilling on the table and pulled Lilly’s glass toward him. “This will do the trick after a long day,” he said jovially. “Riccardo says you work long days.”

  “None for me, thank you,” Lilly said quickly. “It has been a long day. I might actually fall flat on my face if I do.”

  Riccardo shot her a quizzical look. If there was anything Lilly loved it was a good sparkling wine. She averted her gaze and answered Joanna’s question about what she did for a living.

  The five-course tasting menu was superb, but the smell of seafood was making her nauseous. She did her best, but by the time she’d forced herself to eat half of her third course chicken dish she thought she was going to choke. She set her fork and knife down in an abrupt movement that sent the clang of fine china echoing throughout the restaurant.

  Conversation stopped. “Is it not to your liking?” Henri enquired, frowning. “I can get you some—”

  “It’s delicious,” Lilly assured him. She reached for her water. “Apologies—my appetite is a bit off.”

  Riccardo kept that watchdog look on her, his gaze darkening. She stumbled through the sorbet and cheese course, so desperate to be home alone with her thoughts that she almost jumped out of her seat at the end of the meal.

  “Thank you,” she murmured to Henri after he’d promised Riccardo feedback on the wine list by next week. “It was lovely to see you again.”

  Antonio stayed behind to enjoy an aperitif with Henri. She watched her husband’s mouth tighten at the interaction. Antonio was in town without Francesca, as usual, who preferred not to travel to North America. He and Henri had obviously hit it off.

  Riccardo led her through the restaurant, his firm grip on her elbow keeping her by his side. When they’d stepped out of the busy restaurant onto the sidewalk he spun her around.

  “What is up with you? Dio. It’s like you’ve had a gallon of coffee in one go.”

  She pulled her arm out of his. There was no way she was telling him her news on a busy Manhattan sidewalk.

  “Like I said. It’s been a long day. What was Antonio doing here?”

  “Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual,” he growled. “Don’t deflect, Lilly. You were a disaster in there. You hardly ate a thing. In fact you’ve hardly eaten a thing for weeks. This is ending now.”

  She focused her gaze a centimeter to the right of his. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous, that’s all.”

  “Then we’re going to see your doctor,” he said grimly. “I will not have you go through this again.”

  “I did see my doctor. I’m fine.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” He stalked closer and captured her wrist in his. “We are not moving until you tell me.”

  “I think we should—”

  “Lilly!” The valet who had been headed toward them stopped in mid-stride as Riccardo bellowed the word at her. “Spit it out.”

  His anger, her terror, and the complete loss of control she was feeling all hit her at once. “I’m pregnant!” she yelled at him. “I’m pregnant, goddammit, Riccardo. There—are you happy?”

  He went chalk-white under his olive skin. The valet swiftly changed direction. The two of them faced off like prize fighters on the busy sidewalk. Then Riccardo grabbed her arm and pulled her under the awning of the restaurant, away from the flow of people.

  “Is it mine?”

  Her jaw dropped open. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

  “It could be Taylor’s.”

  She put a hand on her stomach. “I’m seven weeks pregnant. Exactly seven weeks pregnant. It’s yours.”

  He went even paler, raking a hand through his hair. “We’re not having this conversation here.”

  “I was trying to avoid it,” she muttered. “And I sincerely hope that valet doesn’t realize what a scoop he has on his hands.”

&nbs
p; Riccardo walked over to the valet stand and said something to the young guy, who practically ran to the lot across the street. He came back minutes later with the Jag.

  Riccardo opened the door. “Get in.”

  They didn’t talk for the entire drive home. Her husband’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his attention focused on the road. When they got to the house he opened the door, slammed it behind her and directed her inside.

  She flicked on the lights in the front sitting room and sat down on the sofa. Riccardo poured himself a Scotch and paced the room like a restless, lethal animal that had no idea what its next move would be.

  Finally he stopped by the fireplace and rested an elbow on the mantel, his gaze sinking into her. “It happened in Barbados if that’s the timing.”

  She nodded. “I forgot my pill that morning we flew down. I didn’t realize it until after we’d had sex.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You didn’t see fit to tell me?”

  She pressed her lips together. “The chances of anything coming from it were minuscule.”

  “Well, it happened,” he growled. “You should have told me.”

  She got to her feet, feeling too vulnerable while he towered over her. “What difference would it have made? It happened. Now we’re going to have to decide how we’re going to deal with it.”

  He was in front of her so fast her head spun, his fingers biting into her arms. “We are having this baby.”

  “Of course we are.” She stared at him, aghast. “Well, technically I am having this baby, and we are going to have to figure out how it’ll work after we separate.”

  “Separate?”

  She watched him digest the word as if it were a particularly tough piece of steak.