He was silent. She didn’t even know if he was there. She wasn’t sure she cared. It was as important to Grace to hear her explanation as it was to Marco.
“I knew I didn’t love him back.” A sob bubbled in her chest and she let it erupt. A single sound of grief in the coolness of his room. “But I thought I would learn to love him. I thought I would learn.” She closed her eyes, smothering a yawn. “He proposed. It scared the hell out of me. I did love him, Marco. But like a brother. Not a husband. Never a husband.”
Marco was still. Her words were unfurling inside of him, whispering things he didn’t want to listen to. Promises. Seductive, tempting promises that would pull him apart if he didn’t take care.
“But you married him,” he pointed out, confirming that he was, in fact, inside the door.
“For Ben.” Another yawn. “So Ben would have a father.”
Marco let out a sigh and stood straighter. “That just proves you’re willing to use a man to get what you need. And this, I already know.”
* * *
The toast was dry.
She bit down on the corner, her mouth crunching on it without tasting it. What she wouldn’t do for a pop tart. Or a milk dud. Or a Reece’s. She looked dubiously at the pomegranate marmalade Marco had in his meagre assortment of spreads and pulled a face. It was so tart it was practically a punishment rather than a condiment. Hardly how a sweet-tooth like Grace wanted to start her day.
“Morning!” Emma was outrageously chirpy for Grace’s mood, but somehow she forced a smile to her face. She had no idea how pale she was. How different she looked. But Emma did, and she frowned. “Are you okay?”
That just proves you’re willing to use a man to get what you want.
She nodded. “Fine.” The word was as crisp as her toast.
Emma’s frown deepened. “What is it?”
“I’m just tired,” Grace responded. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. Marco hadn’t come back to his bed and she’d laid awake for hours. Eventually, somewhere before dawn, she’d fallen asleep. But it hadn’t been a restful sleep.
Marco’s opinion of her had become a force to be reckoned with. His anger. His hurt. His hatred. It had formed a glove that was smothering her. She wouldn’t ever be able to remove it, because it was how she felt too.
Her actions were beyond defending.
Nausea swirled inside of her and another sob threatened to make itself known. She bit down on her toast to swallow the audible emotion.
“You’re making the right decision. I love you. I make you happy. And this child,” he’d put a hand on her stomach and she’d looked at Steve and seen all the comfort and safety he’d always given her. “He will be so happy with us, Grace.”
“Well, we had a great sleep,” Emma cooed, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl.
“We?” Grace tilted her head towards Emma.
“Ben and me.” She grinned. “Something about Italy agrees with him. Have you noticed how settled he is here? He’s hardly stirring overnight.”
Grace nodded. She hadn’t consciously been aware of the fact, but now that Emma pointed it out, of course it was true. Ben had been sleeping through, something he rarely did in the States.
“I’m sure it’s just his age and stage,” Grace murmured.
“And all this sunshine,” Emma grinned. “Even today, it’s warm, isn’t it?”
Was it? Grace looked towards the windows that framed the view of Rome in the distance. The trees had turned rust colored, and Autumn was afoot yet the city did seem to glow with heat. She nodded again. Emma apparently knew far more about this stuff than Grace did.
“I thought I’d take Ben to the park when he wakes up. It’s the perfect morning for it and there’s a little coffee bar we’ve taken to stopping at.” Emma winked. “Ben can’t get enough of their cheese piadina.”
Grace smiled distractedly. “That sounds like Ben.”
“Do you want to join us?” Emma’s eyes skimmed Grace’s taut expression, her attention drawn to the cheekbones that were highlighted in Grace’s slender face. She’d lost weight, and she was pale. “Sit in the sun with a coffee?”
The idea was lovely. It instantly warmed Grace and yet she shook her head. She wasn’t sure she deserved to feel warm.
The self-flagellation instincts were new, but how could she not indulge them? Seeing how Marco had been hurt by her, Grace was reeling, trying to make sense of the decisions she’d known, one hundred percent, to be right – only to discover they were actually terribly wrong. Catastrophically wrong.
“Grace?”
Her eyes lifted to Emma’s and then she shook her head. “I can’t.” She turned her attention back to her toast so missed the frown that was on Emma’s face.
“Okay. I’ll bring you back something yummy. Okay?”
Grace nodded.
“They make these incredible Nutella donuts. Bomboloni, I think they’re called. And so delicious.”
Grace’s smile stretched across her face like a slit. “Thank you.”
Emma blinked in surprise. If Grace couldn’t rouse herself to a degree of enthusiasm at the promise of a chocolate treat then something was wrong. She thought of the Grace she’d come to know since Ben was born; Grace who was determined and strong, who’d overcome such grief and sadness and always found a smile. Grace who she’d come to think of as a dear friend.
And worry surged inside of her.
“We’ll see you soon,” Emma murmured, reaching out and touching Grace’s shoulder.
Grace didn’t react.
* * *
Marco sent the email with a hard push of his finger then sat back in his chair. The view of his garden did little to quell his dark mood. It had settled around him and he couldn’t shake it. He focused his attention back on the screen, opening the next email and reading its content.
But his mind was elsewhere.
