Читать книгу Rising Stars - Эбби Грин, Maisey Yates - Страница 46

ROME. Roma. The Eternal City.

What was the Italian word for disaster?

Another fabulous, sophisticated dinner at an elegant restaurant with Alessandro’s friends, and once again, Lilley was hiding in a bathroom stall. She was becoming a connoisseur of fancy Roman bathrooms.

Since they’d arrived in Rome three weeks ago, Alessandro had worked endless hours at the office. The only time she saw him—aside from the middle of the night when he made love to her—was at dinner, and that almost always included his friends, who were thrilled to see him.

They were not quite as thrilled about her.

For the last two hours, she’d sat at the table with a frozen smile on her face while Alessandro and his friends talked and laughed in rapid-fire Italian. And it was her own fault. But their first night in Rome, Alessandro had taken her to an elegant restaurant with an English menu. A kind gesture, but Lilley was so nervous, trying to make his glamorous friends like her, that the letters on the menus had refused to stay still. In the end, she’d tried to laugh it off, and her husband had taken over and gallantly ordered for her. But ever since, she’d insisted on only Italian menus. At least then she had an excuse for why she couldn’t read them.

And she’d insisted to Alessandro that she preferred that he speak to his friends in their native Italian. “I’ll learn the language more quickly that way,” she’d said.

What she’d mostly learned was that his friends made her uncomfortable and she wished that she and her husband could stay home. Home in the bedroom of their palazzo, where Alessandro made her so happy, or creating jewelry in her makeshift studio in the mews, or decorating the large sitting room she was turning into a nursery suite. Heck. Even going for another OB visit, with her chauffeur on one side and her bodyguard on the other, would be more fun than this.

Hiding in the bathroom stall, Lilley stared down at her beige Prada shoes. She’d lasted two hours before she fled to the bathroom. A new record, she tried to comfort herself. It was helpful to be pregnant, because no one questioned long disappearances. Lilley’s beige designer suit skirt strained at the seams, feeling too tight around her waist, and she wished she hadn’t eaten so much bread. None of the other women ate bread.

No. They seemed to survive on gossip and malice.

It’s your imagination, she tried to tell herself. Her Italian was still pretty bad. Alessandro’s friends could be saying anything, and she’d likely misread the women’s sidelong glances. As soon as her language skills improved, she would no doubt discover his friends were actually quite nice ….

The bathroom door banged open.

“Can you believe Alessandro is married to that fat pudding-faced creature who can barely read and has nothing to say for herself?”

Lilley froze, recognizing the voice.

“A tragedy,” another woman agreed. “I can hardly believe a fine specimen like Alessandro was trapped by a stupid little nobody.”

“Well. I wouldn’t say she’s little,” the first woman replied slyly.

Trembling, Lilley peeked through the crack in the stall door and saw Giulia and Lucretia standing at the wall of sleek sinks, refreshing their lipstick in the mirrors. Both of them wealthy heiresses married to still richer men. And they were both so thin they looked like clotheshangers in their designer clothes from Milan.

“Such a shame,” Giulia sighed, giving her nose a pat of powder as she stared at herself in the mirror. “Olivia should be with us tonight, like always.”

“She will be again,” Lucretia said comfortingly. Smacking her lips together, she tucked her lipstick back into a tiny crystal clutch. “The fat little gold digger will realize she doesn’t belong here. Once the brat is born, Alessandro will tire of her and send her back to America. Then he will be with Olivia again. As they were meant to be.” She glanced at the other woman. “Are we done?”

“I think so,” Giulia replied. Smiling at each other, they left the bathroom.

The bang of the door reverberated behind them. Lilley clasped her hands together, her heart pounding. Her skin felt clammy, her body flashing hot and cold. It was her own fault for remaining hidden, she told herself. If she’d come immediately out of the stall, Giulia and Lucretia would never have been so rude. They would not have been so cruel if they’d known she was there, listening.

Then Lilley realized—

The women had spoken in English.

