by Jane Porter
“An ad?” Gia piped up, interest piqued.
“An advertisement for a magazine,” he explained.
“Can we see the ad?” Liv asked, patting him on the chest. “Can we, please?”
“I don’t see why not. But it’s up to your mother.” He turned back to Payton. “Would you like to come along? You’re welcome to join me, although I have to warn you, it’s a problem shoot. We’ve had endless headaches on this one.”
“What’s going on?” Payton knew all about advertising headaches. She’d had her share of ad agonies this year.
“Everything. The tone’s wrong. The energy’s not there. We’ve reshot the ad twice. But come with me. You’ll see.”
Marco’s driver delivered them across town, dropping them off in the commercial district with its plethora of warehouses and industrial space. Many of the city photographers and artists had taken up residence in the huge lofts and today’s fragrance ad was being shot in one of these.
They took the elevator up and Payton got the girls to sit in a corner and quietly watch the activity. They’d been on enough jobs with Payton to know when to sit still and let Mommy work.
“Take a look at this,” Marco said, handing Payton the ad agency’s storyboard. “What do you think?”
Payton cocked her head. “It’s pretty.”
“Come on. You can do better than that.”
“It is pretty.” Payton hesitated. “And Elegant. Classic. Refined.”
“Be honest. You’re not going to hurt my feelings. I know there’s problems with it, but my fragrance director—” he dropped his voice and nodded to the petite woman pacing near by “—has her own ideas.”
“And this is hers?” Payton asked, flipping through the pages in the portfolio.
“It’s the closest we’ve come to a compromise.”
Payton’s nose wrinkled. “It is a little flat,” she said after a moment. “It doesn’t feel…young.”
“I know. So what would you do differently if this were your ad?”
Payton exhaled slowly. Was he serious? “But it’s not my ad. I’m with Calvanti. You’re d’Angelo.”
“That’s true. But you once worked for me. You know me.”
Never mind that she’d slept with him, gotten pregnant and had his babies.
Payton looked up, met his gaze. He was waiting for her to say something. “Maybe I do know your standards, but I don’t want to interfere. These ads cost a fortune—”
“Which is why I want your opinion.” His dark eyes scanned her face. “You’re good, Payton. You’ve got a great eye, an intuitive feel for design.”
Did he just pay her a compliment? She folded her arms across her chest. “So Calvanti didn’t hire me for my name.”
His dark eyes glowed. His lips twitched. He glanced behind him at his daughters and then back at her. “Not entirely.”
Not good enough. Her eyebrow lifted.
Marco muttered something beneath his breath. “Okay, they were lucky to get you, and it has nothing to do with the d’Angelo name. You’re good. Very, very good. But you would have been great here.”
Was that regret in his voice? Had there perhaps been more opportunity, more possibility here in Milan with Marco than she’d thought? Could it have worked out between them differently?
“What’s your target market?” Payton asked, needing to know since she hadn’t read the market report.
“Twenties and thirties.”
“The young adult.” Payton studied the storyboard again. “The colors are right, and the red dress is beautiful—”
“It’s vintage d’Angelo,” Marco interjected.
“Yes, I know. It’s your father’s first signature gown.” Payton looked up at him and grinned a little. “I could tell you everything about your father. I’ve studied his work for years.”
“So how do we save this ad before I lose fifty thousand dollars?”
“Well, your model looks positively sleepy here.” She tapped the artist’s drawing. “Worse, she’s bored. You’re not selling perfume to old ladies. You’re selling to modern women who want excitement and adventure.”
“What do we change?”
“A little bit of everything. I think you can still use the same set, as well as the vintage d’Angelo gown. The ruby color is perfect, red is timeless and it’s always modern, but take the gloves off the model and for heaven’s sake, get her off the couch.”
“That’s it,” Marco said, turning and gesturing to Maria, his fragrance director. “Right, we’re going to make some changes,” he told his team. “Get the stylist, and the art director. Payton will explain what she wants to do.”
Payton explained her vision for the ad.
When she finished Maria squinted at the set. “I don’t see it,” she said shortly. “I don’t understand how a girl dancing is going to make this ad work.”
“It’s my money,” Marco said with a shrug. “Let’s give it a shot and see.”
Payton glanced behind her at the twins, saw that they’d grown irritable and fidgety. “I think the girls are getting tired.”
“You’re right. We’ve tried their patience, haven’t we?” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have Pietra come with the driver and take them home. Pietra’s a former preschool teacher that I’ve hired while you’re here. Friends have used her and say she’s wonderful. I think you’ll like her.”
A half hour later Pietra arrived for the girls and she’d brought along a cookie for each and some coloring books. “Want to go draw at home?” she asked. “Your papa has bought you some wonderful crayons and color markers.”
The twins were delighted to escape the studio and cheerfully kissed Payton and Marco goodbye.
