‘Two weeks.’ She injected as much firmness into her voice as possible. A tiny part of her heart hoped she and Marco might rediscover whatever it was that had brought them together in the first place, but once her head ruled again she knew that it had only been lust between them and not love.
‘Two weeks?’
‘Yes. I will be your fiancée for two weeks and then I will return to England.’
Marco looked at her, the darkness of his eyes fixed on her face. ‘I will convince you that marriage is for the best, Imogen. That raising our child, here, together, is the only way.’
CHAPTER SIX
IMOGEN HAD WOKEN to sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window the next morning and briefly wondered where she was. The events of the last two days, since Marco had arrived at her office and overheard her and Julie talking, had played out all night in her dreams, the conclusions so vivid, so full of what she truly longed for, that right now she wasn’t sure what was reality and what was wishful thinking on her part.
She’d walked around the vast apartment, wondering what she was expected to do, until she’d seen the note Marco had left propped against the coffee machine. The large, flowing handwriting had brought her slamming back to reality and the nausea she’d thought she’d finished suffering from rushed back as she read the words.
Gone into the office whilst you are catching up on sleep. Be ready at lunchtime.
She’d showered and dressed in a loose-fitting black dress, annoyed at herself for taking time and care on her make-up, as if that would make all the difference. Marco wasn’t about to fulfil the dreams she’d had last night and fall in love with her. Besides, after everything she’d been through with Gavin the last thing she wanted to do was put her heart on the line again.
Now she sat in a jewellery store in Manhattan and the whole thing seemed far too real. Spread before her was an array of rings, so expensive she shuddered at the thought of wearing any of them. She hadn’t considered a ring when she’d agreed to come here as his fiancée and meet his mother and father, and even if she had it would never have been anything like one of these.
‘I think this one,’ Marco said as he gently took her hand and slipped onto her finger a large diamond set within an oval of smaller diamonds. It fitted as if it had been made for her and, whilst it was so very pretty, it was still a symbol of a deal he’d made with her because of circumstances. ‘Perfect.’
He still held her hand as she looked at him, momentarily lost for words. Wearing his ring, the one he’d chosen and placed on her finger as if it really meant something, was so close to what she could so easily secretly hope for, if she let herself be fanciful, that saying anything was difficult. Finally, she found her voice. ‘Does it have to be so big, so expensive?’
‘It does.’ He looked at her, his expression hard and businesslike, with not a trace of emotion. ‘A ring like this gives a very clear message.’
Imogen forced herself back under control as she pushed down the kind of silly emotion and ideals about becoming engaged she’d always nurtured. They hadn’t stopped it turning into a disaster last time with Gavin. The fact that he hadn’t really wanted to get engaged, let alone married, that he’d been going along with what both sets of parents had thought was a done deal only made this moment all the more painful.
Marco had proposed—if you could even call it that—because she was pregnant. Gavin had just gone along with everyone’s assumption they would one day get married. He hadn’t loved her, and Marco most certainly didn’t. At least this time she knew exactly where she stood. There would be no happy-ever-after and lifelong love from this ring either.
‘It certainly does that.’ She tried to be as detached as he was, tried to think of it as a deal she’d just struck instead of one of life’s big events she seemed destined never to get right.
‘Then that is the first part of our deal completed.’ Marco signalled to the assistant to indicate that they had chosen the ring, and Imogen could only sit and watch in wonder as the transaction was completed. The deal was sealed. She was engaged. To a man whose child she carried, but, despite the large diamond on her finger, it was as far from the real thing as it could be.
She hung on to the fact that while this was just a deal it would at least enable her to make contact with her baby’s grandparents, be able to tell her child in years to come about them. Those romantic notions made her smile, and then she thought of Marco, of the fact that, whatever else happened, as her baby’s father he would be there in the background of her life for evermore.
That stark realisation was still ringing in her mind as she and Marco settled themselves in the back of his chauffeur-driven car a short while later. The weight of what the ring really represented was almost too much on her finger. ‘What’s next?’
‘Now to the hospital.’ He looked out of the window as he spoke and she wondered if he was more upset by his father’s illness than he was letting on.
Compassion filled her heart and she wanted to reach out, place her hand on his arm, to reassure him that she was there for him. If she was in his position she would be distraught and so worried about her father. She didn’t think she could be so outwardly calm and controlled about it. She slowly moved her hand towards him, wanting to help, to support him, the ring on her finger catching the light, sparkling brightly.
Marco took her hand, holding her fingertips in his, and looked from the ring to her. The atmosphere in the car so like it had been between them on the island. ‘The ring sparkles almost as much as you, Imogen.’ His voice was light and teasing. ‘I hope that I can convince you to wear it always.’
‘Will your father be feeling well enough for our visit?’ she asked tentatively, trying to bring the conversation away from what the ring meant, what he really wanted from her.
