by Jane Porter
It was early Sunday morning. Marco didn’t know where to go. They were supposed to stay at the hotel through the weekend and Pietra would be with the girls at the house right now. He could go home, but he didn’t think he could handle seeing the girls right now. The girls reminded him of Payton. He couldn’t bear to even think about Payton.
Why would she do this? Once she found out the diagnosis was a mistake, why didn’t she tell him? Why did she continue with the charade?
His confusion gave way to fresh rage. He didn’t need this. He was tired, under pressure at work, overwhelmed by the demands of running a huge business.
There was no way he’d let her get away with this. He wasn’t going to be tricked into marriage a second time. He’d divorce her so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her. In fact, he’d serve her with papers and file for custody.
Sole custody.
He’d keep the girls. He’d get a court order and he’d keep the girls. Payton could do whatever the hell she liked—head back to California, get an apartment in Milan, move to Tahiti—he didn’t care anymore. But regardless of what she did, he’d keep the girls and he’d damn well protect them from her.
Once driving Marco couldn’t stop. Driving was the only way he could keep himself occupied and keep his temper in check. He got on the autostrada and never got off until he hit the lakes region, and then he pulled off the highway at Lake Como, refilled his gas tank and had dinner.
After dinner he began the drive back to Milan and he reached the villa just before midnight. He was tired from hours at the wheel and lack of sleep. He and Payton hadn’t slept much the night before. They’d been too busy making love.
Parking in his garage, he climbed the stairs into the darkened villa. Pietra appeared in the hallway. “Ciao,” she sleepily greeted.
He nodded grimly.
She pushed hair from her eyes. “Everything all right?”
Marco was tempted to lie and then realized he didn’t have the energy. “Non bene.” Not good.
Pietra looked worried. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
“Per favore. Grazie.” He hesitated at the foot of the stairs. “Payton—” he broke off, finding it almost impossible to say her name. “Has she been here?”
“No.”
Nodding, Marco climbed the stairs to the upper landing. The twins’ room was softly lit with a small night-light and both girls were sound asleep in their beds.
He sagged against the door frame. Everything looked so normal. Everything was just how it’d been in Capri. Livia was curled up beneath the covers. Gia was curled up on top. Livia didn’t move a lot in her sleep. Gia was a thrasher.
He felt ridiculously young, ridiculously vulnerable. He’d come to love the girls being here, loved having them back in his life. How could he lose them again? How could he let Payton come between him and his children again?
He couldn’t, he silently answered. He wouldn’t.
Blinking he pressed his forearm to his eyes. Maledizione! Why did this have to happen? Things had seemed to be working so well. Everything had felt right.
Biting back another oath, he carefully lifted Gia, pulled back the warm covers and slid her beneath the light down comforter. He drew the covers up to her shoulder.
As he adjusted the comforter, Gia stirred and opened her eyes. “Papa.”
“Ciao, mia bambina.” He gently ran his hand across her forehead, smoothing the dark curls back from her high regal brow.
“Where’s Mommy?”
A lump the size of a fist lodged in his throat. He fought the violence of his emotions. “Doing a few things.”
“I miss her.”
“She misses you, too.”
“Is she coming to say good night?”
“Soon.”
“Good.” She smiled, content. “Kiss?”
Marco bent over, and gently kissed her.
Gia snuggled lower under the covers. “Tell Mommy to come soon.”
Marco’s eyes burned. How was this going to work? How would he keep the children from being terribly hurt?
He closed the door and stood in the hall for a long moment. What was he going to do? What should he do?
He was angry with Payton but he didn’t hate her. He knew she’d been a good mother to the twins but she was so dishonest with him.
He heard the phone ring in a distant part of the house and it crossed his mind that it could be Payton. He hurried to his room to answer it.
“Marco.” But it wasn’t Payton. It was Marilena. How did she know he was back? How did she know that he wasn’t on his honeymoon?
“It’s late,” he said shortly.
“Would you like to come over for a coffee?” The princess sounded so normal, so disarmingly casual.
“It’s after midnight, Marilena.”
“We’ve had coffee many times after midnight.”
Not during my honeymoon. “It’s been a long day.”
“Then I can come there.”
“Marilena—”
“She’s here, Marco.” The princess’ voice suddenly dropped. “She’s here and I don’t know what to do.”
“Payton?”
“Marco, she’s very upset. She’s not well, and I’m afraid—”
“She’s not sick,” he interrupted tersely, finding it humiliating having to even discuss it with Marilena. Damn Payton for going there. Damn Payton for dragging others into this—and Marilena of all people!