“Oh,” she breathed aloud, a soft gasp, falling back against the wall as if she’d been punched. Slowly, she swung open the stall door. She saw herself in the mirror, saw how little the stark, minimalist dress suited her taste or her figure. She was wearing the same style as Giulia and Lucretia, but instead of making her blend in with the fashionable set, it only emphasized the rounder shape of her body, and made her normally rosy skin seem washed-out and pale.

Or maybe their words had done that. Alessandro had said his friends could be mean, but she hadn’t believed him. She’d never imagined anyone could be so deliberately cruel to a virtual stranger, a new bride far from her home country.

Lilley wondered what Giulia and Lucretia would say if they knew her father was Walton Hainsbury, if that would make her more palatable. But somehow she doubted it. They would simply find new reasons to mock her.

Staring at her own pale, miserable, and yes—a little pie-faced—expression, Lilley swallowed. The ache in her throat felt like a razor blade, but she wasn’t going to show them they’d hurt her. No way. Straightening her shoulders, she went down the hall.

Her high-heeled shoes clicked against the floor as she walked across the elegant restaurant, past all the wealthy, gorgeous patrons who actually looked as if they fitted in here. She saw Alessandro sitting beside Giulia and Lucretia and their husbands, tossing his head back in laughter as the women regarded him with sharp, sly smiles. And suddenly, Lilley’s courage failed her. Turning, she veered towards the bar.

A handsome young bartender in a white jacket, drying glasses with a white towel, turned to her. “Sì, signorina?”

Lilley looked at the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. If ever a moment called for liquid courage, this was it. But she was pregnant, and anyway she’d never had much experience with alcohol. Except for the night of the Preziosi di Caetani ball, when she’d drunk a glass and a half of champagne. Alessandro had made her feel so precious and beautiful … Her eyes filled with tears.

“Signorina?” the bartender said. “Prende qualcosa?”

She wiped her eyes. “Acqua frizzante, per favore.”

A large hand grabbed her shoulder. With an intake of breath, she turned, but it wasn’t Alessandro. Instead, she saw a dark man with ice-blue eyes, an acquaintance of her husband’s that she’d met at a cocktail party a few nights before. The Russian tycoon who owned gold mines across the Yukon … what was his name? “Prince Vladimir. Hello.”

The man looked down at her with interest. “What are you doing here, little one?” He looked around. “Where is your husband? You do not look well.”

“I’m fine. Great in fact.” Blinking back tears, she turned back to the bartender as he held out her sparkling water. “Oh no—I forgot my purse!”

“Please. Allow me,” Prince Vladimir said, pulling out his wallet. He blinked with surprise when the bartender told him the amount. “So little?”

“It’s water,” Lilley said. “I’m pregnant.”

“Ah,” Prince Vladimir said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Not everyone knows yet.” Lilley glanced back at the table across the room. “Believe me, if I could drink something stronger, I would.”

Vladimir followed her glance, and understanding filled his eyes. “Ah. But you have nothing to fear, Principessa,” he said quietly. “Your husband is smitten. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Holding the cold glass against the hot skin of her cheek, she whispered, “You mean the way he doesn’t look at me.”

“Then he is a fool.” He put his finger on her bulky crystal necklace. “This is beautiful. Where did you buy it?”

Startled by his touch, Lilley nearly jumped. “I made it.”

“You did!”

She shook her head. “Alessandro doesn’t want me to wear it in Rome. He said it might make his friends laugh at me, but I don’t care. They’re going to laugh anyway,” she said in a low voice. She straightened. “I have to wear one thing that feels like mine.”

“It’s beautiful.” His finger ran along the bottom edge of her necklace, just below her collarbone. “It’s art.”

His touch made her uncomfortable. Innocent as it was, the situation might be misconstrued. Even now, Alessandro might be watching them, growing wild with jealousy …

She glanced back at their table, and saw he was busy laughing, having the time of his life with his cold-hearted friends, saying things she couldn’t remotely understand.

Clearly, Lilley’s plan to make Alessandro fall wildly in love with her was going perfectly.

Tears filled her eyes. How she wished they were still in Sardinia, with nothing but warm sunlight, cool blue water and swaying palm trees around them, far from the rest of the world!

Instead, she was here with him in Rome. As she’d insisted. And as he’d warned her, she was miserable.

