She would have replied, except his teeth nipped gently into her skin and a wave of heat swept through her. That would be one way of avoiding the fashion show...
Not worth the consequences.
She yanked herself out of his arms and fixed him with a glare. Remember how he broke your heart. Remember this is only for six months...
He watched her with a hooded gaze. “I take it that’s a no?”
“Not ever,” she agreed icily. “Shall we go?”
He inclined his head, stepped toward the closet and stripped off the towel. She averted her eyes and left to wait for him downstairs—but not before she got a full-on shot of his firm, beautiful behind.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BALLROOM OF the historic hotel near Central Park glittered with light, muted laughter and a sense that time hadn’t really moved on—it was just different souls passing through it.
Lilly stood at the entrance with Riccardo and took in the ambience with that same feeling. Massive chandeliers five feet in width still dominated the room, still exuded the elegance of decades past, the band was timelessly tasteful, filling the space with rich classical music, and the black-coated wait staff could have been from any time period. It was her that was different. Once she had walked in here with naive, trusting eyes that had seen only the sparkling beauty of so much loveliness in one place. Now she saw it for what it was—a backdrop for the rich and powerful, a symbol of how beauty could destroy and disfigure.
If you let it.
Her gaze shifted to the long runway that ran the center of the room. In an hour she would be up there, modeling Antonia Abelli’s dress. If she didn’t throw up first. It was a distinct possibility.
Heads turned. The open stares began. Her fingers dug into Riccardo’s forearm as the room seemed to ignite with speculative conversation. The press had been all over them since the divorce party, coming up with a multitude of creative, vicious angles as to why they were back together. Lilly was pregnant—thus her “added pounds,” one tabloid had said. Riccardo had had his fill of his mistress and wanted to start a family, said another. Worst of all had been the dirt they’d dug up on poor Harry Taylor—a former girlfriend citing his low libido as the reason Lilly had left him.
Riccardo looked down at her. “Just ignore them,” he said quietly. “Ignore the rubbish they say and be true to yourself.”
Lilly wished she had just an ounce of his self-confidence right now—or his supreme ability to focus on what was important and let everything else go.
“Let’s get a drink,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist. She leaned into him and allowed herself to absorb the innate strength that had once made her think nothing and no one could ever hurt her.
How wrong she’d been.
They procured martinis at the bar and were soon caught up in a rolling series of conversations with people eager to see if the rumors were true. Were the De Campos really back together?
Lilly tried to focus on the conversation, but the closer it got to nine o’clock and the fashion show the weaker her legs felt. She could feel the cold, assessing looks being thrown her way by the socialites who had claimed the limelight in her absence. And her stomach started to churn.
Riccardo shot her a look with those perceptive eyes of his, warning her to liven up. But Lilly was finished with the acting job she’d done for years. He wanted her as a wife? Then he was getting the real Lilly—not some plastic, manufactured replica of herself.
“Riccardo!”
The shrill voice of an outrageously beautiful blond just about took her ears off. About her own age, and so delicate a puff of wind might blow her away in her silver lamé dress, she threw herself into Riccardo’s arms and landed a big kiss on either cheek before Lilly could blink.
Riccardo set the diminutive blond down, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Always a dramatic greeting, Victoria.”
A rough-hewn, handsome man in a tux stepped up to shake his hand and clap him on the back. “She always did prefer you, De Campo.”
Riccardo smiled—a guarded smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alessandro Marino. This is the last place I’d expect to see you.”
“My wife.” Alessandro inclined his head with a rueful look. “We had a family wedding in the city. And of course my fashion-obsessed wife couldn’t miss this.”
Riccardo pulled Lilly forward, his hand firm at her back. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Lilly, this is Alessandro Marino, my former teammate, and his wife Victoria.”
Lilly felt his fingers digging into her back. Surprised, she looked up at his face. He looked firmly in control, as always, but there was a tightness in his face that belied his easy smile. Alessandro Marino. It hit her. The man who had taken Riccardo’s place as the star of TeamXT. She’d seen a cover story on him recently. He’d been described as “unbeatable.”
Alessandro leaned forward and pressed a kiss to both her cheeks. His wife followed suit.
“So you’re the woman stupid enough to walk out on Riccardo...” Victoria stood back, giving Lilly a once-over, her blue eyes assessing her as thoroughly as she might a prize filly. “Another few months and you might have been out of luck, with all those women lining up to catch him when he fell.”
“Victoria.” Alessandro bit out the word. “Not appropriate.”
His wife shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“How is the wine business?” Alessandro asked Riccardo. “De Campo’s doing well.”
“We had a good year. And you,” he said, nodding at the other man. “You’re at the top of the pack. Congratulations.”
Alessandro shrugged. “You left big shoes to fill. No one is a daredevil like you, De Campo. I had to work on my style.”
“Well, it’s obviously working.”
“He was the best, you know.” Alessandro flicked a glance at Lilly. “He’d have a couple championship titles by now if he’d stayed.”
Lilly nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
Racing had always been a taboo subject with her and Riccardo. Anytime she’d brought it up her husband had shut down. As he looked like he was about to do right now, judging by the granite-hard expression on his face.
Their conversation with the Marinos deteriorated into an awkward, stilted back and forth that Lilly escaped as soon as she could with a trip to the ladies’ room. When she returned to her husband’s side he excused himself from the group of men he was speaking to and took her arm.
“Finished your little temper tantrum?”
“It wasn’t a temper tantrum. I’m bored, and I’m tired about hearing how much women love you. I get it.”
“Then why is smoke coming out of your ears?” He exerted pressure on her arm until she followed him through the crowd.
“Why didn’t you defend me?” she burst out. “Why didn’t you say something, like, Good thing I’m madly in love with my wife, or anything that would have made me feel less like an idiot?”
“What do you care? This is just an act for you, isn’t it?”
She glared up at him. “I don’t care. What bugs me is that all these people think we’re back together and madly in love and you’re letting her get away with that. You always do with women who fall all over you. You eat it up, Riccardo. You get that same look on your face like you had when you were standing on the podium splashing champagne over everyone after winning a race.”
His jaw tightened. “All men like attention, Lilly. Especially when you get none from your wife.”
Oh. She swung away from him before she hit him. “Is it unrealistic to expect you to stand up for me? You never reassure me. It’s humiliating.”
He led her onto the dance floor. “You know what’s humiliating? Me having to tell everyone we know you’ve left and not knowing what to say because I didn’t know why.”
She absorbed that as he pulled her into his arms and wrapped his fingers around hers. “You brought it on yourself, Riccardo. Don’t try and make me feel bad for you. One week with me out of the house and you were probably acting like ‘Ravishing Riccardo’ again.”
His gaze sharpened at her use of the tabloid nickname for him. “You have a wicked mouth—you know that, cara?”
She stared mutinously at his chest as he pulled her closer. So he’d had to answer some questions about why she’d left? It couldn’t possibly have matched the jealousy and humiliation she’d felt every time he’d left the house without her, wondering if he was with Chelsea. Wondering why she wasn’t enough for him.
She studied his hard, proud profile. Maybe it hadn’t been right for her to run as she had. She was sure it had been a knock to his pride for a man who was built around pride and honor, who had a public image to uphold, to admit his marriage had failed. But if she’d stayed in that house one more day she would have cracked in half.