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“You never heard from your dad after he left?”
She shrugged. “He sent a Christmas card announcing he was getting married and then that was the end of that.”
He reached over and plucked a loose curl from the edge of her hat and tucked it beneath the brim, behind her ear. “I have a feeling your mom would be proud of you. I imagine you’re a lot like her.”
Payton loved the feel of his hand against her ear and cheek. She loved it when he touched her but he didn’t touch her often. It wasn’t just a skin thing; it was a heart thing.
Marco stood and reaching for her hand, pulled Payton to her feet. “I’m sorry now I never had the chance to meet your mother. I think I would have liked her.”
“You would have driven each other crazy.”
“Just like you’ve driven me crazy.” Marco’s eyes glowed as he gazed down at her. He still held her hand in his, fingers loosely linked.
“I never drove you crazy! You hardly knew I existed.”
But the moment the words were out of her mouth, Payton felt a tingle race down her spine. His gaze was intense and she felt a rise of energy, the tension back between them.
“I’m glad you and the girls are back,” he said, voice husky as his head dipped and he kissed her gently, on her cheek near her mouth.
Her heart began to thud and blood raced through her. She felt a wash of hot desire. The awareness of him, of her, of the energy of them together, was almost too much for her to bear.
“We can’t do this.” She placed her against his chest to push him away but once her hand made contact with his chest she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. He felt big, strong, hard. He felt like the Marco she loved, the Marco she’d missed.
“Marilena,” Payton whispered, her throat growing parched. “There’s Marilena.”
He lifted her chin, stared down into her eyes. “Fine. I’ll end it with her then.”
Payton’s heart jumped to her throat. The adrenaline was making her tremble, her legs so weak they felt disconnected from the rest of her. “You can’t do that. You can’t do that to her. Not again, not—”
He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, silencing her protest with a real kiss.
She’d stiffened, instinctively resisting, but his lips were warm, persuasive and the firm pressure of his mouth sent sparks of feeling throughout her body. It was hard to deny her hunger, much less her attraction. His breath, his touch, his skin—it was all so familiar and yet strange, wonderful and yet heartbreaking.
No one had ever made her feel as much as Marco, and yet Marco didn’t belong to her. This kiss, like everything else between them, was stolen. Fleeting. He’d be gone, back to Milan in no time and she’d be on her own again. Struggling to put together the pieces of her life.
She tried to shut down her emotions, limit her response, but it was as if he knew her struggle and was determined to prove her desire was stronger than her common sense.
He deepened the kiss, his lips parting hers and even as she shuddered at the flick of his tongue, Marco reached up to cup her breast through her thin knit summer top.
Payton inhaled sharply as fingers closed around one taut nipple and rubbed the sensitive flesh. He was making her want things, want him, and it was impossible. It couldn’t happen. They both had to have more control.
“Stop,” she breathed against his mouth. “Stop, stop, Marco, this is wrong. You know it. I know it. We can’t do this.”
He lifted his head, stared down at her. He was breathing just as hard as she. “Then maybe it’s time we made some changes.”
She clenched her hands, pushed against his chest. “Don’t. I didn’t come to interfere. I don’t want to interfere. We’ve done this before. Tried this before. It didn’t work, remember? You divorced me, Marco—”
“Only because you asked me to.”
Payton couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to do this. “I asked you to divorce me if you weren’t ever going to love me, and you said—” she swallowed, fighting to hang on to her composure, as well as her pride, “I was a mistake,” she persisted, her voice breaking. “A…one-night stand. Or don’t you remember that, too?”
Of course he remembered the words. They’d been cruel. “I lied.” The words had been deliberately cruel. He’d lashed out at her, trying to get back at her. Her unhappiness made him crazy. Nothing he did was right. Nothing was good enough.
“I lied,” he repeated, just as he realized he’d been lying to himself ever since. “You were never a one-night stand. You—we—weren’t a mistake, either.”
“No.”
“Yes. We were inevitable. We were meant to happen.”
Marco had hoped he could manage business from Capri but there were too many issues requiring his input. He might be able to have fabric samples sent to him, but they couldn’t do proper fittings or final model interviews without his approval.