Vladimir followed her gaze. “Come, Principessa,” he said quietly. “I will take you back to him.”

As he led her across the elegant restaurant, the tension in Lilley’s throat ratcheted up with every step. They reached the table, and the laughter of the group abruptly fell silent.

“Cara.” Alessandro turned with a smile. “I was starting to wonder …” Then he saw Vladimir behind her, and the tenderness in his eyes evaporated. He said shortly, “Hello.”

“Your wife isn’t feeling well,” Prince Vladimir said. “I suggest you take her home.”

“Yes,” Alessandro said grimly, rising to his feet. Throwing money on the table, he said to his friends, “Mi scusi. Buona notte.”

Placing his hand against the small of Lilley’s back, Alessandro escorted her out of the restaurant. Collecting his Ferrari from the valet, he helped her into the car. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her.

He drove swiftly and silently through the streets of Rome, and Lilley glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His face was dark, his expression hard. Miserably, she looked away.

The harder she tried to please him, she thought in despair, the worse it seemed to get.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to have to leave your friends early.”

Alessandro changed the gears on the Ferrari with more force than necessary. His jaw was tense as he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry you felt it necessary to tell Vladimir Xendzov you wished to leave, rather than coming to me.”

She blinked at him. “I was just trying to—”

“Save it,” he cut her off. He pulled past the guardhouse outside their palazzo, driving through the gate.

Parking his car haphazardly in the small courtyard, he stomped into the sixteenth-century palace. Hurt and furious, Lilley followed him. He was far ahead of her, already halfway up the dark, sweeping stairs, when she stopped, clenching her hands.

“You’re not being fair!” she bit out.

Alessandro stopped on the stairs, pulling off his tie. He looked down at her, his jaw set. “Are you coming to bed?”

Lilley blinked, taken aback. He stood above her, his button-down shirt tight across his muscular chest, his black trousers fitted low on his hips. Yes. She wanted to go to bed with Alessandro, damn him. Angry as she was, her nipples were hard, her breasts heavy and she felt a spiraling need low and deep in her belly. Her body was instantly at his command.

But—make love with a cold heart? When they both were angry?

She straightened, tightening her hands, and vehemently shook her head.

“I said,” his voice was deceptively cold as he came down the steps towards her, “are you coming to bed?”

“No,” she ground out.

His black eyes glittered.

“Then,” he said, “I will bring bed to you.”

She saw the intent in his eyes the instant before he grabbed her. Cupping the back of her head, he lowered his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss. As she tried to push him away, his hands gripped her hair, and he deepened the kiss, wrenching her lips apart with his own. He used his tongue like a sensual weapon, plundering her mouth, and, against her will, her body responded. As her sensitive nipples brushed against him, her breasts were crushed against his hard chest, and she melted into his arms.

Leaning her back against the stairs, he kissed her with such brutal ferocity that she surrendered, allowing him to push her down onto the carpet. With a low growl, he yanked her skirt up to her hips. Without a word, he started to unzip his fly.

That woke her up.

“No,” she said, grabbing his wrist as she looked straight into his eyes. “No.”

His eyes widened. He exhaled, then pulled away. Rising to his feet, he zipped up his trousers, not looking at her.

“I never want to see you with Vladimir Xendzov again,” he said coldly. Then, without a look, he walked up the stairs.

Lilley sat up, feeling disheveled and dizzy, her skirt at her waist. He’d nearly made love to her—and she’d nearly let him do it! Then, when she’d refused him, he’d just left her! Her fury returned, redoubled. Standing up, she readjusted her ugly, expensive beige skirt. Her eyes narrowed as she followed him up the stairs to their bedroom, where she heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom. She pushed open the door, and saw him in the shower, standing naked beneath the running water.

Yanking open the glass door, she leaned into the shower and slammed on the handle, shutting off his water.

“What the hell?” he exploded.

Hot steam floated between them, water dripping noisily off the travertine wall. She glared at him, folding her arms. “How dare you treat me like that, you big—jerk!”

“What did you expect?” he ground out. “That I’d kiss your toes with adoration after you spent the whole night flirting with another man?”

“I wasn’t flirting! He was comforting me! After—”

Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “After what?”

