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“Yet you haven’t visited very often.”
“You were the one that moved to America.”
He couldn’t reduce all their problems to the move. “It was the only thing I could do.”
“That’s absurd. I wanted you here. I knew it’d be difficult to see the girls once you were half way round the world and I was right.”
“You have business in the United States. You didn’t make many attempts to see us.” She pressed her nails into her hands, her voice taking on an edge. “I know for a fact you were in the Bay Area a number of times and yet you never came by the house.”
His voice sharpened, too. “I tried. Every time I phoned you had an excuse. You were heading out of town, or one of the girls was sick.”
“The time we were heading out of town, I was going to attend a funeral.” Her mother’s funeral. After a five-year battle with cancer her mother had finally lost the fight and Payton had been nearly incoherent with grief. “And children do get sick!”
“I sent gifts,” he defended tersely, but Marco knew it was a lame defense. He had stayed away. Not because he wanted to, but because visiting Payton and the girls hurt more than it helped. He felt like hell after each visit. Felt like a failure.
“A stuffed bear isn’t quite the same thing as a father.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he shouted, furious that she was right and that he’d lost control. God damn it, he hated that Payton could do this to him, hated that she made him feel like an absolute lunatic. “Don’t you think I struggle every day with the knowledge that my children are being raised halfway around the world and they view me as nothing more than a stranger?”
She took a step toward him. “You’re right. They do think of you as a stranger. And why shouldn’t they? You haven’t even tried to be part of their lives. And then last month, it was their birthday. I sent you an invitation. Why didn’t you come?”
He felt the blood drain from his face. “I couldn’t make it.”
“So call me. E-mail me. Tell me so your children won’t be disappointed!”
“They didn’t even notice I wasn’t there.”
He had no idea, she thought, seething. He had no idea how out of touch he was.
Her chest burned and her eyes felt gritty and she realized she was angry—not just with him, but with fate and life and everything. “Do you know they spent their party watching the door? Do you know they begged me not to cut the cake just in case you arrived late?”
“Payton, stop.”
“No, you stop. You stop treating the girls badly because you’re angry with me. They didn’t divorce you. They’re not to blame.”
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t blame them.”
“It seems like it.”
“Then why are you here?”
She dashed her fists beneath her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “My mother died earlier in the year. If anything should happen to me, the girls would come to you.” Her voice broke and she turned away. “It’s too late to save our marriage, but it’s not too late to make sure the girls have a loving relationship with you.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE girls woke early and crawled into bed with Payton. By the time the three of them threw back the covers to hunt for breakfast, Marco had gone. Except for Gia’s sassy comment about the “big bad wolf” going to work, the twins appeared oblivious to the fact that they were staying in their father’s house and hadn’t seen much of him yet.
Midmorning Payton herded the girls outside to get some air. They needed to do some running about to burn off their exuberant three-year-old energy and they raced off now, heading toward the garden they’d discovered yesterday. “Come on, Mommy! Hurry!”
Inside the walled garden the twins chased each other with shrieks of laughter. Shading her eyes, Payton watched Gia chase Liv around and around the walled garden. Gia might be more confident than Liv, and she might play the role of the aggressor, but Liv had speed. Payton suppressed a smile as Liv successfully dodged Gia’s tackle yet again.
“Not fair!” Gia cried loudly, frustrated.
But Liv just danced away, trying hard not to grin.
“They’re having a good time, aren’t they?” Marilena said, appearing at the garden’s little wrought iron gate.
Payton turned and mustered a smiled for the princess. “They love this little garden. It’s like something out of a storybook.”
Marilena’s gaze swept the stone walls lined by tall neatly trimmed hedges. “This was once the old palace’s herb garden. Marco and I are working to replant the original garden.” She looked at Payton. “Do you garden?”
“No. My mother and I lived in an apartment. We didn’t have a garden.” The princess didn’t say anything and Payton hastily added. “But I do sew. That’s how I fell in love with fashion design. My mom and I used to make all our own clothes.”
“And I bet you were quite good. I’m sure they didn’t look homemade.”
Payton glanced swiftly at the princess, wondering if she was making a jab at her poor past or not. But Marilena looked serene and Payton knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her mother had been a talented seamstress and had taught Payton how to sew at an early age. By the time Payton was fourteen she was poring over fashion magazines, copying popular European styles.
It’d always been her mother’s dream for Payton to study with the great designers in Europe. Payton knew they certainly couldn’t afford trips abroad and yet she indulged her mother’s fantasy. They discussed living in Milan, and Payton interning for one of the great Italian designers like Valentino, Prada, or d’Angelo.
Who would have ever thought such a dream would come true?
“They’re happy little girls,” Marilena commented, watching Liv and Cia play.
“They love all the sunshine,” Payton said. San Francisco was beautiful but the coastal fog and gray clouds meant cooler temperatures than the girls preferred. Gia suddenly scampered up the stone wall and Payton clapped her hands. “Gia, no! That’s dangerous. Down, please.”
Marilena laughed. “How did she climb so high so fast?”
“Gia can climb anything. I can’t take my eyes off the girls for a minute.”
“They’re certainly beautiful. I was telling Marco how absolutely ravishing I think they are.”
“They take after Marco.”
Marilena laughed huskily. “I don’t know about that. They have quite a bit of you. Their eyes are yours. The sweet shape of their faces, you again.” Marilena watched them stoop to examine a yellow winged butterfly that had landed on a rock. “They could have quite a modeling career. Have you talked to any agencies? I’m sure Marco could open doors.”
Just hearing the princess mention Marco’s name so casually sent flickers of fresh pain through her. Payton drew a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think the girls are ready for modeling. I think they just need to be little girls.”
“As always, Mother knows best. And look, here’s Marco now. He’s come home to have lunch with us all.”
It was early June and lunch was being served in the garden. The housemaids had carried a large wooden
table into the sunshine and covered it with a fine linen cloth then set the table with large glazed ceramic plates and sparkling glassware.
The twins nibbled on olives as the adults talked. Marco opened a bottle of wine, a light red perfect for the weather and a midday meal. It seemed almost natural, Payton thought, the five of them sitting down to lunch together. Marilena was really lovely. She and Marco seemed so calm and easy together. They’d be good parents for the girls as well.
Payton looked at the girls, her gaze growing fond. They were dropping spoonfuls of buttery noodles into their mouth between whispers to each other. They loved pasta—had grown up on pasta—and she could tell it was a treat for them to be here, eating outside in the sun, wearing simple cotton sundresses that left their shoulders bare.
Her heart folded over just looking at them. She loved the girls so much it ached inside. Did all mothers feel this way? Did they all dread the day their babies grew up and would move away?
She felt eyes on her and turning, met Marco’s gaze. His expression was closed, and yet intense. He’d said virtually nothing to her all lunch, keeping his conversation directed at Marilena and the girls, and yet now they faced each other across a void as big as the Atlantic Ocean she’d just flown over.
Her heart seemed to fold once more and she drew in a small, shallow breath, hating that she felt absolutely confused by collision of past and present.
Being with Marco again made her realize that the love wasn’t dead after all. It was just buried. Deeply.
Buried so far below, packed so tightly down she’d tried to pretend that there’d been nothing there, nothing between them. No sparks, no chemistry, no emotions of any kind.
She’d managed to convince herself after one too many afternoons weeping in the shower that it was all a trick of her imagination, a projection of her loneliness.
He’d never loved her and the truth hurt so much she had to take her heart and break it open, empty the tenderness, the hope, the need and pretend she’d never felt anything. That she’d never wanted anything. That she’d never wanted him.
