A Night of Living Dangerously Read online

  An ultimatum. He stiffened. “I’m just supposed to trust your word, am I?”

  Lilley’s face turned pale, almost gray. “I’m not going to stay in a marriage you don’t know how to fight for.” She glanced back at Olivia bitterly. “She’s the one you always wanted. A woman as perfect and heartless as you.”

  In a swirl of purple-and-pink skirts, Lilley turned away.

  Alessandro grabbed her shoulder. “You can’t leave,” he ground out. “Not without a paternity test.”

  She looked at him, and he could have drowned in the deep grief of her brown eyes. “I’m done trying to make you love me,” she whispered. “Done.”

  Alessandro couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t let her know how close she’d come to breaking him entirely. “You’ll stay in Rome,” he said harshly. “Until I allow you to leave.”

  Her eyes glittered.

  “No,” she said. “I won’t.”

  Her face looked strange, her eyes half-wild as she took a deep breath.

  “I slept with a different man, just like you said.” Blinking back tears as she looked up at him, she choked out with a sob, “And I loved him.”

  Her words were like a serrated blade across Alessandro’s heart. He staggered back, stricken. “And the baby,” he breathed, searching her eyes. “What about the baby?”

  Lilley’s brown eyes were dark as a winter storm. Tears streamed down her face like rain. For answer, she pulled her canary-yellow diamond ring off her left hand and wordlessly held it out to him.

  Numbly, he reached for it. Lilley turned away, pushing through the crowds, not looking back.

  And this time, he didn’t try to stop her. Gripping the ten-carat diamond ring tightly against his palm, Alessandro closed his eyes, leaning his head against his fist as he felt the first spasms of grief course through his body.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A WEEK later, Alessandro sat in his study staring at divorce papers, feeling numb.

  He hadn’t seen Lilley since she’d fled the reception, running out into the streets of Rome with only her passport and wallet, still dressed in the fuchsia ball gown. He had no idea where she was, and didn’t care. Let the lawyers find her.

  He looked down wearily at the documents spread across his desk. He didn’t need Lilley, he told himself. He didn’t need their baby.

  Except a hard lump rose in his throat every time he passed the room that would have been the nursery. The walls were soft yellow, and Lilley’s painting of baby elephants, monkeys and giraffes was propped against the wall. Alessandro’s car still held the stuffed elephant he’d bought the day before the reception, and it was in his trunk right now, wrapped in festive paper decorated with baby animals, tied with a bright yellow bow.

  The ache in his throat increased. Alessandro clenched his jaw. He’d burn the toy, he thought savagely. Then he’d repaint the nursery’s walls with a color that wouldn’t remind him of either Lilley or the baby. No blue. No pink. He couldn’t use brown, either, the color of her eyes. Nor red, the color of her lips. So what was left?

  Black. Just black.

  He leaned his forehead into his hands. He was better off without them. Better off without Lilley constantly pestering him to jump in the pool or dance or play. Without hearing her soft voice speak dreamily of their future children, of a happy marriage that would last fifty years. Without seeing the sensual, breathless expression in her face as she looked up at him in bed, the moment before he pushed inside her.

  Va bene. He didn’t need them. He’d go back to the life he’d had before, working all day to earn money he didn’t need, having meaningless affairs that were forgotten by morning. Trusting no one. Forever alone. Perfetto.

  He covered his face with his hands.

  His phone rang. “Buon giorno, darling,” Olivia said cheerfully. “Now you’re rid of your mistake, I want to ask you to lunch. To celebrate.”

  “I’m not divorced yet,” he said in a low voice.

  “Come to lunch anyway. I don’t mind.”

  Her low, smug voice jarred him. Swiveling in his chair, he turned towards the window, towards the view of the city and hazy blue sky. Where was Lilley? Was she with another man? He remembered the way Vladimir Xendzov had looked at her. Remembered Jeremy Wakefield’s awed face when he saw her in the red dress.

  Who was the father of her baby?

  I slept with a different man, just like you said. And I loved him.