She swallowed, fighting tears. “It doesn’t matter.”

He stepped out of the shower, his body naked and dripping wet. His voice was dangerous as he said, “Tell me.”

In the mirror, she saw the reflection of his magnificent, naked body, and next to him, she saw herself, fat and dowdy in the unflattering beige suit that made her look like a lump. “I can’t.”

“Tell me!” he thundered.

She flinched, and her lips turned down. “They were mean to me.”

He gripped the door of the shower. “Who? Who was mean to you?”

“You were right,” Lilley whispered. “I never should have come to Rome.” She blinked back tears. “I don’t belong here.”

Moving forward, Alessandro grabbed her shoulders. His eyes were dark as he said in a low voice, “Just tell me who.”

She tried to laugh it off. “Nothing, really. They followed me into the bathroom where I was hiding at the restaurant—”

“You were hiding?”

“—and spoke to each other. In English, to be sure I’d understand. They called me fat and stupid, and said you’d divorce me. They couldn’t wait for you to be back with Olivia.”

He stared at her, his mouth a grim line. Then he abruptly released her, turning away. Lilley stared at his muscular backside as he headed for the door.

He was walking away from her without a word. Again.

“Don’t you care?” she choked out. “Don’t you care at all?”

Alessandro whirled around, and his expression was so full of fury that she gasped.

“I care,” he said. “They will regret hurting you.”

“What are you going to do?” she whispered, afraid of the strange darkness she saw in his eyes.

“They are women. I cannot physically hurt them. But,” he stretched his intertwined hands, “I can take what they care about the most. Their money.”

“How?”

He looked past her ear. “A few well-placed calls to the banks … to the businesses that employ their husbands in well-paid sinecures.” He gave a smile as cold as death. “They’ll be penniless.”

She stared at him, her mouth agape. “I thought they were rich.”

“It’s a front. They’re deeply in debt.”

“I thought they were your friends!”

His lip twisted. “Friends?”

“You seemed to be having such a good time …”

“I grew up with them,” he said tersely. “But we’re not close. We share a past. We share a history. But no. They are not my friends.”

Staring up at him, Lilley thought of the friends she’d had in Minnesota growing up, playing marbles with the housekeeper’s daughter Lisa, going for long bike rides with Katie from school, ice skating on the pond with her friends and drinking hot chocolate.

Alessandro hadn’t had that. His friends weren’t real. Pity and grief for him welled up inside her. And suddenly she couldn’t hide her feelings. Not any more.

“I don’t need revenge.” Blinking back tears, she took a step towards him. “There’s only one thing I want. One thing I need.”

His jaw twitched. “What?”

“You,” she whispered. “I love you, Alessandro.”

She heard the catch of his breath. Then his eyes became wistful.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve known since before our wedding, when you almost blurted it out, and I stopped you.”

“What?” She didn’t remember anything like that. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember? You said you had something to tell me before we could marry. I stopped you because I already knew. You were in love with me. I could see your feelings on your face.”

Lilley’s lips parted as she remembered the moment in Las Vegas when she’d tried to tell him the truth about her family. “That was what you thought I was going to say?” she said slowly. “That I was in love with you?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t let you speak the words. I thought it would ruin things between us, that it would make a good marriage impossible.”

He didn’t know. Lilley’s head was spinning. Alessandro didn’t know about her family. All these weeks they’d been married, she’d thought he was so kind not to reproach her, so generous to forgive and forget. But he hadn’t known. He still didn’t know!

“But now,” Alessandro said in a low voice, “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if I can love anyone, Lilley.” Clenching his jaw, he looked away. “When I was nineteen, I was betrayed by everyone who loved me. The woman I thought I loved told me she was pregnant by another man. My father died after ignoring me most of his life. And then my mother,” he took a deep breath, “informed me that I was not his son.”

“What?” Lilley gasped.

“By their second year of marriage, she’d already grown to hate him. She had a brief affair, and got pregnant with me. My father never knew. He died thinking I was his son, and still left me nothing but debts and an unknown number of half-brothers and half-sisters around the world.”

Grief was shining in his black eyes. She’d never seen him so open with his feelings before. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, wrapping her arms around him. “Who is your real father?”