With the girls gone the studio took on a serious air and the photographer, model and crew got down to work. Payton liked what she saw as the photographer clicked away. The gorgeous model still wore the snug gown d’Angelo gown, dark crimson, tightly fitted, off the shoulder with plunging neckline. But now instead of lolling about, she looked positively playful as she lifted her hands to catch handfuls of scarlet confetti. No longer restrained, the model’s head was tipped back as she laughed in the bright red confetti rain.
“The marriage of old and new,” Marco said quietly, nodding his head in approval. “It’s the past and the future. She’s wearing d’Angelo’s signature scarlet gown and yet the confetti is fun.”
Payton glanced at him and smiled. “The glamour and elegance of d’Angelo with the boldness of the modern woman.”
“Exactly.”
Payton could tell from Marco’s tone that he couldn’t be more pleased and she felt a thrill of satisfaction. It was the first time she worked with him in years and yet it felt so natural.
It felt exactly right.
“Benissimo,” Marco said at the end as the photographers took their final shots. “I really like it. I think you’ve done it.”
They left the studio together. Twilight was settling over the city as Marco opened the passenger door of his Ferrari for her. “You must be hungry. We ended up working through lunch.”
It wasn’t the first time Payton had worked through lunch. “Is this a new car?” she asked, climbing in. Payton had always loved Marco’s cars. He took great care of them and the black Ferrari still smelled of expensive leather and the lingering spice of his cologne.
“It’s about two years old,” he answered, settling into the driver’s seat.
“I like it,” she complimented, shooting him a quick glance. A shadow of a beard darkened his jaw and a thick lock of hair fell forward on his brow. Her stomach did a flip. She still responded to him, still wanted to touch him.
Marco started the car. “Thanks again for your input. You were brilliant today. You did what I hoped you’d do.”
He shifted into drive and in minutes they were merging into traffic, heading back toward center of town. “What do you think of Maria?” he asked after a moment.
Maria had pretty much kept he
r distance, but Payton knew the fragrance director wasn’t happy having Payton intrude. “I think she’s still learning,” Payton said carefully.
“You mean she’s not a risk-taker.”
Payton hated to judge one of his staff members. Calvanti was an edgier house. D’Angelo had flair but tended to be more conservative overall. “I don’t know. I couldn’t get a feel for her. She’s probably great.”
Marco looked at Payton, eyes narrowed appraisingly. “That means you don’t like her. You don’t think she’s right for the job.”
“Okay, I don’t know that she’s right for fragrance. Fragrance is competitive.”
“So where would you put her? Textiles? Home furnishings?”
“Accessories. She likes elegance and classic lines. Your leather collection is definitely classic. Shoes, purses, belts.”
The lights of the city were coming on and slowly Milan began to sparkle. Marco took an exit, shifted down heading toward the city’s historic center and Marco’s town house near the fashion district.
“I don’t think I’ll tell Maria your suggestion,” he said, smiling wryly as he navigated the narrow streets, still congested with traffic as commuters made their way home. “She thinks accessories are dull.”
“Purses make design houses a fortune.”
Marco laughed softly. “You’re getting smart.”
“I’ve always been smart,” she flashed back, still buoyed by the day’s success. “I just happen to be wiser now.”
“Whatever it is, I like it. It suits you.” Marco pulled to the side of the road and parked. “Neither of us had lunch. I’m sure you’re starving. Let’s grab a quick bite to eat.”
At the restaurant Payton excused herself to use the ladies’ room and wash up, and Marco watched her walk away. He saw, too, how nearly every head in the restaurant turned to watch her pass.
Payton had a certain magic. She was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t merely her prettiness that caught people’s attention. It was her energy. The light in her eyes. The way she seemed to sparkle.
She sparkled tonight.
Payton returned to the table, and he stood up to seat her.
“Have you ever thought about moving back to Milan?” he asked her, signaling to the wine steward to fill their glasses.
“Move back?”
He nodded. “You’d have no problem finding work.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“In fact, I’d be open to discussing having you return to d’Angelo.”
“Marco.” He looked up and she shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I don’t want to lose them,” he said abruptly, referring to their daughters. “There has to be a better way to do this, Payton. A better way for us to share responsibility.”
“You mean custody?”
“Yes. Exactly. I want more than holidays. I want to be their father, not a stranger.”
She swallowed with difficulty. This is what she wanted for the children, too. This is why she’d come here with them, but it terrified her, the prospect of spending less time with them. “Maybe the girls can spend the next couple weeks here—”
“And then take them away from me again? No. I can’t bear these huge separations. They’re not good for the girls. They’re not good for me. They’re not good for any of us.”
“I agree.”
“That’s why I want you to at least consider moving back here. You speak Italian. You know the city. You know fashion. This is the perfect place for you.” He leaned forward on the table. “The girls would be happy. I know it. And so would I.”
Her heart jumped a little at the last part. The girls would be happy, and so would I.
What did he mean by happy? Did he ever wish they’d stayed together, that they’d tried to work things out? She wished she had the courage to ask him, but it was such a personal question, one that didn’t seem appropriate now that he was engaged to another woman.
