No, Nina thought with a deep pang inside. It certainly wasn’t.
A short time later their luggage was checked in and their documentation dealt with efficiently. Nina stood by Marc’s side, wondering when the axe of officialdom was going to fall. She’d ‘forgotten’ Georgia’s birth certificate, and if anyone asked for additional papers she was not quite sure what she would do, but to her immense relief no one did. They were waved through as if they were a normal, happily married couple travelling with their small child.
Marc’s private jet was nothing like the aircraft Nina had travelled on previously. She settled into the luxurious seat as Marc dealt with Georgia beside her, his staff politely offering assistance and ensuring everything was to their liking.
As the jet taxied along the runway she sat with her fingers curled into her palms, her stomach churning in fear as the roar of gunned engines sent her backwards in her seat as the aircraft lifted off. She squeezed her eyes shut, panic making her skin break out in tiny beads of perspiration.
She felt Marc’s hand reach for one of hers, the warm grasp of his long fingers incredibly soothing. She opened her eyes and encountered his deep dark gaze. She gave him a sheepish look and then looked down at their joined hands.
‘I know it’s silly, but I just can’t help it.’
‘It is not silly,’ he said, giving her fingers a tiny squeeze. ‘Close your eyes and try to sleep. Before you know it we will be there.’
She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep but, as exhausted as she was, it was impossible to ignore Marc sitting so close beside her. She could smell his aftershave and even the fresh fragrance of his newly laundered shirt, and every time he moved in his seat she felt the gentle brush of his muscled arm against hers.
She caught him watching her once or twice, the slightly frowning thoughtful look in his eyes unsettling her deeply. Did he already suspect she wasn’t who she had said she was? After last night he must surely be suspicious. She’d seen the same suspicion in Lucia’s eyes this morning, the way she had looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
When they finally arrived at the airport in Naples they were met by a member of the Marcello staff who had a car waiting. As they drove to Sorrento, Nina could pick up bits of the exchange between the driver and Marc.
‘How is my father, Guido?’
‘He is fading, Signore Marcello. He is living for the moment he sees Andre’s child.’
‘Yes …’ Nina heard Marc’s deep sigh, his tone immeasurably sad. ‘I know.’
The Villa Marcello was situated a short distance out of Sorrento on top of a cliff overlooking the Bay of Naples, the surrounding hills densely wooded where olives and vines grew lushly along with lemon and orange groves. The villa was not old but it was built in the classical style and beautifully maintained with terraced gardens and cobbled walkways.
Nina looked around in quiet awe. The view across the water was nothing short of breathtaking; in the distance she could make out the shape of the Isle of Capri and the gulf of Positano and the warm summer air was scented with lemons and the salty tang of the sea.
She held Georgia close as Marc led her by the elbow towards the front entrance where another member of staff was chatting animatedly with Lucia, who had gone on ahead.
Lucia moved inside as the small Italian woman she had been speaking to turned and bowed respectfully to her employer.
‘Buon giorno, Signore Marcello. Your father is waiting for you in the salon.’ ‘Grazie, Paloma.’
Paloma’s dark eyes slid in Nina’s direction but, instead of the frosty reception Nina had been expecting and mentally preparing herself for, the little woman smiled warmly. ‘You are very welcome, Signora Marcello. My English is not good but I will try to be of help to you.’
‘You are very kind,’ Nina responded. ‘Grazie.’
Marc led the way into the palazzo, their footsteps echoing on the marble floors. Yet another member of staff was waiting outside the door of the salon and opened it as they approached.
Nina stepped into the room two steps behind Marc, her eyes going immediately to the figure seated in a wheelchair next to a large sofa.
‘Papa.’ Marc bent over his father and kissed both of his cheeks in turn. ‘It is good to see you.’
Vito Marcello’s thin hands gripped the sides of his chair as Marc brought Nina forward. ‘Papa, this is Nina and your grandchild, Georgia.’
