by Jane Porter
How could she have cancer? She was so young! And she didn’t look the least bit sick. In fact, he’d never seen her so radiant.
Today at the photo shoot she’d taken his breath away and he’d found himself enchanted with the curve of her cheekbone, line of her jaw, high arching eyebrow. She was like a work of art herself and even if they didn’t always agree, and even if they’d had problems between them, he’d never wish her ill. Never, ever.
“I’m sorry, Marco.” She was looking at him, dark blue eyes worried. They were Livia’s eyes, and she was looking to him for reassurance. Forgiveness. It wounded him. Did she think she needed forgiveness—and from him of all people?
They’d had problems, a lot of problems, but there had also been moments of good—not to mention moments of lightness and sweetness that he’d never known with anyone else before. Payton might not be regal and controlled like Marilena but she was warm and funny and passionate about life and that passion was addictive.
She was addictive. He’d responded to her from the beginning and it had happened again tonight—the attraction, the desire, the hunger for someone and something utterly different from himself.
“You have to know I never wanted this to happen,” she added huskily. “Never wanted to hurt the girls, or inconvenience you.”
The words were endless, he thought, sound and more sound and he’d heard enough. There were words and there was action. There was what one said and what one did.
He was sick of getting nowhere and accomplishing nothing. Endless talk. Wasted time.
Three years of wasted time.
Payton realized she was the only one talking. Marco wasn’t saying anything. He was just staring at her, and there was no expression in his eyes or face.
If only he’d say something. Anything. “If they’re happy, I can be happy,” she whispered, her voice was thickening with unshed tears. “If I know they love being with you then I’m okay when I go home and do what I’ll have to do.”
“When did you intend to go home?”
Marco’s question flattened her. She drew a breath, held it in and then slowly exhaled. “I’m holding a reservation for a week from Tuesday.”
“Nine days from now.”
“Yes.”
“And your treatment would begin when?”
“A week or so after that. There are some details to still be hammered out. More tests, and then hospital scheduling.”
Marco moved away, walking toward the other end of the courtyard. Payton watched him pace. He seemed lost in thought and periodically he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “You want the girls to stay here, with me, while you begin treatment?”
“I think it’s best.”
He stared at a fixed point, his expression shuttered. “They’ll be frightened being left behind.”
“Perhaps a little, but I think we can ease their fear if we’re united on this. If we’re friendly and the girls know they’re not being abandoned.”
He’d begun to pace the room. His chest burned and his head throbbed and the last four years flashed past him like a video on fast forward.
Payton the beautiful young American intern. Payton dressed in a daring one sleeve silver gown at the Trussardis. Dancing with Payton and watching her eyes light as she laughed.
Leaning back against the window, he pushed open the shutter and stared at the garden bathed in moonlight.
The garden reminded him of Marilena and smacking the window shutter with his palm he realized he’d forgotten to call her, forgotten to stop by after dinner as he’d promised.
Dammit.
His hand fell from the shutter and turning, he leaned against the wall and looked at Payton. “Is there any pain yet, anything that hurts?”
“No.”
“Good.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, the weight of the world pressing on him. Payton. Marilena. The girls. Business. There weren’t any easy answers in life, were there? No clear cut direction. No obvious solution. It all came down to listening to one’s conscience. To following one’s heart.
“I know you had a plan,” he said at length. “When you came here you had an idea of how you wanted this to go. What is it that you want? How can I help you?”
He listened to her, heard her out, and then when she was finally done talking he nodded. “Fine.”
Marco had never appeared on Marilena’s doorstep un-announced, and rarely before noon, but if the princess was surprised to see him at nine the next morning she gave no indication. “Buongiorno,” she said, when the maid showed Marco in.
“Buongiorno, mia Amore,” he answered, kissing each cheek. “How is your head today?”
“Bene.” She smiled. Fine.
His gaze traveled her pale face before resting on her bruised forehead. “Your black eye is getting worse.”
“It gets uglier before it gets better,” she answered, making space for him on the small sofa in her private salon. “But I deserve a bump on my head if I’m going to run stoplights. It was stupid of me.”
The maid soon returned with two small coffees on a gold tray. “How are things at home?” Marilena asked, cradling her cup.
“Fine.” He looked up and discovered she’d been watching him, her smooth forehead slightly furrowed.
“Something’s wrong,” Marilena said softly.
There was no easy way to do this, no easy way to say this. Marilena was too intelligent, too perceptive to know that his news would change everything.
“Yes?” she prompted gently. And yet there was a new light in her eyes, wariness. Caution.
“Payton’s sick.” He didn’t know how else to break the news. It was difficult to say without skirting the issue. “She has cancer.”
Marilena’s lips parted, eyes widening. “Cancer?”
“Yes.”
