Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s)

by Anne Marie Winston

  He was in her dreams at night, sometimes tender and pleading, sometimes angry and pushing her away. And always she woke with her pillow soaked by tears and her eyes swollen and sore from the tears she’d shed in her sleep.

  Six weeks passed. July wore away and August came. She called her family every Sunday. They were fine, they missed her, they begged her to come home. And they all carefully avoided any mention of Marco or anything remotely related to him.

  One day in the middle of the month her telephone rang. She lifted her head from the book she was reading and stared at the phone, uncomprehending. Then she realized it was her phone and her job to answer it.

  Who could be calling her first thing in the morning? She knew no one up here. She spoke to her family every weekend. They rarely called her, and they always called in the evening when they did. Anxiety rose. Had something happened to someone in her family?

  She rushed across the room and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Sophie?” It was a tentative, troubled female voice she didn’t recognize. “This is Dora Esposito.”

  “Mrs. E!” Marco’s mother! What could she possibly be calling for? “How did you get this number?”

  She hadn’t meant the question to sound accusatory, but there was a hesitant silence at the other end of the line. “I, ah, copied it off your mama’s telephone list,” the older woman confessed.

  “Oh.” What should she say to that? “Is there something you needed? Is something wrong with Mama?” The last burst out of her in a rush of fear.

  “No, no,” Dora said hastily. “Your family’s fine.”

  Did she imagine it, or had there been an emphasis on the word your? “That’s good, then,” she said. “And your family? Are they all well?” She wanted badly to ask about Marco but she forced back the words. Marco wasn’t hers to ask after anymore.

  “Sophie...I’m not the kind of mother who sticks her nose into her children’s business...you know that, I hope.”

  “Of course.” So she wanted to talk about Marco. Sharp knives of pain stabbed. She wondered when she’d be able to hear his name without wanting to cry. It occurred to her that if merely thinking of him was bad, actually seeing him again was going to destroy her.

  “The thing is, Marco’s not well.”

  “Not well?” Fear gripped her, strangling the words in her throat. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “He won’t tell me,” his mother said. “He won’t eat. He doesn’t look as if he’s slept a wink since you left. I don’t know what happened between you, dear, but I’ll beg if it will change your mind. Please come home and talk to him. You’re the only one he might talk to.” There was a muffled sound that she thought was a sob, and Dora said, “ I can’t just sit and watch him die.”

  Late the same afternoon she pulled into the parking lot before Marco’s condo, cut the engine and simply sat for a moment, willing the rising flood of feelings inside her back into some semblance of calm.

  She’d panicked, totally and completely, at the thought that Marco might be dying. It wasn’t until she was packed and halfway back to Elmwood Park that she realized that Mrs. Esposito probably hadn’t meant it literally. But it wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. She’d lost one man she cared for; she wasn’t about to lose another. Even if he didn’t want her anymore, wouldn’t thank her for interfering, she had to try.

  His car was in the parking lot, and she took several deep breaths, preparing herself for a face-to-face meeting. Approaching the front door, she rang his bell, but no one answered, though she leaned on it twice more and listened for footsteps. Nothing. Mrs. Esposito must have been exaggerating, then. If Marco was well enough to be out and about, he wasn’t dying.

  Fishing out the key she still carried, she inserted it into the lock and twisted the knob. The door swung inward.

  Immediately she was struck by the darkness. The blinds at the windows were tightly closed. Her eyes, adjusted to the bright light outside, saw nothing but blackness for a moment, but gradually she began to make out shapes and textures, dim colors and shadowed corners.

  And her eyebrows rose in shock.

  The place was a mess. No, not a mess, a wreck. A complete and total wreck. Newspapers littered the floor, dropped where they’d been read, apparently. The lone recliner was askew, awkwardly sticking out into the middle of the room. Beside the door, not far from her feet, a black briefcase, stuffed to overflowing with ragged-edged papers, had been tossed against a closet door. Soda cans, beer cans and empty cups lay helter-skelter on the carpet around it, and an afghan which usually lay over the back of the couch, straggled across the carpet and reached vainly for the kitchen.

  The kitchen. Pizza boxes, dirty dishes, milk cartons and empty cans. Everywhere. The dishwasher hung open, overflowing with crusted plates and glasses with liquids still congealed on their bottoms. A steady plinking drip from the faucet was the only sound in the whole place.

  She took a tentative step forward, skirting around a paper plate with a half-eaten apple, brown and withered on it—

  “What do you want?”

  She gasped and her head jerked up as one hand flew to her throat. Marco stood in the hallway leading back to the bedroom. He wore nothing but a pair of ragged cutoff sweatpants, and even through the dusky light, she could see his jaw was dark with stubble.

  He was the worst-looking thing she’d ever seen, and the best-looking, as well, and as they stared at each other through the gloom of his home, her heart swelled and burst wide-open with love. This was the man she wanted. Pride had no place here, nor did other people’s conventional view of relationships.

