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Mario’s smile widened and his dark eyes sparkled. “It was hell,” he said mockingly. “Servants, chauffeurs, two houses in Portland, a condo in Hawaii, and a villa in Mexico. No child should suffer as I did.”
Adria had to laugh.
He told her interesting stories about private Catholic schools and nuns with quick tempers and long rulers that they were ready to rap against the palms and knuckles of those children whose piety wasn’t convincing. She heard about his mother’s early death, probably from the frustration of dealing with her hardheaded son and husband, and his own run-ins with his father.
“But you seem close now,” Adria observed.
“I was younger. Rebellious. Horny.” He shrugged. “You must know how that is…”
“Do I?”
“Your turn, Adria. Tell me about you.”
Staring into his d
ark eyes, she experienced a sudden rush of insight. No matter how she felt about him, this man would like to seduce her. “Why did you ask me to meet you?”
“There was the business about Danvers International,” he said, seeming amused that she would so quickly draw away from him. Obviously he liked a challenge. “But also, I wanted to meet you and get to know you better.” He took a swallow of his drink, frowned, and added sugar.
“Okay, but let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I’m not a pushover.” She didn’t trust him but knew he could supply her with information on the Danvers family that might help her cause.
“I believe it.” He motioned to the waiter and indicated that he wanted another round. “I think we could learn a lot from each other.” His smile was decidedly wicked.
Trisha watched from the shadows of the alley across the street. She saw Mario with Adria and jealousy swarmed through her. Angrily she thought of how much she’d given up for him, how much she’d loved him, how much they had shared and suffered together. Obviously, it meant nothing to him.
Tears burned her eyes. She prided herself on her tough exterior, her ability to hide the pain that never seemed to go away, even with drugs and booze.
With trembling hands she lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into her lungs. She should have ended her affair with Mario years ago, but she never had been able to completely forget him. Just when she was certain he was out of her system, that she was over him, he’d call or send a single flower and she would run into his waiting arms. Even during her brief marriage she’d carried on with Mario in secret, lying to her husband, cheating on him, cuckolding him because she couldn’t give up her most deeply imbedded vice: Mario Polidori.
She’d been only a girl when she’d met Mario and it had been a thrill to see him behind her father’s back, behind his father’s back. He’d introduced her to wine and marijuana and in return, she’d given him her virginity in the backseat of his father’s red Cadillac Eldorado. Her interest in art had waned and she’d skipped lessons just to meet with him at the river, in a room rented by the hour, in a farmer’s field, wherever they could be wild and free and laugh at their stodgy old fathers and their silly feud.
The lump in her throat turned hard as she stared past the café curtains of the Irish pub. Mario tossed his head back and his teeth flashed as he laughed. Trisha’s stomach wrenched and her fingers balled into fists of frustration. She wouldn’t stay here and watch him humiliate her with that woman—the phoney claiming to be London.
At the thought of her half-sister, Trisha felt she might be sick. It would be hard losing Mario to someone pretending to be London. London, who had managed to steal all their father’s attention. London, born to be a beauty. London, the princess, the treasure of the Danvers family.
Nauseous, Trisha turned away from the damning view and headed back to her car. Tears came unbidden to her eyes and she silently swore that Mario would pay and pay dearly for this slap in the face. Tossing her cigarette into the darkness she ran to her car and tried to erase the image of Mario laughing and joking, sharing a drink and a smile with the imposter.
No doubt he would try to seduce Adria. Mario believed himself to be a great lover and Trisha certainly couldn’t argue with his skill in bed. Unfortunately, his appetite was insatiable and he’d never been faithful to her, not even when Trisha had turned up pregnant. She remembered that night with soul-jarring clarity.
She’d finally worked up the nerve to tell him about the baby after they’d made love in the motel near the airport.
His body was still dewy with sweat and she’d stretched out beside him, running her fingers down the sleek muscles of his arms.
“I have a secret,” she’d said as he reached for a pack of Winstons.
“Do you?” He struck a match, lit up, and blew smoke from the corner of his mouth. With a smile, he asked, “What is it?”
“Something special.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You’re going to be a father.”
Silence. Dead silence.
“In September,” she’d rushed on as his eyebrows pulled together and smoke drifted from his nostrils. Then he smiled—that winning, cocky grin, and she knew everything would be all right.
“A father. Me? Yeah, right.” His words were filled with sarcasm as he laughed. Slapping her on her naked rump, he added, “Good one, Trisha, you nearly had me believing that you were knocked up.”
