Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

mouth bruised from his kisses, she stood staring at him.

      How had that happened? How had she let that happen?

      “I hate you,” she breathed. “I really do.”

      His mouth twisted. “That makes two of us. Sometimes I really hate you, too, tesoro. It’s the rest of the time that messes us up.”

      She shook her head. Backed away from him. Turning, she snatched her purse off the chair and walked out without looking back.

      What had she done?

       Chapter Three

      New York Daily Buzz

      Society Shocker!

      Word has it the engagement of up-and-coming designer Angelina Carmichael and district attorney candidate Byron Davidson is off after a flashy soiree to celebrate the couple’s betrothal just two weeks ago.

      The buzz about town is the prominent lawyer is clearly devastated at the split, perhaps suggesting it was Angelina who called it off?

      One can’t help but wonder if the reason for the break comes in the form of none other than Angelina’s ex: sexy corporate raider Lorenzo Ricci. The two were seen dining at Tempesta Di Fuoco last week, conjuring up images of the couple’s tempestuous marriage that offered this column a regular supply of juicy news over its fiery but short duration.

      Given the much lusted-after Lorenzo has been curiously devoid of a woman on his arm since the split, suspicion is running rampant that Angelina could be the cause.

      The question on everyone’s lips is…are the Riccis back on?

      OH, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE. Angie tossed the salacious tabloid on the coffee table in her studio, blood heating. Did those people not have better things to do with their time? Her heart sank as she imagined what Byron must be thinking. Feeling. How he was coping with the barrage of gossip that had spread through town faster than a forest fire eating up dry timber.

      She hadn’t talked to him since the night after her confrontation with Lorenzo, when she’d given him back his ring. Since that kiss with her husband had made it clear she couldn’t marry her fiancé. Even if Lorenzo had miraculously changed his mind and offered to expedite their divorce, she still couldn’t have married her fiancé. Not after everything she’d done to prove she was over her husband, that she didn’t care about him anymore, had been exposed for the lie it was.

      Her mouth turned down. That was why she’d felt so off the night of the engagement party. Because she’d been trying to convince herself she was in love with her ultraintelligent, grounded fiancé, that she wanted the opposite of her roller-coaster ride of a marriage, when in fact she had never truly gotten over Lorenzo—the man who had made her feel as if her emotions were out of control.

      The movers, currently emptying her apartment above the studio of her possessions, stomped back in to take the final load of boxes out to the truck parked on the street. The ball of tension in her stomach grew as she witnessed what was left of her carefully constructed existence disappear before her eyes.

      A conversation with her father had provided no alternatives to her husband’s proposition, only a suggestion by her father to repair the marriage she never should have left in the first place.

      Potential investors were too spooked by Carmichael Company’s recent performance to touch the once lauded company, nor would her father’s pride allow him to hunt other offers of assistance. Which meant, as she’d feared, she was the only solution to this problem if her brother, James, who would someday soon run Carmichael Company and her sister, Abigail, were to have anything left of the company to inherit.

      She picked up her coffee, taking a sip of the steaming brew and cradling the cup in her hands. Allowing Abigail to bear all the responsibility for her mother was also something she needed to fix. She had her life together now. She was strong. It was time to start assuming some of the responsibilities she’d been shirking so her sister could have a life, too.

      Which didn’t negate the fear gripping her insides. The anger keeping her awake at night, tossing in her bed, leaving her hollow-eyed in the morning. That Lorenzo was forcing her into this reconciliation, using her family as leverage, made his intentions very clear. This was a power play for him like every other he executed on a daily basis. He wanted her back, needed his heir, so he’d made it happen.

      It was not about his feelings for her. Or lack of them… About a sentimental, real desire to give what they’d had a second chance. It was about him repossessing what he felt was his. Staking his claim.

      She set down her cup in its saucer. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it with her eyes wide-open, naïveté firmly banished. On her terms. She wasn’t going to allow him to take control, to overwhelm and intimidate her as he had the first time around. She wasn’t sacrificing the independence and freedom she’d carved out for herself and she wasn’t letting her husband break her heart again. Those were her rules.

      Defiance drove her back to her worktable when the movers left, where her anger fueled a furious burst of productivity. By the time she finished up a couple of pieces for Alexander Faggini’s Fashion Week show, her watch read 7:00 p.m. Oops. She was supposed to be home having dinner with Lorenzo right now—their first night together again in the penthouse. Unfortunately, she was going to be at least a half hour late.

      “How’s the deal going? Still mired in legalese?”

      “Sì.” Lorenzo cradled his mobile between ear and shoulder while he poured himself a drink in deference to the end of the week. “There’s a few small points Bavaro and I have to work through. He’s been a bit of a wild card.”

      “Bene.” Amusement danced in Franco’s voice. “I love watching Father on this one. To make Ricci the largest luxury hotel chain in the world is an accomplishment even he can’t match. It kills him to think of you surpassing his achievements.”

      Lorenzo smiled. His father, retired now and serving on the boards of other companies, had an endless thirst for competition. That included the one he had with his sons. It had made the bonds between him and Franco even tighter as they had united to combat their father’s powerful personality, with Franco running the shipping operations out of Milan, while Lorenzo oversaw the rest of the company from New York.

      “He needn’t worry he’ll be forgotten. He has more than his fair share of achievements.” Lorenzo lifted the whiskey to his mouth and took a sip. “So,” he said, as the fiery spirit burned a soothing path through his insides, “when were you going to tell me about the IVF? I have to hear it from the old man?”

      A low oath. “I should have known he’d jump the gun. We didn’t get the results on the latest procedure until today. I was waiting until we knew for sure before laying that on you.”

      “I figured it was something like that.” He paused a beat, searching for the right words. “So what was the verdict?”

      “It didn’t work. Likely never will.”

      A knot formed in his throat. “Mi dispiace. I know how much you and Elena wanted this.”

      “It is what it is.”

      The raspy edge to his brother’s voice gutted him. It always hurt to be so far away but right now it felt like the sharp blade of a knife. “How is Elena taking the news?”

      “Not well. She’s claiming it’s her fault even though I’ve told her it could just as easily be me.”

      He closed his eyes. He didn’t know the pain of being denied what he’d always assumed to be his, but he did know what it was like to lose a baby. How deeply