‘I do.’
My heart sank, but I forced out a smile. ‘She’s a hell of a woman, so who can blame you?’
He took hold of my hand, his long fingers slotting around mine like they belonged there. ‘You’re right, I do care about Marcie. It wasn’t always the case, but we’ve rebuilt our relationship over the last few years.’
The last few years?‘I don’t understand.’
He gripped both my hands tighter. ‘She’s my mother.’
‘Wh-what...?’
I must have blacked out for a moment, or been sucked into a parallel universe.
Had I heard him right?
‘Marcie is yourmother?’
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but only a handful of people know. The pregnancy was kept secret. She spent those months in the foothills of the Alps in Italy, far from the cameras, and then she left me with my father.’
‘Was Benedict your father?’
He shook his head. ‘My father is Italian. He fell in love with Marcie, but had to marry someone else.’ He looked uncomfortable and I didn’t want to ask any more questions. Then very quietly he added: ‘He came from the sort of family who considered rock stars unsuitable wives.’
A memory was stirring in my head. ‘Oh my God, your dad’s the bald count!’
He half frowned, half smiled. ‘How on earth do you know about him?’
‘When I went to Marcie’s house she mentioned she’d been given this amazing Jacobean chest by an Italian count.’
Now Nick looked alarmed. ‘Really?’
‘Not in relation to you, of course.’ We were getting sidetracked. ‘How often did you see Marcie when you were growing up?’
‘I only found out who my real mother was when I was sixteen.’
‘Oh my goodness.’
‘Yeah, that was my reaction too. With a bit more teenage angst and creative swearing. I didn’t want to know her, but I’d always been drawn to the music industry. I promised myself I would make it without her help, so I changed my name to Jones so no one would link me to either of my parents. Once I’d established myself at Pinnacle, she got in touch and asked me to help her out in London. Guess it was the right decision. It led me to you.’
He smiled and my knees buckled. ‘Oh God, I’ve been such an idiot.’
‘Like the Indian fromOthello?’
I groaned. ‘Please say you deleted that message as soon as you heard it.’
He smiled. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Okay, but let me have another try at telling you how I feel.’
He pointed to the stage. ‘Don’t you want to see Marcie’s first performance in nine and a half years?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘Because that’s not the thing that’s making me shake with joy right now.’
His voice was low. ‘Then what is?’
I clenched and unclenched my hands. ‘You’re the reason, Nick.’ I swallowed. ‘I want to cringe when I think of how I’ve treated you. I was rude, I snapped at you, I mocked you, but still you kept coming back. I was terrified of my feelings, so I buried them as deep as I could. I let the past rule my life and I was too scared to question what I needed to make me happy.’
A restless, nervous energy had taken hold and I barely had enough breath to get the words out.