“I know,” Marilena answered quietly. “I’ve known for a while.” She drew a slow breath. “It’s a long story, Marco. Will you come here, or should we go there?”
Payton wasn’t with Marilena when Marco met the princess for coffee twenty minutes later. “She didn’t come with you?” Marco asked, pulling his chair at the small city café that kept late hours.
“No. She left when I did, but she was on foot.”
Marco’s gut tightened. Payton shouldn’t be walking alone this time of night. He didn’t like the idea that she was out on her own. Women were vulnerable, especially in big cities. “Do you know where she was going?”
The princess shrugged. “She was upset. That’s all I know.”
They ordered coffees and while waiting Marilena lit up a cigarette. “I thought you gave up smoking years ago,” Marco said, leaning against the table, elbows on the edge.
“I did. But I had to have one tonight.” She drew on the cigarette. “So tell me, darling. Where should I begin?”
“The part where Payton tricks me into marriage again.”
The princess slowly exhaled, blowing a small cloud of smoke. “Ah, a good place to start.” She reached for espresso and took a small sip. “But the wrong place to start.”
Marco felt the knot in his gut harden and double in size. He made a hoarse sound, something between a laugh and a snort. “Your point?”
“I couldn’t do it after all.” Marilena held the cigarette delicately, posture perfect. “I thought I could. I was sure I would. Jealousy isn’t attractive, especially in women of a certain age, but I was jealous. Still am.”
Marco was tempted to get up and walk out. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
“The story is very simple, actually.” She leaned forward to tap the ashes in the red aluminum ashtray. “I was at your house ten days ago when a doctor phoned from San Francisco. Payton was in the garden with the children. You were coming home for lunch but hadn’t yet arrived.”
Marilena’s lips pursed. “I took the call. I said I was family and the doctor gave me the information. I thanked him nicely and promised to convey the news.”
Ice water flooded his veins. “You knew.”
“And I didn’t tell.” She drew on the cigarette again, the tip glowing hot red. “It was my secret and it was my weapon—just in case I needed it.”
And you did. “The lab report?”
She blew a small perfect smoke ring. “I phoned the doctor back and asked him to send a hard copy to me.”
“You put the
report under the door.”
“I did.” She suddenly crushed the cigarette and her lovely eyes filled with tears as she ruthlessly mashed the cigarette butt to nothing. “I loved you, Marco. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Maybe that’s why I can’t keep my dirty deeds a secret.”
Marco started to push away from the table. He’d wronged Payton. He’d absolutely humiliated her.
“The worst thing of all,” Marilena said stopping him, “was when Payton came to my house today, she didn’t blame me. She did not say one word against me. She simply asked for my help.” The princess leaned back and shook her head. “She asked for my help.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARCO returned to the villa. He could hardly see straight as he drove home. His vision blurred, his head throbbed. He felt as if he’d been slugged with one of the dressmaker’s mannequins.
Payton hadn’t known. Payton was totally in the dark.
He was such an ass. He was an arrogant fool. He wouldn’t blame Payton if she couldn’t forgive him.
He let himself into the house and flicked on the hall light. Pietra appeared and he nodded good night to her and the nanny quietly returned to her room.
Pietra would have told him if Payton returned. Marco’s hands went to his hips and he gazed up the staircase. She wasn’t up there. He knew she wasn’t there. He would be able to feel it if she’d come home. But she hadn’t come home and the house felt empty.
He tried to lie down but he couldn’t sleep. He got up a couple hours later and went to the window in his bedroom. It was almost dawn. The street was silent. There was no traffic. The sky was beginning to lighten and soon the sun would rise.
If anything happened to her the girls would be devastated. Payton was the center of their world. They were like little planets and she was the sun around which they evolved.
It crossed his mind that the girls weren’t the only ones that adored her. He did, too.
He thought of the future, realized that without the threat of cancer hanging over Payton’s head, they could accomplish anything they wanted. Travel anywhere. Be anything. The sky was the limit.
She had to come home. He’d wait until morning and then if she didn’t return, he’d go find her.
But in case she did come home, he wanted to be ready. He wanted desperately to apologize, to try again. Marco sat on the foot of the entry stairs with a champagne bottle and two crystal flutes. An hour passed. And then another. His eyes felt heavy. He nearly dozed off.
A key turned in the lock of the front door.
Payton walked into the house as if it were the most natural thing to do. She set down her suitcase, and then her purse. “Hello.”
“Where have you been?” he asked, sitting forward.
