I scribbled. “Can I quote that?”
“Sure.”
“Did he have any major influences in his life? A father who taught him—a friend?”
“Marco’s very private about his family,” Sean responded. “The most I can tell you is what Marco tells all the reporters who haunt his hotels—someone special taught him about the game when Marco was very young.”
Someone special? Wow, stop the presses. I snorted.
“Maggie. Marco has had a hard life, and he has reasons for being secretive.”
“Secrets can be dangerous.” I bit the top of my pen as memories of my past launched into my mind. My father. Mother. The pain I carried with me.
“But they are his to have.”
I touched my collarbone, attempting to refocus. I needed to play the role I’d played so many times before in interviews. I needed to be cool, objective. “If you’re going back into football, why do you care so much about whether or not Marco quits? At first it made sense—anyone would be concerned to lose their only paycheck . . .” Honesty was brutal, but effective at times.
Sean scratched at the stubble beneath his jawline. “You already know, don’t you?”
I was blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”
Leaning forward, he pressed his elbows to his knees, studying me. “Lori told you, didn’t she?”
“Are you really worried about him getting depressed if he doesn’t play?” This was my way of confirming that Lori had told me, but I needed to hear the truth from him.
“Yes. That’s my main concern.”
“And are you depressed now? Is Lori not enough to make you happy? You need football?” Shit. I slapped my hand over my mouth.
His eyes flashed shut and he straightened in his seat.
“I’m sorry, Sean. I didn’t mean—”
“I hate that Lori thinks that,” he said low, and then checked over both shoulders, as if worried that someone would overhear us. I checked too, but no one was close.
“I’m sorry. This is supposed to be about Marco, but I’ve grown to like Lori. I just want to see her happy.”
He gripped the arms of the chair. “And you don’t think I do?”
My mouth edged open, but before I could respond, a woman caught my eye on the other side of the lobby.
It wasn’t just any woman. It was her—the woman from the club last night. I was pretty sure she was the same woman I had seen the night that Marco and I had danced near the Spanish Steps.
She was standing near the exit to the street, dressed in fitted white pants and a silky black blouse, her dark brown hair in a chignon. Her gaze snapped away from me the second my eyes landed on hers, and she sifted through her purse as if her phone were ringing.
“Just a second, Sean.” Without realizing what I was doing, I rose and started her direction. “Excuse me!”
As soon as she saw me approach, the woman darted through the automatic glass doors and out onto the street. I rushed after her like a damn fool. “Wait!” I cried.
The valet outside gripped my arm and jerked me back as I darted in front of a vehicle that was rolling slowly through the lane. I hadn’t even realized a car was coming my way.
“Are you okay?” the valet asked.
Shit, no! Where did that woman go, and why was she following me?
I released a breath and looked up at the stranger who had saved my life. “Um. Thank you,” I mumbled. “Grazie.”
“Be careful, signorina.” The young man, who was probably only twenty or so, still gripped my arm tightly, as if he were afraid I’d run back into the street.
“Thank you, I will.” I nodded at him and went back into the lobby, where I found our table empty. Where was Sean?
I glanced around the massive space, clutching my cell phone tight in my hand. Then I glanced down at it. Maybe he’d sent a text . . .
“Hey!”
Sean was just behind me, winding his way through furniture to return to his seat.
“Sorry, the front desk called me over saying I had a call, which is the craziest thing. How would anyone know I was here?” He shook his head. “Anyways, no one was on the line.”
I stopped in front of our seats and squinted in confusion. I looked over my shoulders and spun around, checking to see if I was in the right spot. “Did you move my things?” I kneeled to the ground and ducked my head under the chair.
“What? No.”
I stood back up and dropped my hands to my sides as the realization of what happened shook me. “Shit. Someone must have stolen my purse and notebook.”
“Oh shit.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“My notes on Marco . . .” I had everything in that notebook, including the information I had promised would be off the record. If it fell into the wrong hands . . . “Oh God.” Someone must have had all of this planned, including a fake call to Sean.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken off and left your stuff here.”
“It’s not your fault. Trust me.” That damn woman . . .
“I’ll go talk to the desk. Just keep looking around.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine. You didn’t have your passport in there, right?” He flashed a wicked grin. “Of course, getting stuck in Rome wouldn’t be horrible, would it?”
“Funny.” I cocked a brow at him before he darted off to the desk, and I began tipping chairs and peering under tables in search of my things, knowing full well I wouldn’t find them.
***
After I said an awkward goodbye to Sean in the lobby and canceled all of my credit cards, I sank onto the bed and flipped on the TV, in need of a mind-numbing distraction.
I flipped through the channels but froze when an image of the Roma football stadium flashed onto the screen, accompanied by ticker tape, which included Marco Valenti’s name. God, I needed to brush up on my Italian, so I knew what was being said.
My heart sank when the next image on the screen was of Marco in his jersey, moving gracefully down the field against his opponents. What were the reporters talking about? Was I even watching the news? Or was it some tabloid-type talk show?