“I’m going to Milan,” he announced the next morning. “I’ll catch a flight from Naples and probably won’t be able to make it back until tomorrow late afternoon.”
It was nearly noon when he reached Milan but instead of heading straight to his showroom in the fashion district, he had his driver take him by Marilena’s house.
“It’s good to see you,” Marilena said, warmly welcoming him. “I’ve missed you.”
But he hadn’t missed her. In fact, he hadn’t even thought of her unless Payton brought her up.
He was doing the right thing, breaking off the engagement. His heart had only ever loved one woman and that was the redhead in Capri.
Marco waited for Marilena to take a seat. Marilena sat down gracefully. She was remarkably elegant, even in times of duress, but her leisurely movements grated on him today for the first time. He knew without a doubt he and Marilena were over. Their relationship had run its course. Marilena was a beautiful woman but she wasn’t the right woman for him. The past two years he’d felt like a man sleepwalking through life and suddenly he was awake at last.
Thank God Payton had arrived when she had. Thank God he hadn’t made Marilena his wife.
“We need to talk,” he said. He’d never loved Marilena. He’d loved the idea that a beautiful, desirable woman like the princess would want him. But he’d never loved Marilena, at least, not the way he loved Payton.
He told her as much, too, and Marilena’s composure began to crack. “You said she wouldn’t come between us. You insisted she wouldn’t ruin the wedding.” She never raised her voice, never lost control but she sounded close to breaking down now. “Marco, don’t let her do this.”
“She’s not the one—”
“How can you say that? Things were fine, things were perfect, before she came.”
He sighed, closed his eyes. “Things weren’t fine. We were pretending.”
“I wasn’t,” she retorted fiercely. “I do love you. I know we could have a great life together. We are so similar, you and me, we understand each other. Suit each other. How can you forget everything we’ve shared these past two years?”
“We’ve had fun,” he agreed, knowing that they both had loved the opera, the shopping trips to Paris, the escapes to Rome for dinner with mutual friends. “But it’s not enough.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true. There are the children to think of,” he said. “You’ve already it would be too much to take responsibility for them while Payton starts her treatment.”
Marilena stood, walked to the end of the salon and averting her face wiped the traces of tears. “You will be sorry. You’ll regret this decision especially when you realize she’s tricked you again.”
“Payton’s not like that—”
“You’re such a fool!” Marilena turned to face him, her lovely face twisted in pain. “She is like that. She is manipulative. Destructive. She’s only here because you’re getting married again. She’s here to break us up and I have to hand it to her. She’s succeeded. She’s got you right back in the palm of he
r hand.”
The princess’ expression suddenly darkened. “You haven’t—” she broke off, swallowed, her pale complexion going even whiter. “You haven’t…been intimate have you?”
“No.”
Her features crumpled yet again. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”
Her question offended him. He’d never seen her like this, never seen her so upset by anything. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “Take care of yourself, Marilena. I hope we can always be friends.”
After Marco left Capri for Milan that morning, Payton and the girls spent the day at the villa’s elegant pool surrounded by pots of cascading purple bougainvillea. They swam, had lunch on the terrace, then played again in the shady end of the pool before taking a long lazy afternoon nap.
The day had been delightfully relaxed, but the next morning Payton felt restless. When she was with Marco she didn’t think so much, or worry so much, but with him gone all her fears came rushing back.
Hard to believe she had it. The C word. Cancer.
She knew the steps that would come, knew how the treatment would go, she’d been through his before, not just once, but twice. Her mother. Her mother’s sister.
Payton drew a breath, pictured only positive outcomes, unlike her mother and Aunt Susie’s outcome. She’d beat it.
She’d come through it okay. And if she didn’t, well, the girls would be with their father.
That was positive, right?
But thinking positive didn’t ease all her fears, nor did it dull the ache inside her. She missed Marco. A lot. She missed his face, his smile, his voice, his touch. She missed the way he walked into a room, the way he swung the girls into his arms, the way he looked at her over the top of the twins’ heads.
But the very fact that she felt so much, craved his company this much, sounded a warning inside her.