  His lips twisted. That meant she’d lied when she’d told Alessandro she loved him. Another lie to add to the pile.

  Through the window, he saw a limo park at the gate of his palazzo. A driver got out of the limo, opening the door for a well-dressed, dark-haired man, who went to talk to the security guard. Frowning, Alessandro sat up straight, narrowing his eyes, trying to see the man’s face.

  Then he did. And he rose to his feet with a half-strangled curse.

  “Darling, what’s wrong?” Olivia asked. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s here,” he said curtly. “I have to go.”

  “Who could possibly pull you off the phone with me?”

  “Théo St. Raphaël.”

  “What?” Olivia’s voice was suddenly sharp. “You don’t need to see him. Wait at your house, I’ll pick you up and take you for lunch—”

  “Sorry,” he said shortly, and he hung up, tossing his phone on his desk. As he ran down the stairs, his blood was pounding for battle. His hands were clenched into fists, ready for a fight, any fight. Brushing past his bewildered housekeeper, he went into the courtyard.

  “Let him in,” Alessandro ordered his guard in Italian. Théo St. Raphaël came through the gate, looking polished and powerful in a suit and yellow tie, holding a leather briefcase. He looked calm, cool and under control, all things Alessandro hadn’t felt for a week. The hot Italian sun shone down on his scrubby T-shirt and jeans as Alessandro stalked through the dusty courtyard to finally meet his rival.

  “What the hell do you want?” he demanded. “Come to gloat?”

  Théo St. Raphaël stared at him as if he were insane. “Gloat?”

  “I bet you and—” he still couldn’t say her name out loud “—your cousin had a good laugh after she helped you steal the Mexico City deal. It was clever for her to lure me into giving information in bed!”

  In a swift movement, St. Raphaël leapt five steps across the courtyard in a flutter of dust and punched Alessandro solidly across the jaw.

  “That’s for Lilley,” he said, panting as he rubbed his wrist. “Damn you.”

  It would have knocked a lesser man to the ground. As it was, Alessandro felt the impact of the blow all the way to his knees.

  His own fist flew back on instinct. Then he straightened, rubbing his jaw. “At least you have the decency to attack me to my face, St. Raphaël,” he said. “Rather than stabbing me in the back.”

  “Lilley kept one small secret from you. One.”

  “Small?” Alessandro said incredulously. “She told you my plans for the Mexico City deal! Convinced me to marry her when she was in love with another man! And worst of all …” He cut himself off, and his voice hardened. “Why are you here? What more could she possibly want?”

  The Frenchman glared at him. “In your office.”

  Alessandro stiffened, then realized his security guard was watching with interest, as were the paparazzi who’d been parked across the street ever since the scandalous night of their reception. He set his jaw. “Fine.”

  Turning on his heel, he led the count silently into the palazzo.

  “I’m here to collect Lilley’s things,” St. Raphaël informed him once they reached his study. “Her tools. Her mother’s quilt.”

  “And the clothes I bought her?”

  “She doesn’t want them.”

  Alessandro sank into his office chair, feeling weary. He swiveled towards the window. He’d nearly thrown her most precious belongings away in his rage after she’d disappeared, but he hadn’t been able to do it. T
he tools and quilt were too much a part of what he’d loved about her. “It’s boxed up by the front door. Help yourself.” He glared at the other man. “I’ll be glad to get it all out of here.”

  St. Raphaël stared at him coldly, then set his briefcase on the desk. Opening it, he pulled out a file and held it to Alessandro.

  “What’s this?” he asked, not touching it.

  “The Mexico City deal,” St. Raphaël said scornfully. “If you still want it.”

  Alessandro opened the file. Skimming through it, he realized it was a contract to exchange Joyería for the St. Raphaël vineyard. He looked for a catch. He couldn’t find one.

  “I will step away from the Tokyo deal as well.”

  Alessandro looked up in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lilley’s idea.”

  “But why would she arrange this, when she’s the one who betrayed me?”

