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
