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Witt had been working in his den and had been even more furious than Mario’s father. When Trisha broke the news to her father, Witt had turned crimson and been consumed by a rage so deep, Trisha feared for her life.
“You’ll never marry Polidori,” Witt had vowed, rounding the desk and kicking an antique vase that had shattered into a million pieces.
“You can’t stop me!” Trisha could be just as bullheaded as her father.
“You’re underage, Trisha. Sixteen, for crying out loud! We could have that bastard up on statutory rape.”
“He loves me, Dad. He wants to marry me.”
“Over my dead body,” Witt insisted. “This is one helluva blow, but we can still take care of things. There’s still time.”
“What do you mean?” she had asked, refusing to understand. But her stomach had begun to flutter in anxiety.
“I know a doctor who’ll—”
“No!” she’d screamed. “I’ll never have an abortion! Oh, God, Dad, you can’t be serious!” Panic screamed through her blood. Lose the baby? No! She’d run away before she’d let her father snuff out the life of her unborn child. Protectively she held her middle.
“Either you take care of this my way or the boy gets arrested,” Witt insisted, his face twisted in hatred. “And don’t mess with me, Trisha, ’cause there’s nothing I’d like better than to see Polidori’s only son in jail.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Witt’s lip had curled and his blue eyes had gleamed with pure malice. “He defiled you, Trisha. Raped you and got you pregnant. He used you—like some common slut. And if you think I’ll allow you to have Polidori’s child, you can think again.”
“I won’t—”
Witt had raised his hand, intending to strike her, and Trisha let out a bloodcurdling wail.
“I’ll handle this.” Kat had hurried into the room, as if she’d been hovering in the hall, waiting for the right moment to appear. She’d stared at Trisha with chilling calm. For the first time Trisha felt fear.
“She’s my daughter,” Witt protested.
“And you’re out of control.” Kat’s lips had compressed. “I said, I’ll handle this, Witt. It’s women’s business.”
“I’m not backing down,” he’d growled and stalked out of the den, kicking the door on his way out.
Quietly, Kat had shut the door and the lock clicking into place was like the knell of doom. Trisha’s eyes filled with tears because she knew she’d already lost. God, she’d hated her stepmother.
“Come on, Trisha, let’s talk sensibly about what’s going on here,” Kat said. “I know you’re upset and your father, well, he is, too. It’s just because he loves you so much.”
“Bullshit!” Sniffling, Trisha had backed up, her shoes crunching on the broken shards of glass.
“He does. In his own way. But he hates the Polidoris as much as he loves you and he’s serious when he says he’ll press charges. Mario will probably spend time in jail and how good would that be for you and your baby?” Kat’s smile was patronizing and cold as death.
Trisha had begun to sob brokenly, already giving in to the steady, unrelenting pressure her family was sure to put on her.
In the end, Kat had convinced her that the only reasonable thing to do, the best thing for all concerned, was to abort the baby, and the next day, before Trisha could change her mind, Kat had shuttled her off to a private clinic where she’d given up the only person—the only thing—that had meant anything to her.
She’d never gotten pregnant again. She’d lost the baby and Mario’s love. Though he claimed to still care for her, their relationship had never been the same. They had lost what little innocence they’d once shared. Because of Witt. Because of Kat. God, she’d hated them both.
Now, so many hateful years later, she rested her head on the steering wheel of her sports car. At least her father and Kat were dead. They deserved their ends. But, Trisha and Mario were still illicit lovers, running through the shadows to private rendezvous of hot sex with no strings attached. Trisha tried to hide the fact that she still loved him, even from herself, but then something always happened to awaken all her old, long-buried emotions, as if that little bit of life that had been so frail, existed for so little time, had linked Trisha to Mario forever.
Love, coupled with the possession and jealousy that came with it, always resurfaced. She would love Mario Polidori until the day she gave up her last breath. Tonight, watching Mario with Adria, Trisha had felt the old pangs of pain and loss, love and jealousy. She sniffed loudly and her hatred grew white-hot, settling in the pit of her stomach and burning.
Mario had been with Adria.
Beautiful Adria.
So much like Kat.