  “Lilley didn’t betray you,” St. Raphaël bit out. “Someone else gave me that information. She said she wanted payback for the way you replaced her with some cheap file-room girl.” He paused. “I had no idea she was talking about Lilley.”

  “Olivia?” Alessandro said in a strangled voice. “Olivia Bianchi?”

  St. Raphaël’s eyes settled on his. “The two of you deserve each other.”

  Was it possible he was telling the truth? Had Olivia betrayed him? Alessandro suddenly remembered all the times he’d done business on the phone in the back of the limo, with Olivia sitting bored beside him. She’d certainly known about his rivalry with St. Raphaël.

  She’d had motive, means and opportunity.

  The Frenchman leaned forward, his knuckles white against the desk. “But you must promise, in writing, that you will keep the design studio in Mexico City. I gave Rodriguez my word that none of his people would lose their jobs. And, unlike you, I do not wish to be a liar.”

  Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t lie. I might have implied—”

  “You lied. Worse than Lilley ever did. All she was trying to do was get a job. You were trying to enrich your own pockets at the expense of someone else’s honor. You lied to Rodriguez. Just as you lied to Lilley when you didn’t mention until after you were wed that you wouldn’t allow her to work.”

  Alessandro’s cheeks grew hot. Then his chin lifted coldly. “Lilley slept with another man, then tried to pass off her unborn child as mine.”

  With a snort, St. Raphaël stared at him, then shook his head. “If you believe that, you’re even more stupid than I thought.” He pulled out one last paper. “Here. Give that to your lawyers.”

  I slept with a different man, just like you said. Alessandro remembered Lilley’s wide, stricken eyes as she stood in her pink ballgown amid the holly and ivy. He remembered the strange way her voice had trembled. And I loved him.

  Alessandro’s heart gave a sickening lurch.

  What if Alessandro was the man she’d loved—before he’d turned on her so brutally, in public, with his ex-mistress egging him on, practically chortling with glee?

  He’d vowed to honor and protect his wife. Why hadn’t he cared for her enough to speak with her privately? To ask, to listen, to give her the chance to explain? Instead, he’d turned on her like a rabid dog. He’d attacked her, his beautiful wife who had never done anything but love him with all of her gentle, loyal heart.

  “Where is she?” he whispered.

  “She left France a few hours ago.” The other man’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “She wanted to visit her father, then scout out locations for her jewelry line.”

  “She’s doing it?” Alessandro said faintly. “Really doing it?”

  St. Raphaël glared at him. “My wife says Lilley’s jewelry is a sure thing. And she should know.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You know, I should thank you. For doing the right thing by my cousin.”

  Alessandro’s lips lifted humorlessly. “You mean marrying her?”

  “Divorcing her,” he replied coldly. “Lilley is the kindest person I know. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She and her baby deserve better than you.” He closed his briefcase with a snap. “But business is business. I have wanted these vineyards back for some time. Have your lawyers review the documents. There is no need for us to meet again. Adieu.”

  Without another word, Théo St. Raphaël left. Numbly, Alessandro stared down at the file, and at the divorce papers still spread across his desk beneath. Picking up a page, he tried to read it, but the words seemed to move and jump across the pages. It was as if he were suddenly seeing the world from Lilley’s point of view.

  Pushing the papers aside, he rose to his feet. From the window, he saw St. Raphaël carry a large box out through the gate. His limousine soon disappeared back into the streets of Rome.

  Alessandro looked up. The bright-blue sky seemed smeared violet. As if the world were going dark.

  I love you, Alessandro.

  I’m yours. Forever.

  He closed his eyes, pressing his hot forehead against the cold glass of the window. But even with his eyes closed, even if he covered his ears with his hands, he could still hear Lilley’s shaking voice, still see the grief in her eyes. I’m done trying to make you love me. Done.

  And the truth hit Alessandro like a blow.

  Lilley hadn’t betrayed him.

  He had betrayed her.

