Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

Octavia didn’t miss it, her shrewd dark eyes moving between the two of them every so often as if to assess what the real truth of them was.

      Angie told herself she wasn’t that twenty-two-year-old girl who’d been hopelessly intimidated by her mother-in-law. She was a successful business owner, every bit a match for Octavia Ricci. The thought settled her nerves as she sat beside Lorenzo at the table on the terrace Constanza had set with an elegant candelabra blazing in the final, hazy light of day. Lorenzo’s parents sat opposite them, the humidity-free night a perfect choice for dinner outside.

      The wine flowed freely, as did the conversation. By the time their salad plates were cleared, Angie had begun to relax, if not enjoy herself.

      Octavia set her gaze on her daughter-in-law. “Lorenzo tells me you’re partnering with Alexander Faggini on his show. That’s impressive.”

      “Providing the jewelry,” Angie amended carefully. “Alexander is the star. But yes, thank you, it’s very exciting. Would you like to come?”

      Octavia frowned. “We have dinner plans.” She turned to her husband. “We could move them, couldn’t we?”

      “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. It would be fun for you.”

      “Bene.” Octavia flashed one of her queen-like smiles. “I would love to, then. Is your mother coming?”

      Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m afraid not. She’s out of town.”

      “Oh, that’s too bad.” Her mother-in-law looked anything but sad. “Where is she?”

      “The south of France with family.” She gave the cover she and Abigail had agreed on.

      Octavia wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t it hot there this time of year? I can’t wait to escape the heat in the summer.”

      “We have a house there. She loves the flowers in the summer.”

      “I see.”

      “You must come with Lorenzo the next time he’s in Italy,” Salvatore inserted. “It would be nice for you to reconnect with the family.”

      “That would be lovely.” She had no intention, however, of putting herself in the midst of Lorenzo’s big, gregarious family until she and her husband had proven they could make this work. “It may be next year, I’m afraid. As soon as Fashion Week is over I’ll be ramping up for the Christmas season. Things will be crazy right through January.”

      “I expect,” Octavia interjected smoothly, “you will have to scale back once you and Lorenzo are expecting. My son tells me the pace you’ve been working at. That can’t be good for a pregnancy.”

      Angie stiffened. Shot a sideways look at her husband. “Lorenzo and I are taking our time with that. But I see no reason not to keep working. I think it’s healthier for a woman to stick to her usual lifestyle.”

      “Yes,” said Octavia, “but it’s common knowledge women who work too much have more difficulty conceiving. They are more stressed and the process doesn’t happen so easily.”

      The process hadn’t even happened between her and Lorenzo yet… How dare Octavia interfere like this? Lips pursed, she picked up her wine and took a sip. Lorenzo set a palm on her thigh.

      “Give us time, Mamma. Angie and I have just reconciled. There will be plenty of opportunities to make babies.”

      “Angie is approaching twenty-six,” Octavia countered. “You may need time.”

      Blood rushed to her cheeks. They were discussing her like she was a broodmare. Completely disregarding the fact that she wasn’t ready to get pregnant, as her career was at a critical juncture. Or that she had miscarried the last time she had carried Lorenzo’s baby, a soul-clawing experience she never wanted to repeat again. Not to mention the fact that her husband had shut down emotionally afterward, the impetus to the end of their marriage.

      Lorenzo set a hard stare on his mother. “We had no problems conceiving before. We’re not in any rush.”

      His mother lifted an elegant shoulder. “Angie was young then—at the prime of her fertility. I’m simply giving you my advice. Women think they can wait forever these days and it just doesn’t happen that way.”

      Angie drew in a breath. Lorenzo’s fingers tightened around her thigh. He gave his mother a look that said that was enough and changed the subject.

      She tried to shake it off as the meal wore on, but couldn’t. Of all the things she and Lorenzo were battling through right now, a baby was not a priority.

      Unable to do justice to the delicious chicken dish Constanza had cooked because her stomach had coiled up into a tight little ball, she set down her fork. By the time the elder Riccis got up to make their departure just after ten, she was fuming. She managed a few more minutes of civility, discussing the current theater runs with Octavia while Salvatore pulled his son aside in the study.

      “Maledizione, Lorenzo, who the hell leaked this deal?”

      Lorenzo leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d been hoping to avoid this discussion, had almost managed it, until his father had pulled him aside.

      “I have no idea,” he said flatly. “There’s only been high-level people involved. But you know what it’s like—when there’s a juicy story waiting in the wings, someone is always willing to spill.”

      “And if we don’t close it?” his father countered. “This is Ricci’s reputation you are gambling with. It’s one thing to pursue a company that wants to dance, another thing entirely to drag it kicking and screaming onto the floor.”

      “I will close it,” Lorenzo growled. “We will dance the final waltz, Papà. But I am not a magician. I cannot summon Mark Bavaro back from South America with a snap of my fingers. You need to give me time.”

      “I have given you time. A year this has been dragging on, figliolo. This needs to be done before the next board meeting. Before they start wondering if we know what we’re doing in the corner office or not.”

      Lorenzo scowled. “They are a bunch of overreactors with too much time on their hands.”

      “Who can make our lives hell if they choose to.” His father crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring his pose. “I am beginning to think your ambition has got the best of you on this one.”

      His back stiffened. Bavaro’s disappearance was raising his blood pressure. He didn’t need the added pressure of his father trying to control everything around him even though he was no longer in charge of Ricci. But going head-to-head with Salvatore, he reminded himself, was like two stags locked in a fight to the finish. It never ended well.

      “I am CEO of this company,” he said, eyeing his father. “I will get the deal done. Back off and let me do my job.”

      His father gave a haughty tilt of his head. “October, Lorenzo. This needs to be signed and sealed.”

      Too riled up to sleep, Angie put on a swimsuit and headed for the hot tub on the terrace while her husband returned a phone call. Maybe it would unwind the Octavia-induced knots in her shoulders.

      Built into the deck, with a sensational view of the Manhattan skyline, it was her favorite way to relax after a long day. She dropped her towel on the deck, set her half-finished glass of wine beside the tub and stepped into the hot, bubbling water, immersing herself up to her shoulders.

      A sigh left her. Closing her eyes, she let the jets unwind the knots, ease the band of tension encircling her skull.

      “In a better mood?”

      Her