As I watched clips of Marco playing football, I realized I’d never returned his text from earlier.
I retrieved my phone, got beneath the covers, and reread his message a few times before I wrote my own.
I understand. It’s fine. Hope you have a safe trip.
Then I tossed my phone on top of the covers and buried myself beneath the blanket, trying to push away the what-ifs that threatened. But when I heard my phone buzz, I shot back up and reached for it.
I wish you were here with me, Maggie Anne Lane.
I could almost hear the sound of my blood rushing through my ears as my heartbeat intensified.
What are you doing now?
I knew I shouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t help it. I was also afraid of having to respond to what he’d said. As I waited for a reply, I looked back up at the TV and dropped the phone as if it had burned me.
Was this live?
No, it couldn’t be? Could it?
But the top right corner displayed the time—the time in London, which was an hour earlier than here to the minute.
Marco, dressed in black slacks and a blue tee, was walking next to Sophia-the-Cheater-Rossi, and they were exiting a hotel.
She was smiling at the cameras and waving. A sparkle flashed from her left hand.
Oh God. A diamond ring.
I edged forward on the bed until I practically fell off, trying to prove my instincts wrong, but then Sophia slipped her hand to Marco’s lower back and out of sight. Marco’s lips remained tight as he ignored the cameras. He was holding something in his hand—his phone.
The buzz from a text had me almost falling off the bed. I swiveled around to grab my phone.
A text from Marco. What the hell?
I have business to attend to. My apologies again.
“Business?” I cried, jumping off the bed and
pacing in front of the TV, which now blared a commercial about digestive aids for stomach pains—at least that’s what it looked like. Jeez. I was in desperate need of stomach medicine right now. I thought I’d be sick as my core clenched so snug it felt like I was wearing a corset, not that I’d ever worn a corset, but I could imagine.
I held the phone tight in my hand, dying to message him back something, anything to let him know I knew he was lying. His face was all over TV with her, for God sake. How could he tell me he would never get back with her because she cheated, then all of five minutes later she was wearing her engagement ring again and . . .
And yet he was texting me, too.
I eyed the bathroom, wondering if I could make it to the toilet if I needed to hurl.
“This is why you have rules,” I yelled at myself.
I rushed outside to my small balcony, which overlooked a park across from the hotel, and I took a few sobering breaths. Gripping the railing, I tried to remind myself not to jump to conclusions.
When I realized I was grinding my damn teeth, I slumped into the lone chair on the balcony and pressed my hands to my face.
I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I had trusted what Marco told me. But then I saw the live footage with my own eyes.
He was a liar.
A player, like the rest of them.
And, apparently, an asshole.
Sixteen
Some girls dream of becoming princesses, but not me. I was the rough and tumble, playing in the dirt kind of girl. I was the boy my father never had and always wanted.
Yet, standing in the middle of the ballroom at the beautiful hotel in Rome, with crystal strands of light dangling like a weave of fractured glass above my head, wearing a dress I couldn’t afford, I felt like Cinderella. All that I lacked were the glass slippers and the pumpkin carriage.
“Wow.” Lori was shaking her head at me as she propped her hands on her hips. She looked stunning, herself, in a figure-hugging, strapless gown in red lace.
“You helped me choose the dress. Why do you look so surprised?” I faked a laugh, but in reality my body was strung tight. My nerves were on end as anxious energy zipped through me. I still hadn’t seen Marco yet. “You look killer, of course,” I added.
“Thanks. But really, this is quite the change from your normal look. Plus, your hair and make-up complete the ensemble.”
I patted my blonde tendrils, which I’d had professionally curled by a friend of Lori’s at a local salon. I attempted to fluff the hair over my chest, embarrassed by the deep V of the gown, which sliced straight down the middle, dipping almost to my belly button. My breasts swelled out beneath the thin navy fabric, and I hoped to hell they would stay in place for the course of the evening. A misplaced nipple would completely ruin the effect.
The silky material felt good against my skin, clinging to the top half of my body from my shoulders to the waist before flowing out from my hips to the ground. The fabric shifted with each of my movements, and it felt like I was gliding across the room.
Our table was sprinkled with teal petals and sported an ornate cream vase with teal orchids in the middle. I had caught sight of the banner for the charity when I’d entered the massive ballroom. Teal and cream were the colors for the logo of the children’s hospital.
I about tripped as we neared our table, and I pressed my hands to Lori’s back when I saw a group of celebrities talking at a nearby table. “Is—is that—”
Lori glanced over her shoulder and looked back at me, her lips turning up into a smile. “Uh huh. The Man of Steel himself.” She did a shoulder shrug like it was no big deal. “We’re the same age. Went to primary school together in the U.K., actually. He’s a super nice guy. Want an introduction?”
The word “yes” got stuck in my throat when my eyes landed on the man who was entering the room a hundred feet away, behind the stage where the orchestra was playing.
My man.
Or was he Sophia’s?
Marco was dressed in a three-pieced, tailored black tuxedo, but his dark, perfectly messy strands of hair maintained his slightly dark edge.