  His eyes flew open. He’d told her she wasn’t good enough to be his wife, or good enough to be liked by his friends. He’d insisted on buying her clothes. He’d told her why her jewelry would never sell, then insisted that she give up her own dreams in order to sit alone in their palazzo, waiting for him to come home.

  He’d let her love him without offering her anything in return, except coldly expensive jewels, which he should have realized long ago, she would never, ever want.

  No wonder when he’d turned on her so viciously at their reception, Lilley had finally given up. For months, she’d bent over backwards trying to please him. She’d convinced herself he was worthy of her love. That night, even her romantic, loyal heart had been forced to see the truth.

  He’d finally proven that he wasn’t her knight in shining armor, and never could be.

  She was right. He’d been afraid to love her, terrified to let himself be vulnerable again. For sixteen years, he’d kept his heart locked up. When Olivia had given him an escape, his cowardly heart had taken the first chance at the exit door.

  Lilley was right. Cold rage filled him. Rage at himself.

  Alessandro turned back to the window, staring at the early twilight of December. The blue sky was streaked with pink and orange, like a brilliant fire on the horizon.

  We all must choose in this life, he’d told her once. The safety of a prison. Or the terrible joy that comes with freedom.

  He’d thought of her as a timid little mouse. But all along, she was the one with the courageous heart. He was the one who’d been hiding.

  But not anymore. Not anymore.

  Whirling around, he grabbed the phone off his desk so fast he nearly it knocked to the floor.

  He would bring the laughter and trust back to her eyes, even if it made him look like the biggest fool on the face of the earth. If he couldn’t even do that … then that bastard St. Raphaël was right. Lilley and his child really would be better off without him.

  Alessandro would find her. Win her.

  Squaring his shoulders, he set his jaw.

  He would deserve her.

  After six hours, Lilley’s backside was well and truly sore.

  She shifted on the hard cushion of her father’s reproduction Louis XIV couch as she sat in his fancy parlor. She looked down at her watch. Six hours he’d made her wait now. Six. It was her first visit in three years, and he’d just left her here, alone and unwelcome in the sprawling house he’d built for his mistress, a forty-thousand-square-foot mansion on a sprawling estate near Minneapolis.

  Clearly this was her punishment for not coming home i
n June to marry his employee, as he’d demanded.

  Her lower back gave a sudden stab of pain, and she rose to her feet. The parlor had beautiful views of snowy Lake Minnetonka through the black, bare trees, but it still felt like an office, not a home. There were no personal photographs, just posters from various Hainsbury’s advertising campaigns. The closest framed poster showed a happy young couple embracing on a park bench with the image of an engagement ring superimposed around them. Beneath it in big letters was the tagline, Hainsbury Jewelers. When Only Perfection Will Do.

  Perfection. Engagement rings. Love in general. Lilley hated them all right now. But most of all, she hated her knack for loving men who did not have the capacity or desire to love her back.

  Her father’s abandonment had left a hole in her heart. But Alessandro had done far worse. He’d cut through that hole with a machete, leaving one side of her heart drenched in acid, the other smashed with a meat mallet.

  She’d given her husband everything, and it still hadn’t been enough. Alessandro hadn’t even tried to hear her side. He’d just taken Olivia’s every word as gospel—even believing it was possible Lilley might have slept with another man!

  Well, she had slept with another man. Without thinking, she reached up and touched the brass-and-pink-rock-crystal necklace hanging around her throat, a gesture she’d repeated many times over the last week. A tragedy that the man she’d loved, the man she’d been so sure Alessandro could be, had been entirely a figment of her imagination.

  She swallowed, blinking fast. But work would see her through. After all she’d endured, she was no longer afraid of failure.

  She just hadn’t been thinking big enough. Instead of opening a boutique, she was starting her own line of handmade, unique jewelry art, as Vladimir Xendzov had called it. After Alessandro had effectively ended their marriage, Lilley had spent days weeping in her old housekeeper’s suite in her cousin’s castle before she’d resurfaced to play with her cousin’s baby. Théo’s wife had demanded, “Where did you get that fabulous necklace?”