Yet his words made her wistful, nonetheless. Many times she’d thought life would be simpler if she and Marco had stayed together.
What made relationships work? Why did some people click and others didn’t? What could she have done differently?
A platter of antipasto arrived and the conversation stalled while they ate. But once they finished their pasta and salad, and the waiter had cleared their dishes, Marco returned to the discussion.
“There’s no reason we can’t raise the girls together,” he said, intense, earnest. “We both love them. We both want what is best for them.”
Payton pushed her wineglass across the tablecloth. “It’ll just get the girls’ hopes up,” she said after a long moment, her voice husky. “They’ll think we might get back together.”
“Not if I’m married to Marilena.”
“Children don’t understand things like that. They understand Mommy, Daddy. Family.”
He shifted impatiently. “Then we’ll tell them they have two mommies, just like someday they might have two daddies.”
Payton flinched. She couldn’t imagine ever falling in love with anyone else. Even as impossible as Marco was, she loved him. She’d always loved him, from the very beginning.
“I never even asked,” Marco said. “But is there someone else? Has there been someone else?”
Her throat thickened. “No.”
“Too busy?”
She struggled to smile. “Something like that.”
Marco reached across the table and took her hand. Payton shivered at the unexpected touch. “I don’t know how we happened,” he said quietly. “I don’t understand how we started or how we ended, but I don’t hate you, Payton. I’m not your enemy. I never have been.”
Payton’s heart felt brittle. “You hated me for getting pregnant.”
“I didn’t hate you. I liked you. A great deal. But there were logistics.”
“Ah, logistics. Right.” She felt her mouth tremble and she bit into her lower keep to keep her emotions in control. “You and Princess Marilena worked things out and I was in the middle.”
He sighed. “We’d been involved for years, Payton.”
“I know.”
“I owed it to her.”
“Of course. You loved her.” She swallowed around the lump filling her throat. “And you didn’t love me—”
“It’s not that simple.”
“But you didn’t love me. You said you liked me. And it’s true. I was convenient and fun. I was a…fling.”
He swore beneath his breath. “I hate that word.”
“It fits,” Payton replied.
“It has ugly connotations.”
“And that fits, too, doesn’t it?” she said, holding his gaze.
CHAPTER FIVE
HIS dark eyes met hers and held. He looked at her as if he could see all the way through her and this time there was no coldness, no anger, no mockery.
He looked at her as if looking back to the way it had happened, the two of them, as if he could see the black-tie party and Payton trying desperately to avoid the drunken advances of another designer twice her age.
“I had good intentions,” he said after a long taut silence, his jawbone almost white, his tension palpable. “I only meant to help you.”
She struggled with the clash of the past and present, of the knowledge that in that moment he assisted her he’d changed both their lives forever. “You did help me.”
Marco’s intense gaze never wavered. “Maybe you were better off—”
“Ravished by your arch rival?” She attempted a laugh. It came out thin, rather stricken.
He nearly smiled. “You made me laugh that night. I was so angry with Carlo, so angry that he’d tried to take advantage of one of my young interns, but then you made me forget my anger. We talked. We danced—” He broke off, shook his head. “We were naive.”
His smile faded. A small muscle popped in his jaw. “We should have known there’d be repercussions. Should have known that even a dance can be dangerous.
At least I should have known.”
Payton knew Marco had been set to marry the princess, had planned it a long time before that night at the Trussardi’s, back before they’d ever talked, danced, kissed.
She’d heard Marco was promised, no official engagement, just a long-standing agreement. She’d heard the rumors and yet that night after the opera it somehow didn’t seem to matter. She’d been so infatuated for so long, so enamored that when he asked her to dance, and his arm slid around her and his hand rested on her waist, she felt like the luckiest woman alive.
“I should have known better, too,” she said faintly, looking away, feeling painfully exposed. “I’d heard you were promised to the princess, and I don’t know if I didn’t believe it, or if I didn’t care, but I got swept away by the magic that night. First the opera at La Scala, and then the party at the Trussardi palace, and then you.”
He was looking at her, his brows pulled, his expression intense.
“I felt like Cinderella at the ball,” she said. She’d been a virgin and embarrassingly inexperienced but when Marco started kissing her something happened inside her. There was no stopping, no thinking, no control. She just wanted to feel more. She wanted to feel everything. “I got carried away and I didn’t think until it was all over.”
His mouth twisted. “Was I that good?”
Payton’s face burned hot. Her heart beat wildly. He was better than good. He was brilliant. She sucked in a quick breath, fought to control her emotions. “It was perfect and it was my first time.”
Marco paid the dinner bill and they returned to his car and headed home.
They drove through the dark streets in silence and Payton stared out her window at the blur of passing buildings.
He’d said they were naive and he was right. She, especially. She’d never bought into auras and mystical elements but the night she saw him at the La Scala mingling with the glittering crowd during the intermission, everything felt so clear and bright. It was as if fate and the future had come together in a gorgeous glaze of light.
She’d never forget the moment he turned his head and looked at her, directly at her.
