The Delicious De Campos: The Divorce Party. Jennifer Hayward
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stage, fourth in the queue, but she wasn’t really there. All she could see was the brilliant smile on Chelsea Tate’s face as she pulled Riccardo in for that kiss.
She ran the back of her hand across her damp forehead. The woman in front of her went out. The show director motioned that she was on.
“Go,” he said, giving her a nudge.
She stepped onto the runway. The lights blinded her. The beat of the music pounded in her ears. She started walking, but her legs were shaking so much it was hard to make any progress. The hundreds of faces in rows around the stage were a blur. The long catwalk stretched like an endless sea of white in front of her.
She stumbled, looked down to gauge where she was. Her gaze collided with a handsome blond man sitting in the front row.
Harry.
He smiled at her. She couldn’t move her lips out of their frozen curve. Of course he would be here. He worked for the hospital. Her gaze slid down the row to Riccardo, her stomach giving a sickening lurch. Had they talked to each other?
She forced herself to keep walking, but her trembling limbs made her misstep again. Her foot slid sideways in her shoe and she stumbled forward. What the—? she stuck a desperate hand out to steady herself, but the momentum of her body weight sent her careening off the side of the runway. A choked scream escaped her as the wooden floor rose up to meet her.
Bracing herself for impact, she felt the air hiss from her lungs as a pair of strong arms closed around her and hauled her in.
Winded and dazed, she stared up into the face of Harry Taylor.
“Hell, Lilly, are you okay?”
The pounding music made her head spin. The crowd gathering around her was claustrophobic.
She nodded. “I don’t know what happened. I—”
“Lilly—” Antonia pushed through the crowd, a horrified look on her face. “I forgot to do up your shoe.”
Lilly grimaced and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m fine. You can put—
“Her down.” Riccardo stepped in, his gaze not leaving Harry’s face.
No thanks for saving his wife from breaking a few bones. Not even a curt acknowledgement of what he’d done. Her husband stood glaring at Harry, his expression so dark Lilly was convinced most men would have dropped her and run.
But not Harry. He lowered her gently to the floor and held her steady as Antonia knelt and did up her shoe.
“You okay?” he asked again, keeping his hands on her arms until he was sure she had her balance.
Lilly nodded, humiliation washing over her until she wanted to shrivel up into a little droplet of water and disappear between the floorboards.
Kelly Rankin stepped forward. “I am so sorry, Lilly,” she murmured. “Are you okay to get back up there and continue?”
Riccardo slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “She’s had enough. Go on without her.”
Lilly’s humiliation degenerated into a slow, explosive burn. He had been the one to make her do this. He had insisted on her doing something she clearly wasn’t comfortable with. How dared he act so concerned?
If she didn’t get back up there and hold her head high she would never get over it. Pressing her lips together, she turned to Kelly. “I’m fine. Let’s do it.”
The organizer gave her a relieved look and went backstage. Harry stepped back and went to his seat. Lilly went on tiptoe and put her mouth to Riccardo’s ear. “Never, ever speak for me in public again.”
Then she turned and followed Antonia, leaving her stunned husband staring after her.
* * *
“Good for you, getting back up there.”
An attractive fifty-something brunette gave Lilly an encouraging smile as she touched up her lipstick in the ladies’ room. “I’m not sure I would have.”
Lilly flashed her a polite smile. “Not much else I could do.”
The woman shrugged and tossed her perfume in her purse. “Well, you looked gorgeous. I hope you get to keep the dress.”
She did, in fact. Riccardo had it outside, in a monogrammed Antonia Abelli bag that also held her own less-than-spectacular underwear. Although she doubted she’d ever wear the dress again. Not after tonight. Not after she’d crashed and burned so spectacularly in it.
She nodded at the woman and left. No less than a dozen people had come up to her since the show had ended. It would have been more if Riccardo hadn’t acted as gatekeeper.
Her husband’s mood had gone steeply downhill since she’d ended up in Harry’s arms, and she’d been relieved at his suggestion they leave shortly after. Determined to avoid as many people as she could, she walked around the edge of the crowd toward the entrance.
“Lilly.”
Harry Taylor stood in front of her, a determined look on his face.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “More embarrassed than anything. Thank you for rescuing me.”
His gaze sharpened on her face. “You sure? You looked like a ghost up there—not like yourself at all.”
She nodded. “I’m fine, really. Just tired. We’re leaving now.”
He pulled at his tie and gave her a pained look. “You know I meant what I said the other day. I don’t think Riccardo is the right guy for you. And I’m always here if you need me.”
Lilly bit her lip. “Look, I shouldn’t be talking to you, Harry—Riccardo will hit the roof.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he pointed out, frowning. “Why should you have to worry about that? Dammit, Lilly, if that bastard starts treating you badly I swear I will—”
“What?”
She spun around to find her husband standing behind them, a barely restrained look of violence on his face.
“What will you do, Taylor? I’d like to know.”
Harry stepped forward. He wasn’t a short man, but Riccardo had three inches on him easily. That didn’t seem to faze Harry as he stood toe to toe with him. “I will hold you accountable.”
Riccardo gave him a silky look. “My wife and I and our personal life are none of your business. Accept the fact that you never stood a chance, Taylor.”
Harry’s face turned bright red. Lilly stared as a man who never lost control balled his hand into a fist and sent it arcing toward her husband’s face. Riccardo’s reflexes, honed by years as a competitive athlete, were lightning-fast and he caught the other man’s wrist in his hand before it connected.
Light exploded around them. Lilly looked up to see a half-dozen cameras pointed at them. Oh, my God. How could this be happening?
“Guys,” she pleaded, pulling on Riccardo’s arm. “Stop.”
Her husband dropped his hand away but stayed toe to toe with Harry. “You come near my wife again and I will take you apart piece by piece.”
Harry lifted his chin. “You don’t scare me, De Campo. You—”
“Harry!” Lilly had the hysterical thought that if he’d acted more like this—more manly, more aggressive—he might have done it for her. She took a deep breath and gave both men a level look. “We are leaving. Goodnight, Harry.”
* * *
Riccardo drove home like he was on a racecourse instead of in the middle of Manhattan, and was shocked when no police officer appeared to