watched his wife with admiration. Their ballroom was packed. Lilley had invited everyone: aristocracy, government officials and entrepreneurs, from the highest circles of Roman society. She’d even invited Lucretia and Giulia.
His wife had a forgiving soul. He did not.
Alessandro had called both women and disinvited them in no uncertain terms. Now they were missing this reception, which somehow—he wasn’t sure quite how—had turned into the social event of the year. The humiliation would teach the two women to show his wife a little more respect. His lips curled. The next time Lilley saw them, he suspected they would be in a far friendlier mood.
Finishing the glass of St. Raphaël champagne, he placed his empty flute on a silver tray and watched as his beautiful wife disengaged Monica Valenti from the ambassador with such friendly, warm charm, that instead of taking offense, the gray-haired man smiled at her, clearly enchanted.
And who wouldn’t be enchanted? Surrounded by skinny women who wore drab designer gowns of beige and black, Lilley stood out like a bird of paradise. Guests followed her, waiting to speak with her, and Alessandro suddenly remembered how shy and terrified Lilley had been when he’d taken her to the Preziosi di Caetani ball. That was just a few months ago. So much had changed since then.
Lilley’s eyes met his across the crowded ballroom, and he gave her a wicked half smile, thinking of what he intended to do to her later. Her brown eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. Ah, she was so adorable, his wife. So innocent and easy to read.
She looked away, their eye contact broken as a man came to speak with her, blocking Alessandro’s view of her face.
He scowled as he recognized Vladimir Xendzov talking to Lilley, touching the bulky necklace around her neck. It was her newest strange concoction, created from gold and sapphire gem clusters she’d found in an antique shop in Venice. He wondered what they were talking about. He trusted his wife, but he didn’t trust Xendzov. Setting his jaw, he grabbed a glass of bubbly pink champagne, then gaped at the raspberry in the bottom. He’d look like a fool drinking that. Setting the flute back on the tray, he barked at the waiter, “Get me a Scotch.”
The man bowed and backed away, and Alessandro looked slowly around the crowded ballroom. Lilley had thrown herself into planning this reception as if her life depended on it, finding caterers and musicians and florists. The end result was as unique and offbeat as Lilley’s jewelry. No one was dancing yet, but the mood was lively with a brash, lilting Irish rock band Lilley had hired from Dublin, just for fun. Dinner was being served buffet-style, with exotic dishes representing every country where Caetani Worldwide owned a subsidiary. The hodgepodge of cultures should have been a disaster. Instead … He looked around and saw powerful men laughing, saw their beige-clad wives giggling like schoolchildren. It was a hit.
Lilley was a hit.
Emotion rose in Alessandro’s heart.
Why had he never realized it before? Lilley was perfect as she was. She didn’t need to change. She didn’t need to fit in. She was born to stand out.
The feeling in his heart expanded to his throat, choking him, and suddenly he had to tell her. He had to take her in his arms and tell her how proud he was of her, how much he cared about her, how much he … that he …
His feet moved across the marble floor, beneath the twinkling lights of the multicolored, sparkling glass chandeliers she’d bought in Venice. Alessandro moved faster, pushing through the crowds. His view of Lilley’s face was still blocked by the people clustered around her, by the Russian who called himself a prince. Alessandro needed his wife in his arms. Now.
“Darling.” Olivia suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his way. Skinny and pale, dressed in a black sheath that showed her complete lack of décolletage, she looked like an angel of death.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I was invited.” Her lips curled up on the edges, reminding him of a cat, although that seemed disrespectful to cats. “By your wife.”
She spoke the word as if it left her mouth with a foul taste. He set his jaw, glaring at her. “Lilley is too generous.”
“Of course she is generous,” Olivia’s smile widened. “She can afford to be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s rich.”
Alessandro snorted. “Lilley doesn’t come from money. That’s one of the things that makes her so trustworthy. So different from you,” he said pointedly.
She gave a tinkling little laugh. “Oh, this is delicious. Do you truly not know?” She walked slowly around him, running one red-painted fingertip along the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket. Her thin face was smug as she leaned forward to whisper, “She’s Walton Hainsbury’s daughter.”
Alessandro stared at her. As if from a distance, he heard the lilting rock music, heard the laughter and low conversation of the Italian guests around him, the crème de la crème of Roman society. Then the marble floor seemed to move beneath his feet.
Walton Hainsbury’s daughter. The man who owned the huge discount jewelry chain that had tried to seize control of Caetani Worldwide in a hostile takeover last spring. He shook his head fiercely.
“You’re insane,” Alessandro said. “Lilley comes from a little town in the midwest.”
Olivia threw back her head and laughed. “You mean Minneapolis? Oh, darling.” She made a show of wiping her eyes. “It’s a large city. The headquarters of many international corporations.” She lifted a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Including …”
Including Hainsbury Corporation, he remembered with a sickening twist of his gut. And Walton Hainsbury lived nearby. An icy chill went down his spine. He lifted his chin. “Lilley is not his daughter.”
“Not just a daughter, but his only child. His heir.”
My father threatened to disinherit me, her voice whirled through Alessandro’s brain, if I didn’t come back to Minnesota and marry one of his managers.
She’d had that platinum Hainsbury watch, which her mother had had especially made. How? How had she done that?
My father’s a businessman.
He owns a restaurant? Perhaps a laundromat?
Um. Something like that.
Alessandro ignored the sudden pounding of his heart. He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t. “When we met, Lilley was working in my file room. My file room, Olivia.”
She looked down at her finely sharpened red fingernails. “What better place for a corporate spy?”
A strangled noise escaped Alessandro’s throat. He remembered finding Lilley alone in his private office that first night. I just wanted to work for a few hours in peace and quiet. Without anyone bothering me, she’d said.
His throat closed. And most damning of all. She’d known. She’d known about his plans for the Joyería deal. She could have given that information to Théo St. Raphaël.
Impossible,
