murmured when they came up for air, “you are ruining my hair, not to mention my lipstick.”
“Mmm.” He slid his mouth across her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat. Pressed his lips to her pulse. It was racing like a jackhammer, revealing every bit of the tumult raging inside of her. He flicked his tongue across the frantic beat, his palms clamping on her hips to draw her closer.
He was all hard, solid muscle beneath her hands. The most exciting man on earth to her—always had been. She swayed closer, molding herself to his hard contours. He returned his attention to her mouth, each nip countered by a soothing lave of his tongue over tender flesh.
Drowning. She was drowning.
The doorbell rang. Jolted out of her pheromone-induced haze, Angie stiffened and dragged herself out of his arms. Lorenzo watched her with a satisfied look as he straightened his shirt. “Now you look like a proper wife.”
She ignored him, walked to the mirror to straighten her hair and reapply her lipstick. It took several deep pulls of air to get her breath back. Her equilibrium.
Hand at her back, he guided her out to the foyer, where Constanza was greeting his parents. Lorenzo shook his father’s hand, kissed his mother’s cheeks, then drew Angie forward. She opted for the less threatening target first, Lorenzo’s father, Salvatore.
Graying at the temples, shorter than his son by a couple of inches and stockier in middle age, Salvatore Ricci had always been much more approachable than his wife despite his fearsome business reputation.
“Buonasera, Angelina,” he murmured, bending to brush a kiss against both of her cheeks. “È bello rivederti.”
It’s good to see you again. She forced a smile to her lips. “Altrettanto.”
She turned to Lorenzo’s mother, perfectly turned out as usual in an eggplant silk wrap dress that came to the knee and sleek Italian heels on her dainty feet. With her short, silver hair and her son’s dark, dark eyes, she was still a stunningly beautiful woman. “Buonasera, Octavia.”
“Buonasera.” Octavia brushed a kiss to both her cheeks. “Thank you for having us.”
“It’s so lovely you are in town.” Angie summoned the perfect manners she’d been taught since birth as she ushered Lorenzo’s parents into the salon and offered them a drink. She had bemoaned all those social niceties as a teenager, finding them false and disingenuous, but right now, in this moment, she was exceedingly glad to have them to fall back upon.
It seemed everyone was on their best behavior as they enjoyed a cocktail before dinner. Lorenzo kept a palm to her back, a protective gesture Angie welcomed. 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,”