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“I’m not going to have you sleeping on a couch when you’re paying for the rooms.”
“I could care less about the money,” he answered impatiently. “Why do you do that? Why do you even bring up money?”
He muttered something, clearly irritated and opened his address book as if to make a phone call but he didn’t reach for the phone. “Money can buy a lot of things but it can’t buy happiness or peace of mind. And that’s what we need most right now. Calm and quiet. A restful week with our children.”
When focused, no one rivaled Marco’s determination or drive. This was the Marco she believed in, and trusted. “I agree.”
Slightly mollified, he sat back in his chair at the desk. “Have you thought about when you’ll tell the girls what is happening?”
“No.”
“You can’t leave them in the dark. It’s not right. Wouldn’t be fair.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to tell them that I’m sick, that I have the same sickness my mother did, and my aunt. They know what happened to them. I won’t have the girls worrying.”
“But they’ll worry regardless.”
“Which is why I need you to make them feel extra loved, extra wanted. I know that you have a lot going on right now, and I know I’m adding another burden—”
“Jesus, Payton!” he interrupted, swearing violently. “Do I have to ring your neck? What kind of unfeeling monster do you think I am? The girls are not a burden. They’ve never been a burden, and for that matter,” he shot her a savage glance, “neither have you.”
This statement was met by profound silence. Payton’s head felt a bit fuzzy, as is she couldn’t see her way clear through the stream of words to the meaning.
“The whole marriage thing—our marriage,” Marco clarified grimly, “was not the great tragedy you seem to think it was. I never saw marrying you as a negative thing. It became difficult later, but not initially. I wouldn’t have married you if I’d found the idea abhorrent.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I would not have married you if I hadn’t had feelings for you. I would not have married you just to be correct.”
Feelings. Payton blinked, not certain if she should laugh or cry. He’d had feelings when he married her. Was that good, or was that bad? And if the feelings had been good, why hadn’t their marriage lasted?
“You’ve done a good job with the girls,” he added more quietly. “They’ll miss you if you leave them in Milan.”
Her eyes felt gritty. “I’ll miss them, too. But I think it’s better if they don’t see me when I’m not at my best. I think it’s better if they don’t have to see me go through the side effects.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He rubbed his jaw and then shook his head before abruptly rising. “I’m going to postpone the wedding.”
“No!”
He shrugged off her protest. “There’s no way I could get married and go on a long honeymoon now. My daughters will need me near and Marilena is a woman, an adult. She understands complications. The children don’t. It’s the children I’m worried about. In the light of your illness, all other problems become insignificant.”
“You should at least talk to Marilena before you make this decision.”
“Whether I do or don’t, I’ve made the decision. The girls are my priority. The girls, Payton, must come first.”
She smiled faintly. “You would have been a wonderful emperor in ancient Rome.”
“I know.” Then he smiled, too, and grooves formed next to his mouth. He was mocking himself and when Marco laughed at himself like this he was at his most charming. “Now get some sleep. You should rest while the girls are quiet. And don’t worry about me in here. I’m fine. I have plenty of work to do anyway.”
Shutting the bedroom door behind her, Payton stretched out on the queen-size bed. Her head ached, her heart ached, she felt as though she were on fire. It was getting harder and harder to be around Marco and keep things light, casual. It was harder to keep perspective. Harder to keep her heart in check.
As difficult as it would be to leave the girls behind, it’d be so much easier once she’d put distance between her and Marco.
Marco still had that crazy effect on her where she felt so much, wanted so much, craved so much.
It was awful playing this game, awful hiding all her feelings, squashing them down until her heart ached endlessly.
It’d been less than a week since she arrived in Milan and already she felt wrung out. It was getting harder to act nonchalant around him, harder to deny the intensity of her feelings. She hated having to pretend she didn’t love him, or that she felt nothing everytime she heard his voice, or his name.
How to ignore the leap of her heart? How to numb hope? How to behave as though she didn’t mind that Marco belonged to another woman? Because she did mind. Very much. She loved Marco, but she hadn’t forgotten the excruciating failed marriage, either.
In the end Payton couldn’t sleep and she finally left the bedroom to join Marco on the balcony. The sun was rapidly disappearing in a gorgeous red and purple sunset.
Marco ordered a bottle of wine and something to eat from room service, and an exquisite tray of meats, marinated vegetables, and selection of cheeses was promptly delivered to their suite.
“What’s this?” Payton asked as Marco opened the bottle of red wine.
If she didn’t know him better, she’d say Marco was being romantic, setting the scene for seduction. But she did know him and she knew he didn’t have romantic or sexual feelings for her.
They stood on their hotel balcony and watched the sun sink into the ocean. It was a rare moment of tranquillity, she thought. It’d been ages since she felt any peace. She’d had so much worry on her mind for so long. “This is nice,” she said, standing beside Marco, leaning on the railing.
“It is,” he agreed.
Yet as the sun’s red glow faded, Payton couldn’t help the twinge of regret. She didn’t have much time left with the girls. She’d be leaving Italy in a week’s time. The girls would adjust to life without her—but would she?
How would she handle an empty house day after day after day? There’d be no one to come home to. No one to get up for. No one to kiss good-night.
“That’s a heavy sigh,” Marco said, looking at her, the evening breeze ruffling his dark hair.
“I’ve been thinking about my life lately, about all the mistakes I’ve made.” She turned her head, looked at him. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”
“Who hasn’t?”
“I’m not talking business.”
A muscle pulled at his jaw. “Neither am I.” He reached behind her, lifted the bottle of wine from the table and topped off their glasses. “Want to talk mistakes? I shouldn’t have let you return to California with the girls. It was the worst thing I could have done.
“I missed them so much it hurt,” he continued. “Visiting you made it worse. Every time I got on the plane to come home I couldn’t breathe. I felt like—” he looked away, features tightening “—like I was being buried alive.”
“So you stopped coming.”
“It was better staying away than saying goodbye over and over again.” He took a quick drink from his glass. “But it wasn’t the right thing to do. I failed them. And I failed you. I’m sorry.”
His apology lingered in his mind long after they headed inside to dress for dinner before waking the girls. Payton slipped into white silk trousers and a turquoise silk peasant blouse with full sleeves and a drawstring neck. Once dressed, they took the elevator to the restaurant on the top of the hotel for dinner.
Although it was last minute and they had no reservation, the mâitre d’ recognized Marco and seated them right away in a prime seat by the window. Situated on the top floor, La Terrazza had amazing views of the city, port, and mountain and the girls were entertained during the meal watching the large cruise ships arrive and depart from the harbor.
Marco suddenl
y reached out and covered her hand with his. “This is right, what we’re doing. Going to Capri together. Putting aside our differences. If you have any doubts at all, just look at our daughters.”
She’d been thinking the same thing and she shivered, moved not just by his touch, but his words. He understood, she thought, more than she’d given him credit for.
But when he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her fingers, she felt a thrill that had nothing to do with maternal devotion or protective instinct. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her hot and made her want.
Despite everything she was still a woman, and in the past two years there had been no one. No one to touch her. No one to love her. She hadn’t wanted anyone but Marco and yet he wasn’t hers to have.
His eyes met hers. “Capri is just what you need.” He turned her hand over, kissed the inside of her wrist. His lips felt like fire on the wild beating of her pulse. “It might just be what I need, too.”