She gestured behind her. “Sitting in a lot of cafés. Drinking too much coffee.” She closed the front door. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
She looked at the champagne bottle sitting in melting ice water and the two empty flutes. “For a moment there I thought you were celebrating my departure.”
“Never.” He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. “I’ve been really worried. I came close to calling the police. I was going to go looking for you if you didn’t arrive soon.”
Payton’s lips quivered. Blue-tinged shadows shaded her eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Marco.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He held out a hand to her, entreating. “Just come and sit here with me.”
She looked at him for another long moment. She stared at his hand and then back up into his face. Her expression was infinitely sad. “I don’t know that I can do that, either.”
He nodded and dropped his arm, folding his hands between his knees. Marco stared at the faded golden carpet with the royal blue scrolls. The carpet had been here for over a hundred years. God knows the stories it could tell.
His eyes began to burn and blinking rapidly he tried to keep the carpet’s faded pattern in focus. He was so relieved to have her home. He was so glad to know she was safe.
Best of all, he was very grateful to know that she wasn’t sick and that she’d hopefully have many healthy years ahead of her. Years where she could hug the girls and chase them up stairs and wrestle them into bed.
Thank God she was okay.
Thank God she was home now, even if she didn’t choose to stay.
Tears filled his eyes and he reached up to wipe away the tears with the pad of his thumb. “How did you get under my skin?” he choked, voice hoarse with emotions he could scarcely control. “How did you make me feel so much? Want so much?”
“The same way you made me feel so much. And love so much.”
He hated crying, it was not a machismo thing. He’d never let anyone see him cry before. “I don’t even know where to start with the apologies. I am so sorry. I am so sorry for losing my temper, behaving like an idiot, saying cruel things, walking out on you,” he drew a breath. “For not listening to you, not trusting you—”
“I think I’m beginning to get the picture.” Payton moved toward the stairs and slowly sat down on the bottom step, just one down from him. “What you’re basically trying to say is that you’re sorry for being a proud man who felt betrayed.”
“But you didn’t betray me.”
Payton sighed and leaned against the stair railing. She gazed across the entry with the massive blue glass Venetian chandelier and the priceless oil paintings on the wall. One was of Pompeii with Mount Vesuvius erupting. The other was Naples two hundred years ago. “It’s a strange start to a honeymoon, isn’t it?”
He made a hoarse sound. “You want to call this a honeymoon?”
“I should think so. We’re married and I’m not going anywhere.”
Marco sat very still for a moment before he leaned forward. “Say that again.”
She turned a little. Her elbow almost collided with Marco’s shin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re staying?”
“Yes.” And then she smiled crookedly. “We had a wedding, didn’t we? I wore a dress this famous designer made, didn’t I? And I live here, don’t I?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes again.” He caught Payton’s face in his hands and covered her lips with his. “Mia moglie,” he whispered against her mouth. My wife.
“And don’t you forget it!” Her heart was overwhelmed by everything that had happened and yet she refused to dwell on the sadness. Life was full of ups and downs. It had its glorious moments and its heartbreak, but in the end those who dream, and persevere, are rewarded.
“Tell me you forgive me,” he said, stroking her cheek.
“I do.”
“Thank God you didn’t run away. Thank God you did come home.”
Her eyes burned and filled with hot tears she couldn’t let fall. “I thought about it. It was an attractive idea. I run off and you worry and suffer.”
Her lips curved in a faint smile. “But then I realized this is the only place I want to be, and even if you were a complete barbarian today, you still deserved a second chance.” She blinked and drew a huge breath. “So here I am.”
“Thank God.” His dark eyes shone. “Because I have some really good news for you.”
She turned all the way around and leaned on his lap. “You do?”
“I do.” He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer so that she was cradled against his chest. “A lab report came from your hospital in San Francisco. Payton, are you ready for this?”
The tears were filling her eyes and she didn’t think she could hold them back this time. “No, what?”
“You don’t have cancer!”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Really?”
“It was all a terrible mistake. You’re perfectly, wonderfully healthy and I couldn’t be happier. This is extraordinary. We must celebrate.” He picked up the champagne bottle and the cork flew out with a loud pop.
The champag
ne bubbled and fizzed and Marco filled the two flutes. “To the best news I’ve ever heard. May you, my love, live a long, happy life.”
They clinked glasses and drank. The champagne felt deliciously warm going down her throat and Payton savored the bubbles still lingering on her tongue before sitting up to kiss Marco. “And it will be a long happy life,” she said, her heart beating fiercely, “if I spend it with you.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7724-7
MARCO’S PRIDE
First North American Publication 2004.
Copyright © 2003 by Jane Porter.
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