“I know.” And she knew she had to do something about it. “Are things any better between them?”
“Not unless you count the fact they’ve given up fighting with each other.” He lifted his shoulders. “I think they’re just numb to it all now.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “I was thinking of coming home for Mom’s birthday.”
“She would love that. She misses you, Lilly. She doesn’t say anything—you know Mom—but she does.”
A lump formed in her throat. “About Lisbeth...”
He shook his head. “She needs to get out. We can’t keep her where she doesn’t want to be.”
“But the farm...”
“We’ll manage. The extra money is helping a lot.”
At least something good was coming out of a reconciliation that only seemed to get more complicated with every day that passed.
Speaking of which... She glanced at her watch. “I need to go. I’m late for dinner with Riccardo.”
She hugged her brother, watched as he headed in the direction of the parking garage and then pushed through the front doors of Memorial Sloan Kettering. Flagging a cab, she slid in and gave the driver directions to the restaurant where she was to meet Riccardo.
She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. It had been seven weeks since her and Riccardo’s weekend in Barbados. Seven weeks during which she’d been telling herself she could walk out when their deal was done. Then she’d walked into her doctor’s office this morning to confirm what she’d been desperate to deny.
She was pregnant. Exactly seven weeks pregnant. With her soon-to-be ex-husband’s baby.
If she’d consciously set out to create a bigger disaster, she couldn’t have done so.
How was a baby going to fit into all this?
She stared numbly out at the rush-hour Manhattan traffic, bumper to bumper, horns blaring. She’d spent the past seven weeks trying to blend her and Riccardo’s lives in a way that eased confrontation. She’d done the things she had to do for her practice, refused to give up the friends and essential things that had made her life her own over the past year—and fulfilled her commitments as Riccardo’s wife. Surprisingly, it had worked rather well.
Riccardo seemed bent on reducing the stress placed on her, and had instructed Paige to accept only the social invitations that were essential to De Campo’s interests. He was like a guard dog, monitoring her with annoying persistence. And it made her wonder if there would have been a different outcome for them if it had been like this all along.
Pain stabbed at her insides. The ache inside her was deep and all-consuming. She’d been trying so hard to ignore her feelings for him—to keep herself intact. But every time she tried to put distance between them Riccardo would knock the walls down. He came home early, insisted they eat together, and this time around they actually talked. About which way the board was leaning toward a CEO. How delayed tiles meant Zambia would open a week late. About Antonio being a piece of work.
And then there were the nights... He had followed through on his promise that there would be sexual intimacy. And it was the one thing she couldn’t deny him. Or herself.
It was becoming harder and harder to remind herself that this was a business arrangement when in so many ways this was the marriage she’d never had.
The cab swung to a halt in front of Toujours, a new, eclectic French bistro in the financial district which Riccardo was courting to stock De Campo’s new Napa Valley vintages. She had met the owner, Henri Thibout, formerly a chef in Paris, at a party a few weeks before, and knew Toujours was at the top of her husband’s expansion list.
Henri stood as the maître d’ ushered her to the table. Lilly’s eyes widened when she saw the tall man standing behind him. Antonio. What was he doing here? Riccardo hadn’t mentioned anything about him being in town.
“Lilly.” Henri, a short, balding man in his mid-fifties, who made up for it with bucketloads of charm, brushed twin kisses to her cheeks and introduced her to his head sommelier, Georges, and his wife Joanna.
Riccardo stood and brushed a similar kiss to both her cheeks. She felt the tension radiating from him. Great, she thought, turning to Antonio. Exactly what she needed tonight. The battle of the De Campos.
The big, burly, aristocratic man, with his hook nose and formidable features, failed to intimidate her tonight.
Maybe because she was pregnant. If she said it ten more times maybe she’d believe it.
Henri reached for the sparkling wine chilling on the table and pulled Lilly’s glass toward him. “This will do the trick after a long day,” he said jovially. “Riccardo says you work long days.”
“None for me, thank you,” Lilly said quickly. “It has been a long day. I might actually fall flat on my face if I do.”
Riccardo shot her a quizzical look. If there was anything Lilly loved it was a good sparkling wine. She averted her gaze and answered Joanna’s question about what she did for a living.
The five-course tasting menu was superb, but the smell of seafood was making her nauseous. She did her best, but by the time she’d forced herself to eat half of her third course chicken dish she thought she was going to choke. She set her fork and knife down in an abrupt movement that sent the clang of fine china echoing throughout the restaurant.
Conversation stopped. “Is it not to your liking?” Henri enquired, frowning. “I can get you some—”
“It’s delicious,” Lilly assured him. She reached for her water. “Apologies—my appetite is a bit off.”
Riccardo kept that watchdog look on her, his gaze darkening. She stumbled through the sorbet and cheese course, so desperate to be home alone with her thoughts that she almost jumped out of her seat at the end of the meal.
“Thank you,” she murmured to Henri after he’d promised Riccardo feedback on the wine list by next week. “It was lovely to see you again.”
Antonio stayed behind to enjoy an aperitif with Henri. She watched her husband’s mouth tighten at the interaction. Antonio was in town without Francesca, as usual, who preferred not to travel to North America. He and Henri had obviously hit it off.
Riccardo led her through the restaurant, his firm grip on her elbow keeping her by his side. When they’d stepped out of the busy restaurant onto the sidewalk he spun her around.
“What is up with you? Dio. It’s like you’ve had a gallon of coffee in one go.”
She pulled her arm out of his. There was no way she was telling him her news on a busy Manhattan sidewalk.
“Like I said. It’s been a long day. What was Antonio doing here?”
“Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual,” he growled. “Don’t deflect, Lilly. You were a disaster in there. You hardly ate a thing. In fact you’ve hardly eaten a thing for weeks. This is ending now.”
She focused her gaze a centimeter to the right of his. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous, that’s all.”
“Then we’re going to see your doctor,” he said grimly. “I will not have you go through this again.”
“I did see my doctor. I’m fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?” He stalked closer and captured her wrist in his. “We are not moving until you tell me.”
“I think we should—”
“Lilly!” The valet who had been headed toward them stopped in mid-stride as Riccardo bellowed the word at her. “Spit it out.”
His anger, her terror, and the complete loss of control she was feeling all hit her at once. “I’m pregnant!” she yelled at him. “I’m pregnant, goddammit, Riccardo. There—are you happy?”
He went chalk-white under his olive skin. The valet swiftly changed direction. The two of them faced off like prize fighters on the busy sidewalk. Then Riccardo grabbed her arm and pulled her under the awning of the restaurant, away from the flow of people.
“Is it mine?”
Her jaw dropped open. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”
“It could be Taylor’s.”
She put a hand on her stomach. “I’m seven weeks pregnant. Exactly seven weeks pregnant. It’s yours.”
He went even paler, raking a hand through his hair. “We’re not having this conversation here.”
“I was trying to avoid it,” she muttered. “And I sincerely hope that valet doesn’t realize what a scoop he has on his hands.”
Riccardo walked over to the valet stand and said something to the young guy, who practically ran to the lot across the street. He came back minutes later with the Jag.
Riccardo opened the door. “Get in.”
They didn’t talk for the entire drive home. Her husband’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his attention focused on the road. When they got to the house he opened the door, slammed it behind her and directed her inside.