  There was nothing else, no one else in the world who would ever make her feel like he could, and she’d take whatever crumbs he could give her in between excursions. It was almost the twenty-first century, but she was willing to keep the home fires burning for her man and wait as long as he asked her to wait.

  Because without him, she was nothing.

  Was she real? Or had he called up her image out of his desperate need for her?

  Marco stared at Sophie’s image, willing her to be real, to be here. She still hadn’t responded to his question in any way, and he kicked newspapers and trash out of his way as he crossed to stand in front of her.

  She wore slim-fitting bike shorts and an oversize T-shirt, her favorite low-key clothing for hanging out around the house. Curls bounced in a frothy tumble around her face from a whimsical ponytail gathered high on her head, and her huge sunglasses were stuffed carelessly in the side pocket of the handbag she had slung over her shoulder.

  “You came back.” It was a stupid thing to say, but he felt pretty stupid.

  “I came back.” Her voice was soft and sweet, her eyes a liquid pool of warmth. Did he dare hope that maybe she still cared for him? She reached up a hand and touched the side of his face, a fleeting brush of fingers that caused him to close his eyes against the need that raced through him. “You’ve lost weight,” she said.

  “I haven’t felt much like eating.” He cleared his throat. “Where did you go?”

  A spasm of something that looked like pain twisted her face for an instant, and he saw her square her shoulders. “I went to a cabin by a lake in Wisconsin,” she said. “I’ve been there before. It was a good place to get away and think.”

  He knew when she must have gone there first—after her husband died. Longing rose, with a tremendous desire to make her happy again. He wanted to take her in his arms and cuddle her, comfort her, cherish her. If she would let him.

  But she was speaking again and he forced himself to listen. “Your mother called me,” she said. “She’s worried about you.”

  His heart sank. Had she come only because his mother had asked her to? “I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” he said, and it was true. He’d been so devastated when he’d realized Sophie was gone that he’d simply shut down, gone into human hibernation and forgotten the rest of the world and his responsibilities to i
t.

  “You asked me why I was here.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were dark and steady on his. “I came to tell you that I want to be with you. That without you I’m not really living. That I don’t care if you only stay an hour or a day, that I’ll always be waiting for you. You don’t have to marry me. You can have me free.” An expression of uncertainty crossed her face. “If you still want me.”

  Dear God. If he wanted her? She humbled him. She had loved him for so long and he had failed to value that love as he should have. It was a miracle that she still cared. Elation began to race along his nerve endings, and a building euphoria swelled within him. He was going to worship her every day for the rest of their lives, treasure her as he should have all along.

  Slowly, gently, he reached out and took her hands in his, lacing his fingers through hers, and he saw her consciously relax at the link. He knew just how she felt.

  “Oh, I still want you,” he said. “I want you more than you’ll ever know.” He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of each. “Is this how you felt when I left you?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Like there was no point in living. Like it didn’t matter if the sun never rose again or the earth stopped turning. Is that how you felt when I went away and left you behind?”

  She blinked again. And then her eyes filled with tears. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He could tell from her expression that she didn’t fully understand. And it was important to him that she did. “I don’t want you free,” he said. “When you left, something inside me died. I love you. I want you back, but I want my ring on your finger and your promise that you’ll never leave me again.”

  She smiled through a sniffle. “That sounds funny coming from you.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll promise, too. I thought my life was over when I had the accident. I focused so completely on what I’d be losing from my life-style that I missed something far more important.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know why I couldn’t let myself admit how important you are to me until I thought you had left. Sheer idiocy?”

  Sophie shook her head, slipping her fingers from his and trailing them up over his arms and shoulders, up his neck and cheeks to tap lightly at his temples. “Not idiocy. Control. Loving means not being in control of everything that happens in your world. It means placing your trust in another person. You weren’t ready for that.” She smiled again, but the edges of it trembled and broke. “You don’t have to pretend for me,” she said. “I won’t press you for anything you don’t want to give.”

  She stopped, but only because he put one large palm over her mouth, cutting off her words. “Now who’s being idiotic?” The pain he’d given her stunned him; the depths of her doubt of his love and commitment shook him to the core, and he thanked God for this additional chance.

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Sophie, please come back to me. Marry me and stay with me until we’re both old and gray and we’ve shared the kind of lives our parents have.”

  Over his hand, her eyes were huge, shell-shocked. She was stone still.

  Slowly he took his hand away and tugged her closer, holding her lightly by the hips. “Say something,” he said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I—”

  “I love you,” he said again. “I’ll have to say it a lot to make up for keeping it hidden for so long. Will you please marry me?”

  Slowly, her eyes still on his, she nodded. “I’ll marry you,” she whispered. Her arms crept up around his neck. “Oh, yes, I’ll marry you!”

  He exhaled heavily as he pulled her fully against him, loving the soft swell of female flesh that gave beneath his hands. “Thank God.”

  He put his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her into closer contact with his aching male flesh, groaning as she squirmed and wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue deep and loving the unquestioning way she accepted him and returned his kisses.

