Red (38 page)

“What are you saying?” he asked softly, hearing the furious edge in his own voice. “That you'll fuck me every once in a while, just for kicks? So you don't atrophy and because your husband has other inclinations in the bedroom?” He jerked away from her and straightened his clothes. “No thanks, babe.”

She sucked in a sharp, hurt breath. “That was good enough for you before, wasn't it? Wasn't a ‘fuck' just for kicks the only thing you ever wanted?”

He glared at her. She was right, dammit. Used to be, as far as he was concerned, an easy, uncomplicated lay was the only lay. Not anymore. For the first time in his life, it wasn't only sex he wanted. For the first time in his life, sex wasn't enough for him. He wanted more with Becky Lynn, he wanted something deeper. He wanted, he needed what he'd had with her before.

He swore, furious with her, with himself. He yanked open the stall door. “Well, it's not enough now, Becky Lynn. I'm not going to play stud for you or anybody else.”

B
ecky Lynn went to Carlo's side. It took every scrap of her control to make it to the ballroom and across to her husband without falling apart. Her encounter with Jack had left her shaken, raw. It had left her feeling cheap and weak-willed. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Why was she surprised? With Jack, it was always the same: he touched her and she melted, he crooked a finger her way and everything else—her vows about not wanting him, about refusing him—flew out of her head, and she ended up panting in his arms.

Her cheeks burned as she remembered her behavior. Those women had heard her and had known what she and Jack were doing. Would they recognize her by her gown? Had they already? Becky Lynn glanced quickly around her, relieved to find no one staring at her, no one looking at her and whispering behind their hands.

Trembling, she slipped her hand through Carlo's arm, hoping to steady herself. Carlo looked at her in question and concern, and covered her hand with his own. She tried to smile reassuringly, but her lips trembled so badly, she suspected the line of her mouth resembled a grimace more than a smile.

He tightened his fingers over hers and leaned close to her ear. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes. Just let me hold on to you.”

He nodded. “Giovanni's been asked to say a few words. After that we can go.”

Becky Lynn only half listened as Giovanni, up on the dais, began thanking all for coming tonight, as he expressed his appreciation for having been given the honor of working in the fashion industry for all these years.

Her mind drifted back to her encounter with Jack. It was over between them, finally and completely. Jack wanted more than sex from her, but she had made her promise to Carlo. She would never forsake him.

Had he meant what he said? she wondered, her chest heavy and aching. Did he want more with her? Or did he only want to steal her away from his half brother? Tears stung the back of her eyes. Could this whole thing be about his competition with Carlo? It hurt to think that; her instinct told her it wasn't true, but she had been a fool for Jack Gallagher too many times to count.

Beside her, Carlo drew a sharp breath and stiffened. Becky Lynn looked up at him, then at the dais, her focus reeling back to Giovanni and what he was saying. Her heart flew to her throat as she realized the old photographer was singing the praises of his son.

But not his son Carlo…his son Jack.

Becky Lynn listened in horror as Giovanni humiliated Carlo by listing and lauding Jack's accomplishments. Helpless to stop him, she listened as in front of the entire crowd, all who were anybody in the fashion community, he rejected Carlo by embracing Jack as his real and true son.

A buzz moved through the crowd. She heard it, as did Carlo.
What was happening?
people whispered.
Why had Giovanni pointedly excluded Carlo?
The buzz became a
hushed roar. Something was happening, and everyone wanted to be in on it.

Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to Carlo. She understood his devastation; she recognized it. She likened each word Giovanni delivered to one of Ricky's raping thrusts into her. For Giovanni was raping Carlo as surely as Ricky had raped her, and just as surely, Carlo would never be the same.

Empathic pain ricocheted through her. She thought back to that night more than ten years ago, working to remember how she had managed to survive, what had kept her from curling into a ball and dying.

Her dreams had kept her alive, she realized. As had focusing on the future, focusing on the new life she would make for herself.

But what of Carlo? she wondered, a catch in her chest. Did Carlo have dreams to hold on to? Could Carlo make a new, a better life for himself? Or had all his dreams come true already, only to be ripped from him now?

Becky Lynn brought her hand to his, laced their fingers. She wanted to let him know without words that she would stand by him, always and forever.