Nina held out her hand but the old man ignored it as his gaze went to the baby perched on her hip. She saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes and the slight tremble of his chin as he reached out a gnarled hand towards Georgia.
Georgia gurgled and dimpled at him, her tiny hands reaching down to him.
Nina had to fight back her own tears at the sight. She lowered the child to his lap and stepped aside, surreptitiously hunting for a tissue. She caught Marc’s penetrating gaze and looked away, pretending an interest in the view from the window.
‘She is so like Andre … and your mother.’ Vito spoke in Italian, his voice husky with feeling.
Nina turned and saw the way Marc’s throat moved up and down as if swallowing the emotion his father’s observation had evoked.
‘Yes.’
‘For once you have done the right thing, Marc,’ his father went on in his own tongue. ‘I know it is not what you want, to be tied to such a woman, but it will soon be over. I have already sought legal counsel. When the time comes you will have no trouble taking the child off her.’
Nina had to fight hard not to reveal her comprehension. She pretended an interest in the view, her spine stiffening with anger.
‘Papa, there are things we need to discuss, but not now,’ Marc said in a low tone, his gaze flicking to Nina standing rigidly by the window.
Vito’s lip curled in derision. ‘You think she understands a word of our conversation? Then you are a fool, Marc. Andre told me she is an uneducated empty-headed whore. Do not tell me you doubt it? What has she done to you, talked her way into your bed?’
When Nina turned back around she saw the way Marc’s jaw tightened as a tinge of colour rose over his cheekbones but she had no other choice than to school her features into a blank mask when his eyes briefly sought hers.
‘Do not forget what she has done!’ Vito continued heatedly.
‘I have not forgotten,’ Marc said, turning back to reach for Georgia. ‘It is time for Georgia’s bedtime routine. We will leave you to rest before dinner.’ He looked towards Nina once more and spoke in English. ‘Come, Nina. We will need to settle Georgia and get changed for dinner.’
Nina gave Marc’s father a small polite smile as she held out her hand to him. ‘It was nice to meet you, Signore Marcello.’
For the second time that evening Vito Marcello ignored her hand.
‘Papa?’ Marc prompted with a frown down at his father.
Vito made some inaudible comment under his breath and briefly took Nina’s hand. ‘Thank you for agreeing to bring my granddaughter to see me. I have not much time. She is all we have left of Andre.’
Nina blinked back the moisture gathering at the back of her eyes. ‘I am so sorry for what you have suffered.’
Vito pushed himself away in his chair, effectively dismissing her. ‘You know nothing of my suffering. Nothing.’
Marc took her elbow and led her away, softly closing the salon door on their exit.
‘I apologise for my father’s rudeness,’ he said as they moved towards the huge staircase leading to the upper floors. ‘He is still grieving.’ He hesitated for a moment before adding, ‘I probably do not need to tell you that Andre was his favourite son.’
Nina came to a stop and looked up at him. ‘It’s all right, Marc. I do understand. This has been a terrible time for you all.’
He gave her a rare smile, tinged with sadness but, for all that, still a smile. ‘I sometimes wonder what my mother would have made of you,’ he mused.
‘Your mother?’
He poi
nted to a portrait hanging on the mezzanine level a few feet away. ‘My mother.’
Nina took the remaining steps to stand in front of a portrait of a beautiful dark-haired, porcelain-skinned petite woman, her soft brown eyes sparkling with exuberant life.
‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘Yes … she was.’
The tone of his voice turned Nina’s head around to look at him.
He held her gaze for a heartbeat before saying, ‘My father has never forgiven me for leading her to her death.’
Nina made a tiny gasp but no words came out. He looked at her across the top of Georgia’s downy head as she buried it into his broad chest, her tiny hands splayed across his shirt. ‘I was late. We had arranged to meet but I was late. I called her to tell her to fill in the time until I got there.’
Nina felt her breath bank up in her chest. She could almost sense what was coming, the guilt and the blame that clung like lead weights to one’s conscience—what could have been done differently if one had only known.