  But as he moved to carry her across the room, she tore her mouth away from his. “Oh, no, you don’t. There is no way you’re laying me down on anything in this filthy place! The first thing we do tomorrow is clean.”

  “All right.” Chuckling, he stopped and pivoted, brought her back to rest against the wall as he thrust strongly against her. “So who said anything about laying you down?”

  She laughed, twining her arms around his neck and curling into his arms, and he breathed in her gentle scent in relief. Finally everything in his world was going to be right.

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later Sophie tossed her bridal veil over both their heads as they ducked birdseed thrown by the guests who had attended their wedding. Marco had her hand in his, and he raced for the limo that waited outside the door of the reception hall, yanking open the door and bundling Sophie and her yards of white wedding gown inside before ducking in himself.

  “Move over, quick!” Marco was laughing like a hyena as he pulled the door of the big vehicle shut and her brother Stefano gunned the engine, carrying them away from the rowdy crowd of their families and friends. Sophie looked back through the window. Her sister Vee, attired in the dusty pink she’d chosen for her maid of honor’s gown, waved wildly, blowing her a final kiss and giving her a big thumbs-up.

  As she turned around again, Marco leaned forward and brushed his hands through his thick dark hair, scattering birdseed across the floor of the limo.

  She attempted to slide farther across the seat to give him more room, but her dress was caught beneath him. And probably in the door as well. She winced. Oh well, hang the cost. It wasn’t as if she were ever going to need it again.

  “What are you thinking?” Marco encircled her with his arms, pushing the clouds of her veil away from her face so that he could see her eyes.

  She smiled at him, happier than she’d ever believed she could be. “I’m trying to imprint every moment of this day in my mind. I don’t ever want to forget one little detail.”

  “Speaking of forgetting...” Marco’s dimpled smile faded, and his black eyebrows drew together in what she could only describe as concern. “Baby, I don’t want to pry, but—” he took a deep breath “—have you had a period since you went away? Because I know you haven’t had one since you came back and—”

  “Oh, my God!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I never even thought about it. What kind of an idiot am I?”

  “One who had a lot of other serious things on her mind,” he said. Tenderly he tipped up her chin, and his dark eyes captured hers, hope and a dawning wonder flaring within them. “I take it that’s a no?”

  “That’s definitely a no,” she said. She fell silent, mentally counting. “But we were so careful—”

  “Except for that first night,” he reminded her. “And the time we spilled the photos—”

  “That was months ago!”

  He grinned, white teeth flashing in a ridiculously satisfied male smile. “Believe me, I know. One of the things I’m most looking forward to tonight is burning that box of condoms.”

  She giggled. “If we’re right, we won’t be needing them for a while.”

  “Not until next spring, anyway,” he said.

  They were silent again, a dawning anticipation blossoming between them.

  “I have been feeling a little queasy,” she confessed. “I thought it was just stress from the wedding.”

  Marco tightened his arms around her, placing his forehead against hers. “Do you know how happy you make me?” he asked rhetorically.

  She smiled gently. He’d enjoyed teaching the summer course and was actually looking forward to the start of the fall semester. And she’d encouraged him to consider some assignments in his field that would take them to different places. Even if he couldn’t be exploring new landforms, he could satisfy his wanderlust in some other way.

  But they weren’t rushing into any decisions. They planned to spend their honeymoon in Hawaii, visiting Jared and Merry d
uring the trip. Then they’d be coming back here to her apartment. He’d already moved in his things—the ones that he hadn’t managed to sneak in before she’d gone to Wisconsin—and her sisters had volunteered to clean and bring in all the wedding gifts so that when they came home, they could open them.

  But if they were going to have a baby, they’d need someplace bigger—a baby. The reality of it struck her in a sudden rush. “Oh, Marco,” she whispered. “A child of our own....”

  “I know.” He drew back far enough to scan her wide eyes. “Every morning when I wake up with you in my arms, I realize how lucky I am. Most guys never get a second chance. Then again, most guys aren’t smart enough to love you.” He touched his mouth lightly to hers in a tender pledge that made her heart skip a beat as it did so often when she thought about Marco. “A baby will be...incredible,” he said. “Something that we’ve created together. Our son.”

  She snorted. “Our daughter, you mean.” Then she gave him a thoughtful look. “Remember that discussion we had about twins?”

  He froze. For a moment his face reflected total, absolute shock. “I think one at a time will be plenty to deal with. But—” He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “I guess we’ll manage whatever we get.” His mouth descended on hers, seeking and finding the sweetness she always gave to him.

  “Hey, back there!” Stefano’s voice floated back from the front seat. “Seems to me I had to break up something like this once before.”

  She laughed and Marco chuckled. He leaned forward and lightly cuffed their chauffeur across the back of the head before reaching for the glass partition and drawing it shut with a solid thunking sound.

  “He’d better get used to it,” he said as he pulled his bride into his arms and resumed where he’d left off when they’d been interrupted.