His face a mask of pain, he disentangled his hand from hers. She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't look at her. “Carlo,” she whispered. “Please…”

He shook his head and eased through the crowd, wanting nothing more, she knew, than to escape.

She watched him go, aching for him, fury building inside her. This was Jack's doing. He had always hated Carlo; he had always wanted to hurt him, to destroy him. Tonight, he had staged and delivered the finishing blow.

The fury became immense, taking her breath. Earlier
she had seen him talking to Giovanni. She had seen them glance over at Carlo and Hugh Preston several times. At the time, she had thought it odd, but now she understood. Jack had told Giovanni about Carlo's sexual orientation. He had waited, had bided his time, until the perfect moment presented itself, the moment when he could completely devastate his half brother.

She fisted her fingers, her heart beating almost out of control. He'd used her, lied to her. Seducing her had only been a part of his plan to destroy Carlo. Her behavior, her own gullibility, sickened her.

Giovanni called Jack up front to join him, and she turned and started pushing through the crowd to go to Carlo. He needed her. She would find him and together they would face this and go on, better and stronger than before.

She made it out of the ballroom and started for the elevator banks.

“Becky Lynn, wait!”

Jack darted out of one of the ballroom's side doors and caught her arm. She whirled to face him, shaking with rage. “You son of a bitch,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “How could you do this? How could you hurt him like this? And then you…in the bathroom…” She made a sound of self-disgust. “How could you, Jack?”

“It isn't the way it looks.” He reached out to touch her, and she slapped his hand away. “Becky Lynn, you don't understand—”

“I understand perfectly. You told Giovanni. I saw you two talking. You waited for the moment when you could damage Carlo most, for the moment you could break his heart and publicly discredit him.” She balled her hands into
fists. “You bastard, you are Giovanni's son. You've asked me why I stay with Carlo. Well, I'll tell you. He's a real man. He's kind and moral and caring. He isn't totally fixed on ambition and revenge.

“It's not sex with him, Jack. He cares about me. He needs me. He believes in me. You never did.” She broke free and stepped away from him, “But how could you? You've never cared about anyone but yourself.”

Jack followed her. “It was seeing us together tonight that tipped Giovanni off. He told me so. He said he had heard rumors about Carlo, but seeing us together—”

“Don't you try to blame this on me! Don't you try to make me feel more guilty than I already do.” He tried to catch her arms, and she swung at him, her eyes filling with tears. “I'll never forgive you for this, Jack. Never.”

Jack dropped his hands and stepped away from her, a mask coming over his expression, the line of his mouth hard, without remorse. She felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. “Go,” she said. “You got what you wanted. Your father is waiting for you.”

Blinded by tears, she turned and walked away.

Carlo wouldn't let her help him. He wouldn't let her comfort him; he wouldn't talk to her or anybody else. Their flight home was agony. He turned away from her and into himself, refusing to look at or speak to her. She told herself he would be better when they got home, that he would seek her support and comfort, but once there, he still refused to allow her close to him.

At first, although deeply hurt, she had assured herself his withdrawal was natural, a normal part of the healing process. She had assured herself that, in time, he would
turn to her. But as the days passed, he became more withdrawn.

And she became frightened, that she had lost him, that once again she was alone. And as her fear and alienation grew, so did her anger at Jack. It grew until it burned hot and bright inside her, until it eclipsed everything in her life other than her concern for Carlo.

Carlo refused all calls, all jobs. The industry had begun to talk. All knew about Carlo's lies, about hers. Their little drama was all anybody seemed able to talk about—how Carlo Triani had pretended to be something he was not.

She had no doubt that Jack had helped spread the talk. No doubt he was enjoying Carlo's destruction. For herself she didn't care. She stood by her husband steadfastly, either ignoring or denying the gossip, always defending her husband.

Becky Lynn crossed to the terrace doors and gazed out at him. He sat staring at the spa and garden, he had been for hours—and for days now.

Jobs he had already been booked for, he either hadn't shown for or had sent his assistants in his stead. If he kept this up, he wouldn't have a career left when he pulled himself out of his depression.