‘She was across the street when she saw me. She waved and called out to me … a motor scooter clipped her as she stepped out.’
‘Oh, Marc.’
‘She didn’t see the other car. Nor did I until it lifted her and tossed her like a rag doll towards me.’ He turned back to the portrait and let out a ragged sigh. ‘If I had been just a few seconds earlier.’
‘No!’ She clutched at his arm. ‘No, you mustn’t think that!’
He extricated himself from her hold, securing his niece against him as he continued up the stairs. ‘You cannot change the past, Nina. You, of all people, should know that. We all do things on the spur of the moment that we regret later.’
Nina wished she had an answer at the ready but there was a ringing truth in what he had just said. Her own impulsive actions had already caused her incalculable regret. If only she had told him right from the first moment what was going on, maybe things would not be as they were now. He was a reasonable man, a good man, a man of sound moral principles. If she had only told him that very first day of her fears for Georgia’s safety, of her worries about her sister’s motives—surely he would not have taken Georgia out of her life without thinking of the impact it would have on her niece?
But it was too late now. She had taken a pathway that had led her to this—a lifetime of deception. She had no choice but to continue in it, the lies and deceit banking up behind her like a tide of inescapable debris that at some point would come pouring over her, weighing her down until she would surely be choked by the brackish filth of it.
‘Marc?’
Marc turned to look down at her, his brother’s child asleep in his arms. ‘Nina, this is my father’s last chance for peace. I know this is hard for you.’
‘It is not hard for me,’ she said, touching him gently on the arm. ‘I owe this to the memory of your brother. In another life, in other circumstances, he might have gladly accepted Georgia as his own. The timing was wrong. You have taken on the role as her father. I am … her mother. It is up to us to make her life what it should be.’
‘And you are happy with that for now?’ he asked.
She looked at the infant cradled in the protective strength of his arms. ‘I am happy with that.’ A tiny sigh escaped from her lips as she raised her eyes back to his. ‘For now.’
A small silence swirled around them for several moments. Nina couldn’t tear her eyes away from the lingering pain reflected in his. Coming home had affected him deeply, the rush of memories no doubt reawakening the guilt he felt over his mother’s death. Hadn’t she experienced the very same pangs? Even though her mother had ultimately been responsible for her own death, Nina still felt as if in some way she had failed her. If only she had tried harder to get her into a clinic or had visited her more often, maybe the outcome would have been different.
‘Come.’ Marc’s deep voice broke the silence. ‘Lucia will be waiting to settle Georgia. My father does not like to be kept waiting.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
ONCE Georgia had been fed and bathed, Nina left her in Lucia’s care and made her way to the room Paloma had prepared for her.
It was luxuriously furnished, the huge bed dominating the room with its array of brightly coloured pillows and cushions, the floor softly carpeted with priceless antique rugs. There was a large wardrobe and dressing table and two doors, one leading to an en suite bathroom, the other to another room which, Paloma had informed her earlier—exchanging a conspiratorial wink with the hovering Lucia as she did so—was Marc’s suite.
Nina tore her eyes away from the firmly closed door and moved across the room to the bank of windows, looking out over the majestic slopes of Mount Vesuvius. A slight breeze disturbed the sheer curtains, carrying the scent of orange blossom and honeysuckle into the room.
There was the sound of a knock on the connecting door. She turned and issued the command to come in, her throat drying up when Marc stepped into the room. He was dressed formally, his dinner suit making him appear even taller and more commanding, the whiteness of his shirt highlighting the olive tan of his skin and the darkness of his eyes.
‘My father likes to dress for dinner,’ he explained. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
‘Yes.’ She pointed to the dress Paloma had laid out earlier.
‘I’m sorry, I won’t be long. I wanted to make sure Georgia had settled first.’
‘I will wait for you in my suite. Knock when you are ready to go down. It will take you a while to find your way around the villa.’
