Rising Stars. Maisey Yates
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gave a tinkling little laugh. “Oh, this is delicious. Do you truly not know?” She walked slowly around him, running one red-painted fingertip along the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket. Her thin face was smug as she leaned forward to whisper, “She’s Walton Hainsbury’s daughter.”
Alessandro stared at her. As if from a distance, he heard the lilting rock music, heard the laughter and low conversation of the Italian guests around him, the crème de la crème of Roman society. Then the marble floor seemed to move beneath his feet.
Walton Hainsbury’s daughter. The man who owned the huge discount jewelry chain that had tried to seize control of Caetani Worldwide in a hostile takeover last spring. He shook his head fiercely.
“You’re insane,” Alessandro said. “Lilley comes from a little town in the midwest.”
Olivia threw back her head and laughed. “You mean Minneapolis? Oh, darling.” She made a show of wiping her eyes. “It’s a large city. The headquarters of many international corporations.” She lifted a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Including …”
Including Hainsbury Corporation, he remembered with a sickening twist of his gut. And Walton Hainsbury lived nearby. An icy chill went down his spine. He lifted his chin. “Lilley is not his daughter.”
“Not just a daughter, but his only child. His heir.”
My father threatened to disinherit me, her voice whirled through Alessandro’s brain, if I didn’t come back to Minnesota and marry one of his managers.
She’d had that platinum Hainsbury watch, which her mother had had especially made. How? How had she done that?
My father’s a businessman.
He owns a restaurant? Perhaps a laundromat?
Um. Something like that.
Alessandro ignored the sudden pounding of his heart. He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t. “When we met, Lilley was working in my file room. My file room, Olivia.”
She looked down at her finely sharpened red fingernails. “What better place for a corporate spy?”
A strangled noise escaped Alessandro’s throat. He remembered finding Lilley alone in his private office that first night. I just wanted to work for a few hours in peace and quiet. Without anyone bothering me, she’d said.
His throat closed. And most damning of all. She’d known. She’d known about his plans for the Joyería deal. She could have given that information to Théo St. Raphaël.
Impossible, he told himself harshly. Lilley had no connection to the French count. Perhaps she’d had a motive to hate Alessandro back then, after he’d seduced and abandoned her in Sonoma. But she’d had no opportunity to …
“I’m surprised your company even hired her,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “Considering her last employer.”
Alessandro tried to remember the job Lilley had mentioned, the most recent one, which for some reason she’d left off her résumé. It all seemed like a million years ago. “She worked as a maid. In Minneapolis. And she worked for a relative …”
She looked at him in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you so stupid and slow. Until six months ago, she was Théo St. Raphaël’s housekeeper in the South of France. He’s her cousin, you know. She left his employ just days before she started working for you.”
It felt like getting hit in the face. Alessandro staggered back. “Théo St. Raphaël?” he said faintly. “The Count of Castelnau is Lilley’s cousin?”
“She’s lied to you all along.” Olivia regarded him. “But you expected that, didn’t you? You always expect women to lie to you. Surely you had her background checked before you married her?”
His heart hammered in his chest, so hard and fast he thought it might break through his ribs. “No.”
“Prenup?”
The ballroom, the noise of the guests, seemed to be spinning around him. The crowds parted, and he saw Lilley’s face. She smiled at him across the room, her face shining, as honest and bright and beautiful as ever. He turned his head away, feeling sick. “No.”
“Clever girl,” Olivia murmured. “I wonder what else she’s lied to you about.” She gave him a sideways glance. “How well do you really know her?”
His jaw was tight. “I know she’s pregnant with my child.”
“Do you?” Her eyes were steady and cold. “Do you really?”
It felt like an ice pick through Alessandro’s brain. He heard the echo of Heather’s voice from long ago. The baby’s not yours. I lied.
He tightened his hands to fists. “Of course the baby is mine,” he ground out. “Lilley wouldn’t lie about that.”
“You know how conniving and ruthless people can be.”
“I know how conniving you can be,” he said harshly.
“Me? I’m an amateur.” Olivia laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “All this time you believed her to be some small-town innocent, didn’t you? And she probably planned this from the start. Perhaps her goal is full control of Caetani Worldwide, split equally between her father and her cousin.”
He stared at her. “I don’t believe you,” he choked out.
But that was a lie. He did believe her. That was the problem.
Olivia’s eyes met his. “So ask her.”
With a low curse, Alessandro pushed past her. Shoving through the crowd, Alessandro stalked towards his wife. Just moments before, he’d felt such reckless joy, a strange breathless certainty about Lilley. Now, that feeling had evaporated as if it had never existed. All that was left was cold despair.
And fury. As he walked towards her, blood started to pound through his body, boiling hot, thawing him out limb by limb. He welcomed the anger. Stoked it.
He’d given Lilley everything, and she’d made a fool out of him. She’d lied to him from the beginning. Faked her name. Her résumé. And perhaps even—
No. He cut off the thought savagely, his hands clenching at his sides. Guests saw his face and backed away, the crowd parting for him like magic.
Lilley was laughing as she talked to Vladimir Xendzov, and the man’s eyes caressed her face with admiration. Was Lilley flirting with him? Toying with him? Using him, as she’d used Alessandro?
Lilley looked over Xendzov’s shoulder and blanched when she saw Alessandro. “What’s happened?” she breathed. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell me your name,” Alessandro said in a low voice.
The other guests clustered around Lilley glanced between them, suddenly uneasy at his tone of voice. Looking bewildered, she answered, “Lilley Caetani.”
“No.” He set his jaw, hating her soft, deceptive beauty that had lured him into trusting her. And more. “Tell me your name.”
More guests fell silent, turning to look. The Irish rock music abruptly stopped. Suddenly, amid hundreds of people, it was quiet.
His wife swallowed, looking to the right and left. Then with a deep breath, she whispered, “Lilley Smith.”
“Tell me!” He thundered. “Your name!”
She suddenly looked as if she was going to cry. “Alessandro, I was going to tell you.”
“When?” he bit out. “After you’d stolen my company for Hainsbury and your cousin to pick through?”
“No!” she gasped. “I tried to tell you before our wedding. You said you already knew. You always know so much. I believed you!”
“You