She’d been crying when he’d walked out the night before. Not loudly. So softly it was possible she hadn’t even realized. Her shoulders had trembled and he’d ached to go to her. To lie behind her and wrap his arms around her and draw her to him, holding her tight against his body, whispering things into her ear that would make her stop crying. That would make her happy.
That was the danger.
The power she had over him.
The power to make him a fool. A stupid fool.
The knock on the door was so hesitant, he didn’t hear it at first. It disturbed his thoughts without penetrating his consciousness but the second time around it was louder.
“Si.”
He had expected – hoped? – to see Grace, but when the door pushed inwards, he was met by the sight of his son, perched on Emma’s hip. A large bag was over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a smile that seemed nervous somehow. Her eyes ran over the desk, obviously the sign of work, and she bit down on her lip. “If it’s not a good time…”
“It’s fine.” He stood and moved around the desk, lifting the bag off her shoulder and placing it on the sofa.
“Thanks,” Emma murmured, pushing the door shut and stroking Ben’s hair in one motion. “I won’t take long.”
“It’s fine,” he repeated, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What is it?”
“I don’t really know who to talk to. Or if I should even talk to anyone. I mean, I might be totally off-base.”
“What about?” He prompted, and surprised them both by reaching for Ben. He grinned at the little boy and the smile was returned full-wattage.
“I’m worried about Grace.”
Marco’s eyes zinged to Emma’s, his surprise obvious. “Why?”
“I’ve never seen her like this,” Emma said seriously. “And I’ve known her through a lot. I mean, she had it hard after Ben was born. It was such a difficult labor and delivery and then he didn’t feed well and she was exhausted.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said with a frown.
“Oh, yeah. This
little guy was a nightmare, weren’t you, honey?” She said the words with an obvious affection. “Steve was great.” Her cheeks flushed pink, understanding the emotional undercurrents that caused Marco to stiffen. “But his room was at the other end of the house to Grace and Ben’s, so he didn’t really hear the night time waking. And she didn’t like to disturb him because of how busy he was, and how much he already did. I obviously did what I could but Grace was nursing and Ben just wanted her…”
Marco’s eyes hadn’t left Ben’s face, but his mind was whipping across her words, searching them for meaning.
“Steven moved to the other side of the house so the baby wouldn’t disturb him?”
“No. That was his wing.”
Marco nodded, but it didn’t make any sense.
“Shoot.” Emma groaned. “I’m not meant to say anything. The confidentiality agreement… but … I guess that doesn’t count now, right?”
“This stays between us,” he said simply, putting her mind at ease while his own was rioting out of control. “He didn’t live with Grace?”
“Umm, I shouldn’t have said that,” Emma murmured.
“But you did.”
Emma’s eyes showed her discomfort and, at any other time, Marco might have taken pity on her. “They lived separate lives,” she said finally. “I mean, they were friends. Good friends. And they doted on Ben…”
Marco swept his eyes shut for a moment, letting her statement settle into his mind. And it still made no sense.
“Anyway,” Emma continued awkwardly. “Even after Steve died, she wasn’t like this. Grace is tough. Tough as nails. But I’m worried about her.”
Hadn’t Marco just been feeling the same thing? Only he’d thought it was his weakness; that he even cared was beneath him.
“I thought you might be able to …” Emma let the words dwindle away, her eyes beseeching, and then she shrugged. “Help.”
“Of course.” Marco tilted his head forward in agreement, though he had no idea how or what, and the part of him that had been hurt by her again and again told him to walk away. Even now, to leave her. To let her sort her own mess out.
“So you’ll do something?”
Do what? He groaned inwardly. What could he do? He’d looked at her the night before and every bone in his body had wanted to comfort her yet still he’d walked away.
And now?
“I’ll handle it,” he agreed, standing and handing the little boy back to his nanny. “Thanks for coming to me, Emma.”
She nodded. “Of course.” And she lingered at the door, one hand hovering on the door knob. “I think of Grace like family. Same with Ben. I love them both very much. I hope you can see how special they are.” And she turned and left, her parting missive sitting in the middle of the room, a big steaming pile of dog turd that Marco didn’t particularly want to go near.
But he couldn’t ignore Grace’s unhappiness much longer. And now he had questions that needed answering. He fired off a few more emails, mainly to prove to himself that he still had some autonomy, and then pushed back his chair and strode through the villa in search of Grace.
But the house was empty.
A search of their room showed her bag to be missing.
He pulled his phone out and sent her a text. Where are you?
The little dots appeared to indicate she was typing a reply. He held his breath without realizing it.
In the city. Why?
He sighed and told himself that was good. She was out and about, and she was hardly miserable in that text. He could detect the undertone of sass he’d always thought came instinctively to her.
No reason. Come to my office when you get back. We need to talk.
Grace stared at the message with a sinking heart. Was this it? Was this to be the moment when he told her he couldn’t marry her? That actually, he’d like to share custody of Ben after all? That he could never forgive her for what she’d done, so why bother trying?
