The Delicious De Campos: The Divorce Party

His father shrugged his broad shoulders. “Some think Gabe has the true love for this business. He’s aggressive, with just the right amount of conservatism.”

“Then why didn’t you choose him to run the company while you were ill? You had the opportunity.”

Antonio met his combative stare with one of his own. “Because, despite the fact that you dishonored this family by choosing a racing career over your heritage, you have the heart of a lion, Riccardo. You have the vision to take this company where it needs to go.”

“So does Gabe.”

His father shook his head. “Not like you. You have the ability to be brutal. To make the decisions no one else wants to make.”

“Then do it,” Riccardo gritted out. “Because I’m not waiting much longer. I’ve sacrificed too much.”

Antonio pointed a beefy finger at him. “How long have I been waiting to hear you say that?”

Riccardo frowned. “What?”

“Sacrifice. You view De Campo as a sacrifice. As an impediment to your personal freedom. Not as the majestic birthright that’s been handed to you.”

“I love this company. I have killed myself for this company. I do not view it as a sacrifice. But I have sacrificed for it.” He trained his gaze on his father. “As you did.”

“Prove it.” His father flicked his hand in the air in a dismissive motion. “I’m retiring in three months. The job is yours to lose.”

* * *

“You might just kill me one of these days.”

The big, burly football player wiped the sweat from his face and stepped off the treadmill. Lilly smiled and made a note of the time in her chart. What would normally have been a walk-in-the-park run for Trent Goodman had been a one-mile endurance test on a knee that had a whole lot of healing ahead before he stepped back on a football field.

“Admit it—you like coming to see me.”

“Are you kidding?” He dropped the towel in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s the highlight of my week. The pain I can take, when I’m getting the inside scoop on all the gossip. You get more press than I do—and frankly,” he admitted sheepishly, “that’s not a good thing.”

Lilly laughed. “Believe me—I’d happily pass it along if I could.”

“I bet you would.” He grinned. “That photo of your husband tangling with the doctor? Priceless.”

Maybe somewhat less than priceless. She was now back as a fixture in all the gossip rags. She’d spent the weekend fuming at Riccardo’s caveman tactics. Both with Harry and in the bedroom.

“He has his moments,” she murmured, looking back at the clipboard. “Same time tomorrow?”

He nodded and blew her a kiss. She smiled and watched him leave. Muscular, gorgeous, charming and making millions...Trent would have had most women on their knees with his overt flirtatiousness. Lilly, however, was fixated on her own brutish male.

What in the world had gotten into her? She’d nearly toppled. Slept with him and done something she’d have sorely regretted. All because she still couldn’t keep her hands to herself when it came to Riccardo.

She twirled a chunk of hair around her finger. They had exchanged a total of about a hundred words since that scene in the bedroom. If he was in the kitchen when she came down, she took her coffee onto the patio. If she came down first, he went and watched the news in his study.

It couldn’t go on like this.

Unresolved issues lay between them like unexploded mines. Yet Saturday night had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt she never wanted to live the life of Riccardo’s society wife ever again. That she’d been right to leave when she had.

That she wasn’t capable of living it beyond the six months she’d committed to.

So why did everything feel so wrong? Why couldn’t she just do what she needed to in public and to hell with how things were at home? She tossed her clipboard on her desk and grabbed the notes on her afternoon patients so she could file them. She had pushed a set of notes into a folder and slid it back into the drawer before realizing she’d completely mixed the two patients up. Damn. She pulled the two folders out again.

A loud piano piece filled the air. She frowned. Her new ringtone. Note to self: change that. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it to her ear while she fixed the notes.

“Lilly Anderson.”

“De Campo,” Riccardo’s rich drawl oozed across the line. “Really, Lilly, you have to get with the program.”

“I don’t use your name professionally. You know that.”

“I don’t like it. I’m calling to ask your permission to ask Katy to clear your schedule for Thursday and Friday.”

Her husband’s drily delivered request made Lilly frown and push the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with her foot. Riccardo asking for her permission to do something? Was he sick? On some type of mood-altering medication?

She cleared her throat and chose her words carefully. “I have clinics at the hospital on Thurdsay and Friday. Is it important?”

“I’d like to take you to Barbados for the weekend.”

“The Caribbean island of Barbados?”

“The one and only,” he confirmed, amusement lacing his tone. “A friend of mine offered up his place for the weekend.”

She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed on her nail. “So it’s a business thing?”

“No.” His voice deepened to that silky tone that made her toes squish in her shoes. “Definitely not business.”

Heat filled her cheeks. “Riccardo—”

He sighed. “We need a truce. We need to talk, Lil. Somewhere by ourselves, with no photographers, no one interrupting us, neither of us rushing off to work... Just us.”

She couldn’t deny that. It was just that it sounded sort of...terrifying. She rested her hip on the corner of the desk and the guilty thought came to her that maybe, maybe, if she’d talked to him from the start instead of shutting down things would have been different.

A snapping sound filled the air. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and stared, horrified, at her broken nail. She hadn’t bitten her nails in exactly twelve months.

“You still there?”

“Yes.”

Another sigh. “I’m pretending I’m asking, but I’m not really, you know.”

She smiled. At least she knew her husband hadn’t been abducted by aliens. She stared down at her wreck of a nail and swallowed hard. “To be clear—this is a discussion? That’s all?”

“A discussion,” he agreed firmly. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Okay, then, yes.” It would be closure for them both.

“Good. Will you tell Katy or will I?”