Rising Stars. Maisey Yates

exploded inside her, Lilley tilted back her head with a gasp, closing her eyes. Her heart pounded as she realized what she’d done. She should have told him the truth from the beginning. From the very first day. She’d thought it would be better to wait until he had a reason to care. But when he discovered she’d lied to him for months, after he’d allowed himself to be so vulnerable and care for her—trust her—it would be the beginning of the end.

      No. She felt his wet, slick tongue between her legs and shuddered with need, closing her eyes with anguish. She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

      She would find a way to tell him the truth. And pray it wasn’t the end … of everything.

      CHAPTER TEN

      ALESSANDRO’s jaw dropped when he first saw his wife at the top of the stairs.

      After five weeks of planning, he’d known she was choosing her gown with care for their wedding reception at their palazzo tonight. She’d insisted on picking her dress herself, in utmost secrecy. Now he saw why. Lilley was wearing a ball gown of watered silk in blending swirls of purple and fuchsia, with a snug corset tight beneath her breasts and loose over her swelling belly. Pink flowers adorned her long, flowing brown hair which tumbled over her shoulders.

      She paused at the top of the landing, waiting for his reaction. “Well?” she asked with a deep breath. “What do you think?”

      Alessandro opened his lips to tell her she must change, to tell her she couldn’t wear such an outrageous gown, not when they’d be surrounded by the critical eyes of the most stylish citizens of the most stylish city in the world. He opened his mouth to tell her that fitting in was the only way to survive.

      Then Alessandro saw the hope in Lilley’s vulnerable brown eyes. He realized what a risk she’d taken, choosing a dress like this for the night of the reception she’d spent weeks planning.

      She was, quite deliberately, taking a risk.

      And the truth was she looked beautiful. Looking at her face, Alessandro suddenly didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. He didn’t care about anyone but her.

      He held up his hand with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

      Relief and gratitude rushed across Lilley’s beautiful face before she gave him a mischievous grin. “Grazie,” she said, swishing her skirt as she came down the stairs. She adjusted his tie with a dimpled smile. “You don’t look so bad in that tuxedo yourself.”

      Then, standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and kissed him so long and hard that if guests for the reception hadn’t already started to arrive, he would have taken her straight upstairs and ripped the colorful ball gown right off her.

      As they went to the ballroom to greet their guests, Alessandro marveled at the changes Lilley had made in the palazzo. In the two months they’d been in Rome, Lilley had tossed out all his elegant, creaky antiques and replaced them with furniture that was both comfortable and warm. His palazzo had once been a showplace. Now it was a home.

      And it had never looked better than it did tonight. It was early December, and there was a fire in every fireplace, white twinkling lights on the trees outside and holly and pine boughs on all the mantels, to celebrate the upcoming season.

      Looking across the ballroom, Lilley gave a sudden intake of breath. “Uh-oh. The ambassador is hitting on Monica Valenti.” He followed her gaze to see the gray-haired ambassador clearly invading the personal space of the nineteen-year-old starlet. Lilley threw him an apologetic glance. “Mi scusi.”

      As he took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, Alessandro watched his wife with admiration. Their ballroom was packed. Lilley had invited everyone: aristocracy, government officials and entrepreneurs, from the highest circles of Roman society. She’d even invited Lucretia and Giulia.

      His wife had a forgiving soul. He did not.

      Alessandro had called both women and disinvited them in no uncertain terms. Now they were missing this reception, which somehow—he wasn’t sure quite how—had turned into the social event of the year. The humiliation would teach the two women to show his wife a little more respect. His lips curled. The next time Lilley saw them, he suspected they would be in a far friendlier mood.

      Finishing the glass of St. Raphaël champagne, he placed his empty flute on a silver tray and watched as his beautiful wife disengaged Monica Valenti from the ambassador with such friendly, warm charm, that instead of taking offense, the gray-haired man smiled at her, clearly enchanted.

      And who wouldn’t be enchanted? Surrounded by skinny women who wore drab designer gowns of beige and black, Lilley stood out like a bird of paradise. Guests followed her, waiting to speak with her, and Alessandro suddenly remembered how shy and terrified Lilley had been when he’d taken her to the Preziosi di Caetani ball. That was just a few months ago. So much had changed since then.

      Lilley’s eyes met his across the crowded ballroom, and he gave her a wicked half smile, thinking of what he intended to do to her later. Her brown eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. Ah, she was so adorable, his wife. So innocent and easy to read.

      She looked away, their eye contact broken as a man came to speak with her, blocking Alessandro’s view of her face.

      He scowled as he recognized Vladimir Xendzov talking to Lilley, touching the bulky necklace around her neck. It was her newest strange concoction, created from gold and sapphire gem clusters she’d found in an antique shop in Venice. He wondered what they were talking about. He trusted his wife, but he didn’t trust Xendzov. Setting his jaw, he grabbed a glass of bubbly pink champagne, then gaped at the raspberry in the bottom. He’d look like a fool drinking that. Setting the flute back on the tray, he barked at the waiter, “Get me a Scotch.”

      The man bowed and backed away, and Alessandro looked slowly around the crowded ballroom. Lilley had thrown herself into planning this reception as if her life depended on it, finding caterers and musicians and florists. The end result was as unique and offbeat as Lilley’s jewelry. No one was dancing yet, but the mood was lively with a brash, lilting Irish rock band Lilley had hired from Dublin, just for fun. Dinner was being served buffet-style, with exotic dishes representing every country where Caetani Worldwide owned a subsidiary. The hodgepodge of cultures should have been a disaster. Instead … He looked around and saw powerful men laughing, saw their beige-clad wives giggling like schoolchildren. It was a hit.

      Lilley was a hit.

      Emotion rose in Alessandro’s heart.

      Why had he never realized it before? Lilley was perfect as she was. She didn’t need to change. She didn’t need to fit in. She was born to stand out.

      The feeling in his heart expanded to his throat, choking him, and suddenly he had to tell her. He had to take her in his arms and tell her how proud he was of her, how much he cared about her, how much he … that he …

      His feet moved across the marble floor, beneath the twinkling lights of the multicolored, sparkling glass chandeliers she’d bought in Venice. Alessandro moved faster, pushing through the crowds. His view of Lilley’s face was still blocked by the people clustered around her, by the Russian who called himself a prince. Alessandro needed his wife in his arms. Now.

      “Darling.” Olivia suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his way. Skinny and pale, dressed in a black sheath that showed her complete lack of décolletage, she looked like an angel of death.

      “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

      “I was invited.” Her lips curled up on the edges, reminding him of a cat, although that seemed disrespectful to cats. “By your wife.”

      She spoke the word as if it left her mouth with a foul taste. He set his jaw, glaring at her. “Lilley is too generous.”

      “Of course she is generous,” Olivia’s smile widened. “She can afford to be.”

      “What are you talking