He looked away. “Not someone I ever wanted to know.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed again, but it seemed woefully inadequate. Reaching up, she kissed his cheeks, his lips, his chin, his shoulders. She offered comfort by kissing every part of him she could reach. “I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed unchecked down her face as their eyes met. “But I’m your family now.”

He exhaled as he looked down at her. “I don’t know if I can love you, Lilley,” he said in a low voice. His dark eyes shimmered. “But if I could ever love any woman on earth … it would be you.”

Lilley’s heart stopped beating, then suddenly raced at a gallop. “It would?”

“You’re the first woman I’ve trusted in a long, long time,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. “Because I know you’d never lie to me—about anything.”

A tremble went through her. How could she ever tell him about her family now? How could she possibly explain what had started as a fib of omission to help her get a job, but had turned into months of lying straight to his face?

Honey, she could say casually over waffles some Sunday, a funny thing about how you thought my father owned a shop. He does own a store, but a few more than one! Maybe they’d have a good laugh. Maybe he’d forgive her.

But then she’d have to tell him about Théo.

She had to tell him. Before he found out some other way. And she would, she promised herself. Once their marriage was on stronger footing. Once his friends didn’t hate her. Then she would tell him everything. She would. Even though it would make him hate her.

She trembled just to think of it ….

“I’m sorry I never gave you the wedding you deserved,” Alessandro said, stroking her cheek.

She gasped. “I loved our wedding!”

He shook his head ruefully. “You should have had friends at the ceremony. Family.” He looked at her. “Have you told your father about me yet?”

Her father. She swallowed. “Um. No. Not yet.” Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to add, “But I will take you to Minnesota to meet him. Anytime you like.”

“How about Christmas?” Holding her in his arms, he smiled down at her, the expression on his handsome face tender and bright. “We’ll have a wedding reception in Rome first. Then plan one there.”

“A reception?”

“Two. One on each continent. I want to properly celebrate.” He stroked her hair. “With our family and friends.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“It’ll give your father a chance to know me.” He gave her a sudden wink. “I’ll win him over.”

His charm and thoughtfulness just made her feel more guilty. “Of course you will,” she said over the lump in her throat. “No one could help loving you.”

His expression grew serious. “But I don’t need anyone to love me.” He pulled her against his naked body, stroking her back over her beige jacket. “I only need you.”

Lilley suddenly felt like crying. She felt his naked body stir, and her own immediate response flooded her with need. She shivered as his hands gently caressed her breasts over the fabric, squeezing her plump flesh with his fingers, rubbing her swollen nipples until they were hard and aching beneath her jacket.

Her gaze fell on the bathroom mirrors and she saw their image, his naked body and muscular backside, as his lips lowered to her neck. The image caused a wave of immediate pleasure as he unbuttoned her jacket.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin. She felt him hard between her legs, felt the gentle, insistent stroke of his fingertips as he pulled off her silk camisole and bra, running his palm down the valley between her pregnant breasts to her small waist and softly rounded belly. “Say it.”

She opened her eyes. “I’m yours.”

“Forever,” he demanded.

She swallowed. “Forever.”

Alessandro fell to his knees in front of her. Lifting her skirt to her hips, he yanked her panties to the floor. Moving his head between her thighs, he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.

Her hands gripped his naked, hard-muscled shoulders as she felt his hot breath between her thighs. Then, the last moment before he kissed her, he lifted his head to look at her face.

“Never lie to me, Lilley,” he whispered. “And we’ll last forever. No one will ever be able to break us apart.”

He lowered his mouth between her legs, and as waves of pleasure exploded inside her, Lilley tilted back her head with a gasp, closing her eyes. Her heart pounded as she realized what she’d done. She should have told him the truth from the beginning. From the very first day. She’d thought it would be better to wait until he had a reason to care. But when he discovered she’d lied to him for months, after he’d allowed himself to be so vulnerable and care for her—trust her—it would be the beginning of the end.

No. She felt his wet, slick tongue between her legs and shuddered with need, closing her eyes with anguish. She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

She would find a way to tell him the truth. And pray it wasn’t the end … of everything.