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It was early Sunday morning. Marco didn’t know where to go. They were supposed to stay at the hotel through the weekend and Pietra would be with the girls at the house right now. He could go home, but he didn’t think he could handle seeing the girls right now. The girls reminded him of Payton. He couldn’t bear to even think about Payton.
Why would she do this? Once she found out the diagnosis was a mistake, why didn’t she tell him? Why did she continue with the charade?
His confusion gave way to fresh rage. He didn’t need this. He was tired, under pressure at work, overwhelmed by the demands of running a huge business.
There was no way he’d let her get away with this. He wasn’t going to be tricked into marriage a second time. He’d divorce her so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her. In fact, he’d serve her with papers and file for custody.
Sole custody.
He’d keep the girls. He’d get a court order and he’d keep the girls. Payton could do whatever the hell she liked—head back to California, get an apartment in Milan, move to Tahiti—he didn’t care anymore. But regardless of what she did, he’d keep the girls and he’d damn well protect them from her.
Once driving Marco couldn’t stop. Driving was the only way he could keep himself occupied and keep his temper in check. He got on the autostrada and never got off until he hit the lakes region, and then he pulled off the highway at Lake Como, refilled his gas tank and had dinner.
After dinner he began the drive back to Milan and he reached the villa just before midnight. He was tired from hours at the wheel and lack of sleep. He and Payton hadn’t slept much the night before. They’d been too busy making love.
Parking in his garage, he climbed the stairs into the darkened villa. Pietra appeared in the hallway. “Ciao,” she sleepily greeted.
He nodded grimly.
She pushed hair from her eyes. “Everything all right?”
Marco was tempted to lie and then realized he didn’t have the energy. “Non bene.” Not good.
Pietra looked worried. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
“Per favore. Grazie.” He hesitated at the foot of the stairs. “Payton—” he broke off, finding it almost impossible to say her name. “Has she been here?”
“No.”
Nodding, Marco climbed the stairs to the upper landing. The twins’ room was softly lit with a small night-light and both girls were sound asleep in their beds.
He sagged against the door frame. Everything looked so normal. Everything was just how it’d been in Capri. Livia was curled up beneath the covers. Gia was curled up on top. Livia didn’t move a lot in her sleep. Gia was a thrasher.
He felt ridiculously young, ridiculously vulnerable. He’d come to love the girls being here, loved having them back in his life. How could he lose them again? How could he let Payton come between him and his children again?
He couldn’t, he silently answered. He wouldn’t.
Blinking he pressed his forearm to his eyes. Maledizione! Why did this have to happen? Things had seemed to be working so well. Everything had felt right.
Biting back another oath, he carefully lifted Gia, pulled back the warm covers and slid her beneath the light down comforter. He drew the covers up to her shoulder.
As he adjusted the comforter, Gia stirred and opened her eyes. “Papa.”
“Ciao, mia bambina.” He gently ran his hand across her forehead, smoothing the dark curls back from her high regal brow.
“Where’s Mommy?”
A lump the size of a fist lodged in his throat. He fought the violence of his emotions. “Doing a few things.”
“I miss her.”
“She misses you, too.”
“Is she coming to say good night?”
“Soon.”
“Good.” She smiled, content. “Kiss?”
Marco bent over, and gently kissed her.
Gia snuggled lower under the covers. “Tell Mommy to come soon.”
Marco’s eyes burned. How was this going to work? How would he keep the children from being terribly hurt?
He closed the door and stood in the hall for a long moment. What was he going to do? What should he do?
He was angry with Payton but he didn’t hate her. He knew she’d been a good mother to the twins but she was so dishonest with him.
He heard the phone ring in a distant part of the house and it crossed his mind that it could be Payton. He hurried to his room to answer it.
“Marco.” But it wasn’t Payton. It was Marilena. How did she know he was back? How did she know that he wasn’t on his honeymoon?
“It’s late,” he said shortly.
“Would you like to come over for a coffee?” The princess sounded so normal, so disarmingly casual.
“It’s after midnight, Marilena.”
“We’ve had coffee many times after midnight.”
Not during my honeymoon. “It’s been a long day.”
“Then I can come there.”
“Marilena—”
“She’s here, Marco.” The princess’ voice suddenly dropped. “She’s here and I don’t know what to do.”
“Payton?”
“Marco, she’s very upset. She’s not well, and I’m afraid—”
“She’s not sick,” he interrupted tersely, finding it humiliating having to even discuss it with Marilena. Damn Payton for going there. Damn Payton for dragging others into this—and Marilena of all people!
“I know,” Marilena answered quietly. “I’ve known for a while.” She drew a slow breath. “It’s a long story, Marco. Will you come here, or should we go there?”
Payton wasn’t with Marilena when Marco met the princess for coffee twenty minutes later. “She didn’t come with you?” Marco asked, pulling his chair at the small city café that kept late hours.
“No. She left when I did, but she was on foot.”
Marco’s gut tightened. Payton shouldn’t be walking alone this time of night. He didn’t like the idea that she was out on her own. Women were vulnerable, especially in big cities. “Do you know where she was going?”
The princess shrugged. “She was upset. That’s all I know.”
They ordered coffees and while waiting Marilena lit up a cigarette. “I thought you gave up smoking years ago,” Marco said, leaning against the table, elbows on the edge.
“I did. But I had to have one tonight.” She drew on the cigarette. “So tell me, darling. Where should I begin?”
“The part where Payton tricks me into marriage again.”
The princess slowly exhaled, blowing a small cloud of smoke. “Ah, a good place to start.” She reached for espresso and took a small sip. “But the wrong place to start.”
Marco felt the knot in his gut harden and double in size. He made a hoarse sound, something between a laugh and a snort. “Your point?”
“I couldn’t do it after all.” Marilena held the cigarette delicately, posture perfect. “I thought I could. I was sure I would. Jealousy isn’t attractive, especially in women of a certain age, but I was jealous. Still am.”
Marco was tempted to get up and walk out. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
“The story is very simple, actually.” She leaned forward to tap the ashes in the red aluminum ashtray. “I was at your house ten days ago when a doctor phoned from San Francisco. Payton was in the garden with the children. You were coming home for lunch but hadn’t yet arrived.”
Marilena’s lips pursed. “I took the call. I said I was family and the doctor gave me the information. I thanked him nicely and promised to convey the news.”
Ice water flooded his veins. “You knew.”
“And I didn’t tell.” She drew on the cigarette again, the tip glowing hot red. “It was my secret and it was my weapon—just in case I needed it.”
And you did. “The lab report?”
She blew a small perfect smoke ring. “I phoned the doctor back and asked him to send a hard copy to me.”
“You put the
report under the door.”
“I did.” She suddenly crushed the cigarette and her lovely eyes filled with tears as she ruthlessly mashed the cigarette butt to nothing. “I loved you, Marco. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Maybe that’s why I can’t keep my dirty deeds a secret.”
Marco started to push away from the table. He’d wronged Payton. He’d absolutely humiliated her.
“The worst thing of all,” Marilena said stopping him, “was when Payton came to my house today, she didn’t blame me. She did not say one word against me. She simply asked for my help.” The princess leaned back and shook her head. “She asked for my help.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