Grace carried the magazines to the counter, forcing a smile as she handed over enough Euro to cover them, then bundled out of the store. Emma had been right; it was a warm morning, unseasonably so. One particularly enthusiastic shopkeeper had already hung the beginnings of Christmas decorations and it still felt like gelato weather. Grace walked down a winding lane, turning into another, and another, taking pleasure from the mysterious nature of this ancient city.
In the three months she’d lived here, she’d fallen in love with it. With the cobbled streets, the uneven, stone walls, the smells of urban life – cigarette smoke, car combustion, garlic and perfume – and she’d fallen in love with its people. Swirling conversation reached her ears. She smiled as she listened, catching snippets of people’s lives as one might run their fingers through water.
The more she listened, the calmer she became. The more possible it was to ignore the phone in her pocket, the worries it had wrought, and the sense that her life was spiraling completely out of control.
She walked and listened but eventually, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky and the temperature cooled, she knew she couldn’t avoid going home forever. She lifted a hand and flagged down a taxi.
“Where to?” The driver asked in accented English. It made Grace smile, that he picked her as a foreigner; somehow he knew that she didn’t belong.
Where to? An excellent question. She fought an urge to say, ‘my destiny’ and instead gave Marco’s address. But as she sat back in the seat and stared at the passing scenery, she was filled with the sense that she was travelling towards a point in her life that was, somehow, pre-determined. Like a train on tracks, there was no changing course now.
Eleven
HE WAS ON THE phone when she arrived. She heard the deep rumble of his voice, the timbre instantly familiar to her, and she hesitated on the threshold of his office before knocking once and pushing the door inwards.
“Is this a bad time?” She said quietly.
His eyes clashed to hers and she had the strangest sense that she was unwelcome, despite the fact he’d more or less demanded she come to see him.
“Sit.” He nodded towards the chair opposite him, but continued to speak for several minutes, making notes and giving commands in rapid-fire Italian. She stared out of the windows behind him, not thinking, not listening. Nothing.
Just waiting.
And finally, he disconnected the call with a sigh, and focused the full force of his attention on her. She roused herself, bringing her attention back to his face. Trying to be calm.
Trying to be calm, trying to be herself, when she felt like she had no clue who that was anymore.
“Tell me about your marriage.”
Grace froze, her expression obvious. It was clearly the last thing she’d expected. “My marriage to Steven?”
“Yes, to Steven. How many husbands have you had?”
Her lips flickered dismissively at his sarcasm. Marco pushed back in his seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and watching her with the kind of intensity designed to wrong-foot his business adversaries.
“Just the one.” Grace crossed one leg over the other, attempting to effect a pose of relaxation. “What do you want to know?”
“You had separate bedrooms.”
Grace’s eyes widened and her lips parted. She stared at him, her cheeks pale, her hands clasped in her lap. It had been Steve’s idea to have separate rooms. I don’t ever want you to feel pressured by me. We’re friends, Gracie. Flatmates. Family.
“Why do you say that?”
“Is it true?”
Grace swallowed, her expression clearly showing concern. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Damn it, Grace. Is it true?”
She bit down on her lip, and her eyes were beseeching when they lifted to his. “Yes. We had separate bedrooms.”
Marco nodded, giving nothing away with his body language. “Why?”
Grace stood, her legs a little unsteady as she walked to the large windows
that showed a view of his gardens. “It wasn’t a normal marriage,” she said softly. “We weren’t … intimate.”
Marco sat still, staring at her back, using every piece of strength he possessed not to react to the news. “At all? Ever?”
Grace shook her head without looking in his direction. “Before Rome,” she said quietly. “We were a couple. But afterwards, after you, and when I found out I was pregnant, no. I didn’t sleep with him again.”
Marco’s eyes closed as he processed this information, trying to make sense of what it meant and how he could reconcile this announcement with his feelings on the matter. “I don’t understand,” he said finally.
“Of course you don’t.” Grace scoffed, turning around to face him with eyes that were bleak and hollow. “How could you? Sex was the last thing on my mind.”
“You married him.”
“Yeah! I know. I was there.”
“But you weren’t in love with him.”
“On the contrary, I loved him very much. Just not in that way.”
“Then why marry him? Why not be his friend…”
“Because he loved me in that way,” she said with a small shiver. “Because he had loved me when I was poor and young and naïve and he loved me so damned much. Because he paid for me to go to college and he made me what I am now. Because he said it made sense and I trusted him. Because I was scared and alone and I had no idea what to do and suddenly he gave me an option on a silver platter. Because I didn’t want to disappoint him and because he wanted it so damned much.”
Marco listened to her angry response with a sinking feeling in his gut.
“I wish you’d told me the truth back then.”
“I know that.” And tears sprung to her eyes, then overflowed down her cheeks. Grace dashed them away angrily. “I know that I was wrong. I’ve told you how sorry I am and I’ll say it again and again if that’s what it takes. I should have been stronger, braver, smarter. You were wrong last night, Marco. I wasn’t using Steve. Not really. Not as much as he was using me. I didn’t see it at the time but now I understand. He used my fear and anxiety and my past to get me to say ‘yes’. He knew I would never have married him otherwise.” She spun away, crossing her arms over her front, staring out at the citrus grove.
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