Lori needled me in the ribs, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Marco. He was talking to Sean, but his back was to me.
“Maggie.” Her hand was on my elbow and I sank my teeth into my bottom lip as I forced my body to turn and look at her.
“Yeah?” I answered in a daze.
“You still want to meet him?” she asked.
“Meet who?” I blinked a few times.
“Superman.”
“Oh yeah.” I blushed. “Of course.” We started for the group of men who were talking and Lori planted kisses on the Man of Steel’s cheeks. Both sides. What a lucky woman!
“This is Maggie Lane.” Lori waved her hand toward me, and I swallowed the lump of nerves in my throat. “She’s a journalist.”
My mouth opened, and I said the stupidest thing: “Like Lois Lane.”
A broad smile met his lips, exposing his bright white teeth. “You would make a fantastic blonde Lois, I am sure.” His British accent danced in my ears.
“You were great in—well, all of your movies,” I mumbled, wondering if my words came out coherently.
“Thank you.” He lowered his head in an appreciative nod. “Do you enjoy your line of work?”
Oh wow. Was I really engaging in conversation with—
“Maggie.”
The sound of my name from Marco’s tongue had me squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn’t turn around to face him. After all the ways I had prepared for this moment, my courage was fizzling fast.
“I see you met some of the guys here. They are big contributors for the organization.” Marco’s hand was on my back, and I was grateful for the fabric that separated his fingers from my skin. Otherwise I was certain the heat from his palm would brand me, marking me forever his.
“Can I steal her?” Marco addressed the group.
I opened my eyes, pulling my lip between my teeth as I observed the power pack. They nodded at Marco, and I tipped my head goodbye to Superman and shifted in my heels, being careful not to tear my dress as I faced Marco.
His hand was at my elbow, and he was gently urging me away from the group.
“What?” There was a frosty bite to my voice as I crossed my arms.
The light created shadows on Marco’s face, darkening his cool gray eyes. He tucked his hands in his pockets, studying me.
“What’s going on? I have been calling and texting you all day. Why are you ignoring me?” His eyes lowered to my chest before his gaze flickered back up to my mouth.
“I’ve been busy,” I responded curtly while focusing on the people mingling around the room behind him. So many superstar athletes and celebrities and I didn’t even have the chance to be star struck. I was somehow still stuck in Marco lalaland, instead.
Wake up, girl. He’s a liar! My fingernails bit my sides as my heart raced.
“Your dress—” He clenched his jaw for a moment, assessing me, and then cleared his throat. “You’re going to get me in trouble in that thing,” he said in a polished voice, his eyes smoldering. He was playing me again. He really was a Casanova, wasn’t he?
When I didn’t speak, he asked, “What’s really going on with you?”
Before I had a chance to respond, he cursed beneath his breath. “Merda.” His eyes focused over my shoulder, and I checked to see what had drawn his attention.
Sophia Rossi looked ravishing as always in an over-the-top ball gown that took the princess theme to a whole new level. Her boobs spilled out over the gold bustier top, and layers of fabric cascaded from the waist like water flowing up and out of a fountain. How could she walk in such a heavy dress?
Hm. Maybe she’d fall.
“Weren’t you expecting her?” I rolled my eyes when I looked back at him. He’d said she’d be at the event, after all.
“I asked her not to come after—” He shook his head as he untucked his hands from his pockets, a
nd I had to resist the urge not to notice the way his blazer stretched over his hard muscles and strong shoulder blades. “It is a long story. I will tell you about it later.”
“That’s fine. I don’t need an explanation.” I spun away from him, but he caught my hip, turning me back, and I found myself with my hands on the smooth fabric of his white dress shirt.
My fingers brushed over his teal tie for a brief moment before I pulled back.
“Maggie, what is wrong?” He enunciated each word.
“Nothing, Marco. Nothing I can’t handle,” I said grimly before turning away once more.
He let out a loud breath, and I moved back to my table and sank in my chair, pulling the dress around so I could fit comfortably without snagging it. This was easy enough, as the table of eight was empty except for me. I reached for my champagne flute and scanned the room. No one was dancing on the hardwood floor in front of the stage, where the orchestra was playing jazz music. Most were gathered in crowds throughout the room, conversing.
Where was Will? We had come together, but I’d lost sight of him just moments after we’d arrived. I finally spotted him with his back to the wall on the other side of the room. He was crouched on one knee and snapping photos of Marco.
My blood warmed as I saw that Marco was talking to a group of small boys. There were five of them, and they couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old. Had they been helped by his organization?
My hand went to my chest. My problems were nowhere near what those boys and their families had gone through. Or, God forbid, were still going through.
I made a mental note to get the F over myself. I had never been a woman to get her panties in a bunch over a man, even when my quarterback boyfriend cheated on me in high school. I wouldn’t start now.
After a few moments, it was as if a weight was lifted from my chest. I released a calming breath, feeling almost myself for the first time since I’d arrived in Rome.
Forever Rome (Forever #1) Page 17