Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

      He finished his drink in a long swig. Set the glass down. What was clear was that he hadn’t fulfilled his end of his bargain with his wife. He’d insisted Angelina be an open book, but he hadn’t been with her. He owed her the truth, because if he continued to use his guilt as a crutch, to hide from his emotions, he would lose her anyway. And losing his wife, he realized, wasn’t an option.

      The lawyers droned on. The sun beat down on his head. Perhaps knowing, accepting he should have done things differently and forgiving himself for Lucia’s death were two separate things. Maybe he needed to forgive himself for being human in the decisions he’d made…maybe that was something he could live with.

      He leaned forward, palms on the table. “We will cobrand the hotels,” he interjected, cutting through the din. ‘“The Ricci South Beach, formerly a Belmont hotel.’ That’s as far as I’m willing to take it.”

      Cristopher gaped at his about-face. Lorenzo stood up. “You have twenty-four hours to give us a response—after that, the deal is dead.”

      Marc eyed him. “You’re walking out?”

      “I’m taking a page out of your father’s book. I’m finally getting my priorities straight. You’ve had a year to do that, Bavaro, I’m giving you another twenty-four hours’ grace.”

      Whether he had that with Angelina after the things he’d said to her remained to be seen.

      “Why don’t you just take his calls if you’re this miserable?”

      Angie looked up from her bowl of pasta to find her sister’s watchful gaze on her. “Because we both need space. And,” she said, dropping the fork in the bowl and pushing it away, “I’m angry at him.”

      Furious. Lonely. Miserable. But she wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire by dragging her sister into this. They were supposed to be having a nice night out at their favorite restaurant, something she desperately needed.

      “You know,” Abigail said quietly, “Lorenzo called James this afternoon.”

      She sat up straighter. “James? Why?”

      “Father is stepping down and making James CEO. Lorenzo’s going to come in and work side by side with him to right-side Carmichael Company.”

      Her jaw dropped. “And I don’t know about this why?”

      “Apparently it’s been in the works for a while, but Father just made the decision this week. According to James, Lorenzo gave Father an ultimatum a few weeks back—step down or he will withdraw his financial support.”

      “He’s good at that,” Angie muttered. “Throwing his weight around.” She frowned, playing with the straw in her iced tea. “The question is why? He can barely manage his own schedule. How is he going to accommodate this?”

      “I don’t know,” Abigail said softly, her attention on something behind Angie, “but you could ask him. I think your space just ran out.”

      She whipped her head around. Felt the blood drain from her face. Lorenzo, in a silver-gray suit, navy tie and white shirt, stood talking to the hostess. All magnetic, bespoke elegance, the pretty blonde was clearly dazzled by him, her megawatt smile as she pointed to their table blinding.

      Angie turned back to her sister, butterflies swarming her stomach. “How did he know I was here?” Her gaze narrowed. “You told him.”

      Abigail sat back in her chair, wineglass in hand. “You just said you’re in love with him. Not that that’s a news flash. You two need to work things out.”

      “Traitor,” Angie growled. But then her husband was standing beside their table and everything inside her seemed to vibrate with the need to hold him, to have him, she’d missed him so much.

      She pressed her lips together. Looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

      He eyed her, his dark stare making her heart thud in her chest. “I’ve come to get my wife.”

      Her stomach lurched. “You can’t order me around, Lorenzo. I’m done with that.”

      “It wasn’t an order. I’m asking you to come home with me and talk this out.”

      She sank her teeth into her lip. “Lorenzo—”

      “Please.” The husky edge to his voice raked her skin. Deepened the ache inside of her to unbearable levels.

      She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

      “You think I don’t love you?” he rasped, his gaze holding hers. “What do you think this has all been about, Angelina? Me running after you like a lunatic? Me not being able to forget you? Me acting like a complete jackass? I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. If my behavior hasn’t made that clear, I don’t know what will.”

      “He has a point,” Abigail said dryly. “As much as I’m enjoying this spectacular grovel, however, there are at least two tabloid reporters in the house tonight. Perhaps you should hear the man out.”

      Angie barely heard her, she was so utterly gobsmacked by what her husband had just said. At the truth glimmering in his black eyes. Never had she expected to hear him say those three words. Certainly not in a restaurant full of people now staring at them.

      She glanced at her sister. Abigail waved her off with an amused lift of her hand. “I’ll have the fudge cake while I imagine being a fly on the wall. Go.”

      Lorenzo captured her fingers in his and dragged her to her feet. Through the crowded restaurant they went, her half running to keep up with his long strides.

      The car sat waiting with the valet. Lorenzo tucked her into the passenger seat, got in and drove home. Angie watched him, head spinning. “What happened in Miami? Did you sign the deal?”

      “No. I told Erasmo Bavaro I would cobrand the hotels, that was my final offer, and gave them twenty-four hours to take it or leave it.”

      “Oh.” She frowned. “You said you’d never do that.”

      “Things change.”

      “The Bavaros got to you, didn’t they?”

      “Perhaps. My wife also made it clear she disapproves of my slash-and-burn approach to business.”

      She eyed him. “Why are you helping James?”

      “Because I think Carmichael can be great again, but it needs your brother at the helm. A modern leadership. And,” he added, flicking her a glance, “I like the idea of building something again.”

      “You have no capacity. What if you land Belmont?”

      “I will hand it off to the VP I hired last week. It’s all part of the plan.”

      “What plan?”

      “To keep you.” Quiet words, full of meaning. Promise. “It was always about keeping you, Angelina. I just didn’t go about it the right way.”

      Oh. Her heart melted. It was hard to stay angry when he said things like that.

      Traffic unusually light, they made it home in minutes. Lorenzo flicked on the lights in the living room, poured them glasses of sparkling water, handed one to Angie and lowered himself into a chair. She curled up in the one opposite him.

      “I need to tell you about Lucia,” he said quietly. “All of it.”

      Her heart beat a jagged rhythm. “Lorenzo—”

      He held up a hand. “I need to do it.”

      She sat back, heart in her mouth.

      “My trip to Shanghai, the