‘Thank you.’ She waited until he had closed the door behind him before she stepped out of her clothes, wishing she had time for a shower but deciding it wouldn’t do to upset Marc’s father by turning up late for dinner. She made do with a quick splash at the basin and a touch of subtle make-up, tying her hair up with a clip in a casually arranged knot that revealed the length of her neck. The dress she had packed was one of Nadia’s and, while it was very close-fitting, it was elegantly simple, the candy-pink chiffon giving her skin a creamy glow.
She gave the connecting door a tentative knock and held her breath as she heard Marc’s footsteps approach.
‘Ready?’ he asked, his eyes sweeping over her with unmasked approval.
She gave him a small nervous smile. ‘Yes.’
The dining room was as sumptuously furnished as the rest of the villa. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and the walls were adorned with priceless works of art as well as several gilt-edged mirrors that made the room seem even larger. The long dining table was set at one end for three people, the best of glass and silverware laid out in elegant style, with a fragrant arrangement of roses as a centrepiece.
Vito Marcello was already seated at the end of the table, his dark brooding gaze boring into Nina as soon as she stepped into the room with Marc by her side.
‘You are late, Marc,’ he said in Italian, his tone reproving. ‘Have you not yet taught your wife how to be punctual?’
Marc held out the chair for Nina as he met his father’s scowling look. ‘It was not Nina’s fault that we are late,’ he responded in his father’s tongue. ‘I had to make several calls. It was I who kept Nina waiting.’
Nina sat down and waited until Marc was seated opposite before sending him a grateful glance. He held her look for a long moment, a small shadow of puzzlement passing through his dark gaze as it rested on her.
Vito muttered something under his breath and reached for his wineglass and took a deep draught of the rich red wine. Nina saw Marc’s eyes go to the glass in his father’s hand and the almost empty carafe nearby, the small frown between his brows deepening.
‘You have a very beautiful house, Signore Marcello,’ she said to break the uncomfortable silence.
‘It will be Georgia’s one day,’ Vito answered in English and beckoned to the hovering staff member to refill the carafe. ‘That is unless Marc has a son. How about it, Marc?’ He switched back to Italian and added ins
ultingly, ‘You could take up where Andre left off. I am sure your wife will not mind if you pay her enough. She has opened her legs for many others, why not you?’
Nina drew in a breath, her hands tightening in her lap in anger, her cheeks storming with colour.
‘What is between Nina and me is between Nina and me and no other,’ Marc said with implacable calm. ‘I would prefer it, Papa, if you would refrain from insulting her in my presence. She is, after all, the mother of your only grandchild and surely deserves a modicum of respect.’
Vito’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘She is the reason your brother is dead! She must be made to pay.’
‘How?’ Marc asked evenly. ‘By taunting her whenever you get the chance? By twisting the knife of guilt all the time like you do to me?’
Nina sat very still.
Vito’s glass thumped on the table so heavily that the chandelier above their heads tinkled along with the rest of the glasses on the table. He glared back at his son, his cheeks almost puce and his lips white-tipped.
‘It is true, is it not?’ Marc continued in the same even tone. ‘You have always blamed me for my mother’s death because you do not want to face the truth of the role you played in it yourself.’
‘You were late.’ Vito’s words were slurred. ‘You killed her by being late!’
‘No, Papa,’ Marc insisted gently. ‘You were the one who was late. Do you remember how I had to wait for you to turn up to sign the rest of the documents on the Milan deal? You had been drinking. I had to wait for you to sober up before you signed.’
Nina watched in anguish as the older man reached for his glass and downed the contents, his chin wobbling as if he was having trouble controlling his emotions.
‘It is easy to blame someone else rather than face the pain of the truth,’ Marc continued on the tail end of a sigh, his tone gentle. ‘Perhaps we are both to blame. I should not have covered up your drinking for as long as I did, but I only did it to protect my mother. I would do differently now that I know the price we all had to pay for my silence.’
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 13