‘It would most likely cause him more stress to know you were here in New York and hadn’t been to meet him.’ Marco let her hand go. ‘He cannot fail to like you, Imogen, and he and my mother are so excited they are finally to have a grandchild.’
‘I hope you are right,’ she said as she looked at him, his dark gaze holding hers, making her tummy flutter.
‘He will appreciate the fact you have travelled from England to meet him,’ Marco said and something in his eyes softened. ‘As I do.’
Imogen hadn’t known how to respond to that and was thankful the car had arrived at the hospital. Now she swallowed down her nerves as they both stood on the threshold of the private hospital room Marco’s father occupied. She’d never seen Marco look ill at ease and she glanced up at his profile as he took a deep breath and opened the door.
She followed him into the room and watched as he greeted his father in Italian and then sat down. He didn’t give his father a hug, or kiss; there wasn’t even a gentle, reassuring touch. She frowned as she watched his father look at Marco with sadness. Was Marco really that devoid of emotion he couldn’t put aside whatever it was between them at a time like this?
Imogen felt awkward, as if she was intruding on something. This man and woman might well be her child’s grandparents, but they were Marco’s parents, his family. Marco took her hand, bringing her closer to him, pushing away all those questions just by being so close. ‘Imogen, this is my mother, Mirella, and my father, Emilio.’
‘So pleased to meet you,’ his mother said quickly and stepped towards her and hugged her, so that she had to let go of Marco’s hand. As his mother pulled away Imogen felt strangely adrift and looked at Marco, but he and his father were locked in what looked like eye combat, each glaring at the other. His mother must have seen her watching them, must have guessed she’d sensed the atmosphere, and spoke quietly. ‘Two stubborn men.’
‘So, you are to be a father,’ Marco’s father said firmly, his gaze not wavering from Marco’s at all. Any chance of talking with Mirella now gone as the tension in the room seemed to rocket up, Imogen had no
idea what was going on and looked from Marco to his father.
‘We are both so excited. A new baby in the family.’ Thankfully Mirella stepped in.
‘It would be pleasing if the baby were a boy,’ Emilio said, and when his attention flickered from Marco to her she’d never felt so in the spotlight before.
Imogen swallowed, not knowing what to say, wishing Marco would do something, say something, but all he seemed to want to do was continue the silent but angry animosity between him and his father.
‘The son you never had?’ Marco’s words snapped across the room and Imogen looked from father to son, confusion mixing with the powerful tension which filled the room.
‘Please, don’t,’ Mirella interjected, dragging Imogen’s thoughts from what Marco had just said. She looked at him, but he turned from her, pointedly ignoring his father, and strode away from the bed. Imogen took in the firm set of Marco’s shoulders and tried to make sense of what he’d just said, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. What did Marco mean?
She looked again at Emilio and he put out his hand towards her, gesturing her close. She hesitated briefly then did as he asked, acutely aware of the increasing tension in the room. She had no idea what it was that had made Marco so angry, so hostile to his father, but whatever it was Marco had to fix it. If the unthinkable happened he might regret it for evermore.
The old man took her hand, focusing her mind, but not halting the whirl of questions. He spoke firmly but softly, his eyes sharp, his grip on her hand far stronger than she would have expected for a man so ill. ‘Look after him.’
‘The baby?’ After the conversation that had just played out between father and son, Imogen wasn’t sure who he was referring to.
‘Marco. He is my son, no matter how he came into my life. He is my son.’ Emilio closed his eyes for a second then opened them and looked at her, the darkness of his so like Marco’s.
She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her total confusion as to what was happening made the words come out in a rush when perhaps she should just have played along with it, pacified the old man.
He patted her hand with his free one and looked intently up at her. ‘Just promise me you will look after him.’
Imogen nodded, wanting to offer some sort of hope to this man, but she had no idea what was going on, no idea what she was promising, but as he became agitated all she wanted was to smooth the moment over. ‘I will look after him, yes.’
She didn’t say anything more because that would be giving false promises. The lie she was already telling this sick old man by making him believe they were going to be married made it hard to say anything else.
She heard movement in the room and then felt the warm strength of Marco behind her. Did he also find it so uncomfortable to tell lies? Despite all he’d said, she wasn’t convinced a baby was what Marco really wanted. So many thoughts whirled in her mind and when Marco placed his hand on her shoulder, bringing her close against him, the confusion deepened. The only clear thing in her mind was that there was so much anger between the two men; why did Marco feel the need to do this?
* * *
‘We will see you at the party tonight, Mother.’ Marco was aware his words were sharp as he kept his arm around Imogen, but he was desperate to bring the conversation back to something other than him and his father. Annoyance surged through him as he thought of what the old man had just said to Imogen, making him look the fool, the one who had grudges. If Emilio really felt that way he should have said it a long time ago instead of pushing him out, always making him feel different, not part of the family. He shouldn’t have punished him all these years.