She wouldn't let him blow off today's shoot, she decided. It was too important. And it was time Carlo returned to the world of the living.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped outside and crossed to where he sat. She stepped between him and his view of the spa. “We have to talk, Carlo.”

“Go away.”

She battled the hurt at his rejection. She had to be strong for him; whether he wanted her help or not, he needed it.
He needed her. “Let me in, Carlo.
Bello
…please.” She knelt in front of him and gathered his hands in hers. “I love you, I want to help.”

She curved her fingers tightly around his. “You said we would be there for each other, that we would care for each other. It's why we married. Let me do both. Let me help you.”

He shifted his gaze, and her breath caught. “You're breaking my heart, Carlo. Don't turn me away, it hurts when you do.”

He touched her cheek with the fingertips of his right hand. His eyes were sunken, red-rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep. “Do you know how beautiful you are,
bella?
”

When she protested, he shook his head. “You are. Don't ever forget.”

A thread of fear wound through her. She squeezed his fingers. “You'll be with me. I trust you not to let me forget.”

“You deserve someone better than me. You deserve a real man. I never should have condemned you to this mock marriage. I've seen that you needed more. I know you've been unhappy.”

She thought of Jack, thought of New Orleans and guilt took her breath. “You are a real man. Don't you see, you give me so much.”

“I'm weak. A man stands up for who he is and what he believes in. I didn't. I was…afraid.”

“You believed in me,” she said, her voice thick with tears, frightened by the self-loathing in his voice. “You stood up for me.”

His gaze drifted over her right shoulder, toward the
spa. “Once, Jack said to me, ‘Tell her, if you have the guts.' I didn't tell you. I was so certain you would leave me. Just as I was always so certain Giovanni would leave me if he knew the truth. I was right.”

She searched his gaze. In his, she saw more than a measure of the boy who had come home from school to find that his mother had rejected him through death. “It doesn't matter, Carlo. Nothing matters but that you come back to me.”

“It matters…to me.” He touched her face again, lightly. “Before you ever became Valentine, Jack came for you. He came to apologize. He told me to tell you he was sorry and that he wanted you back.”

Carlo's words echoed through her.
Jack had come for her. He had wanted to apologize. He had wanted her back.

It changed nothing, she told herself. She hated him now.

“Go to him,
bella.
I see it in your eyes, I see how much you want him.”

A cry flew to her lips. “It's not true. I wouldn't have gone to him then, and I won't now. I won't leave you, Carlo.”

His gaze shifted away, and he closed himself to her once more. She reached up and cupped his face with her hands, his unshaven cheeks rough against her palms. “What about the
Vogue
shoot today?”

“I'm not going.”

She tightened her fingers, forcing his gaze to stay on hers. “Carlo, you must! You can't stand everybody up. Jon called, they've heard rumors in New York… He assured them you would be there.”

“He can do it.”

She shook her head. “Carlo…he can't. He doesn't have your eye, your talent.”

Carlo covered her hands with his own, and took them from his face. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

She stood, frustrated, near tears. “You'll ruin your reputation. There will be nothing left.”

“There's nothing now,” he muttered, staring at the Jacuzzi. “They're laughing…they're all laughing at me.”

“Who cares? Carlo, none of them matter.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, and her heart broke. To her, they didn't matter. To him, they were everything. She took a deep breath. “I'm not going to let you ruin all that you've built. I'm not going to let that happen.”

“Bella,”
he murmured, “don't you see I'm not worth it?”

Becky Lynn stiffened her spine, furious suddenly. “No, I don't see that. I don't see it at all.”

Turning, she marched inside, going straight for the phone. She meant what she said, she wasn't going to allow him to ruin himself. If she had to, she would do the job herself.

Thirty minutes later, Becky Lynn hung up the phone. She drew her eyebrows together in concern. Jon couldn't do the job, a holiday wear spread, he was nearly incoherent with stress and self-doubt. The models and support staff were booked,
Vogue
's fashion editor and art director were en route, the studio was ready.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with a location shoot.

Becky Lynn sank into a chair. So, she had decided. She would go in Carlo's place. She glanced down at her hands, expecting to see them trembling. Instead, they were rock steady. She was rock steady.