Marco vowed there and then that his child would never feel that isolation, that rejection. He wanted to be there, all the time, for his child, but convincing Imogen was another matter entirely. Imogen had not hesitated to tell him it was love she wanted. The one thing that had been in short supply throughout his childhood and the only emotion he didn’t want to become embroiled in as an adult. The only emotion he couldn’t give.
‘Come and see me again, Imogen,’ his father said, his voice frailer now after the exertion of the last few minutes. As he and Imogen made their way to the door, he felt her hesitation, saw the look of question she cast his way, and he knew what she was thinking. He could see it in her expressive eyes. She was already convinced that he was the hard and cold one.
‘I’ll come and tell you all about the party.’ He didn’t dare look at Imogen as she answered his father, but he could hear the smile in her words and from the satisfied expression on his father’s face he knew she’d just played right into his hands.
He had no alternative but to explain to Imogen that the man lying in the hospital bed was not his natural father. It shocked him to realise that it mattered what she thought of him, something that had never featured in any of his previous affairs. But Imogen wasn’t just an affair. She was the mother of his child.
It took him straight back to the conversation of moments ago, when he’d listened to his father’s claim that he was his son no matter what. Anger had boiled through him, so powerful it threatened to blow like a geyser. Thankfully he’d contained it, focusing his thoughts instead on the knowledge that he couldn’t ever turn his back on his child and that meant being part of its life—every single day. Whatever happened between him and Imogen now, he had to make her realise that the more permanent solution of marriage was the only way and that he intended to be in his child’s life, to raise him or her as a Silviano.
‘My sister will give my father a good account of the engagement party. There is no need to trouble yourself with visiting him again.’ Marco snapped the words out at they sat in the car, moving slowly through the New York traffic towards his apartment. Imogen had remained silent as they’d left the hospital and he knew she’d sensed the tension between him and his father. He also knew she was full of questions. He could feel them every time she looked at him.
‘It’s no trouble,’ she said lightly, looking out of the windows at the sights of the city as he turned to her. She must be so shocked by the rift between father and son that she couldn’t now look at him. ‘It’s what you brought me here for after all.’
‘There is no need.’ Marco wasn’t in the mood for this right now. All the times he’d been pushed aside as a child were now filling his mind.
‘He is my baby’s grandfather and he is ill,’ Imogen said as she looked directly at him and he knew her questions were close to the surface. The light and breezy tone of her voice reminded him of blossom on a spring day, but he knew she was making a point. She was letting him know that she valued family and just what she thought of him for not doing so. ‘But exactly what did he mean when he said you are his son, no matter what?’
‘There are things about my father you don’t know, things I didn’t know until recently.’
Marco’s mind raced back to the night when his father had first been admitted to hospital. His sister had gone home, leaving him with his father and mother, who’d sat beside the bed watching him sleep, and slowly the secret she’d kept for so long had come out.
He could still hear her say those words now: ‘Your father’s brother, the man you know of as the uncle who was killed in a traffic accident, is your natural father.’
He’d stood shocked beside the bed of his heavily sedated father, all hooked up to machines, and tried to take in all his mother had just said. For the first time in his life he’d been lost for words, but his mother hadn’t finished.
‘I’m not proud of it, but I had an affair, whilst Emilio and I were engaged. That affair resulted in you, and the rift it caused in the family was huge. But after the accident the man I’d first fallen in love with, the steady and sensible man lying there now—’ she’d pointed to her husband ‘—told me he still wanted to marry me, that it didn’t matter who had fathered my baby.’
‘Because I was t
he next Silviano generation?’
‘Because he loved me,’ she said softly, her expression begging him for forgiveness. ‘And because he wanted to love you too.’
The realisation that his uncle had stepped into the role of father had left Marco numb and he hadn’t been able to stay in the room with his mother or the man he’d always thought of as his father. Instead he’d fled to the small café his grandfather had started all those years ago, seeking the solace the old brick building always gave him. His mind had raced and all the missing pieces of his life, pieces he’d never realised were adrift, had slipped into place. No wonder he could never please his father. Despite what his mother had said, he’d resented him for being the son of his brother and when he didn’t have a son of his own he’d punished him for being the next Silviano heir.
It had been then he’d known he had to get away from New York. Far away. His latest island acquisition had seemed the perfect place and, as he’d looked up at the old photo of his grandfather at the café, he’d felt as if he was being guided there by him. He never took time out to relax, but a covert visit to his newest resort would be close enough to escaping from the harsh reality of life for a while.
Mentally he shook himself and dragged his mind back to the present. All these revelations were making him fanciful. It was probably why he’d spent such a long time courting Imogen whilst they were on the island. The revelations of the past had got in the way of who he’d become and that was one thing he could never allow to happen.
‘Things about your father? What sort of things?’ Imogen spoke quickly, bringing him back from the past and shocking him with the intensity of her words. ‘You brought me here, to parade me and my pregnancy to your father, and now you tell me not to see him again. What is going on, Marco?’
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