“The poor thing.”
And Marco felt like a heel all over again. He was doing the right thing, telling Marilena, letting Marilena know that he had to support Payton as much as possible, and yet he knew this was hard for her, just as this would be difficult for all of them.
“And the girls,” Marilena added, correctly naming his chief worry. “Do they know? What will they do?”
He patted his coat, itching like mad for a cigarette. “They don’t know yet, and—” He muttered an oath, hating all of this, hating the hard decisions that would soon have to be made. “Yet I know what Payton wants.”
He glanced up, met Marilena’s gaze. “She wants the girls to stay with me.”
Marilena didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She just stared at him. “Stay with you? Payton, too?”
“No, not Payton. Just the girls. Payton wants us—you and me—to keep them while she goes through chemotherapy.”
“Oh.” Marilena stood, took a slow turn around the room, her long legs even more elegant in her slim slacks and high leather heels. “Good Heavens.”
“Yes.”
She turned a little, rubbed her temple and looked at him. “What do you think?”
“I think Payton’s terrified. She loves the girls dearly. They’re practically her whole world—”
“She does have a job, Marco. A very visible job as a designer for Calvanti.”
“But she’s taking a leave of absence. She’s not going to try to work, at least not during the first part of her treatment, and she can’t imagine lying around the house sick and having the girls be part of this.”
“She’s certainly been candid with you, hasn’t she?”
“She’s desperate.”
Marilena blew a slow stream of air. “So, what are you proposing? What about the wedding? The honeymoon? Us?”
“We’re still us. We’ll still be us. We might need to make some changes.” He saw her smooth brow knit and her teeth catch her lip. “But in the end everything will work out. We’ll get married, have our trip. It just might be a few weeks—months—later than we planned.”
“But we’d have the twins.”
“Yes.”<
br />
“Before our honeymoon or after?”
He felt a surge of irritation. “Does it matter?” And then he saw from her expression that it did.
He straightened a little, a strange coldness forming in the middle of his chest. “You don’t want the girls?”
She held her breath a moment before answering. “They’re charming girls. Delightful children. But I’ve always hoped to be a bride before a mother.”
He didn’t say anything and she calmly continued. “I’m happy to help Payton however I can, but I think we have to be careful. I think we have to remember our goals. We’ve always talked about us starting a family together. Having babies of our own.”
But the twins were his own. They were a huge part of his heart. Of his life. They were his daughters.
Marilena turned on the sofa and placed a hand on his sleeve. “I’m happy to be a stepmother. I have no problem watching them on holidays and weekends, but Marco, think about it. Becoming a full-time mother to children that are not my own, and American! It isn’t practical. It doesn’t make sense.”
Marco reached for his keys. “I need to get back.”
“Marco.” She pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “I want to get married. I want to be your wife. We have a plan, si?”
But the plan, he thought numbly heading for his car, might just be the wrong one.
Marco returned to the villa and headed into the house. He discovered Payton and the girls in the dining room still eating breakfast.
The heavy drapes had been drawn. The morning sun gleamed on the polished table. Cheery daisies spilled from a watering can. It was incongruous, the weedlike flowers in the watering can on his seventeenth-century dining table, and yet somehow it was right from the trio of heads sitting at the table, three heads of ringlets, Payton’s dark auburn and the girls glossy black.
And Marilena’s words came back to him as he stood in the doorway, “They’re not my own and they’re American.”
Payton looked up, caught sight of him there and her mouth curved, blue eyes a little red from what he guessed had been a sleepless night, and yet there was more warmth in her expression than twenty average women put together.
He rather liked his Americans, he thought, as he entered the large formal room.
He was glad his daughters were half-American. Half-Payton. She might not be perfect but he liked her. Despite everything that had happened between them he still liked her very much.
Payton had never felt so insignificant sitting at the enormous table and yet Marco’s sudden appearance energized the room. The large empty space no longer felt empty but full of life and vitality.
“Where did you find the flowers?” he asked, dropping his keys on a side console.
“The girls picked them on our walk this morning.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’ve already been out on a walk?”
“To the soccer field at the park.” Payton glanced at the girls who were suddenly very attentive. “We thought you’d left for the office already.”
“I had an errand I needed to run, but I thought I’d have breakfast with you three first.” He pulled out a chair near them and sat down. The maid instantly appeared with a glass of juice and a basket of warm rolls for Marco. “Grazie,” he said, thanking the young housemaid.
Payton watched him lightly butter the breakfast roll. “It’s going to be warm today,” she said, feeling a need to fill the silence. “I thought it’d be fun to take the girls out. We’re planning an outing.”
“We’re going to a carnival,” Gia added, rising on her knees.
“I didn’t know a carnival was in town,” Marco answered.
Payton nodded. “It’s the annual festival held at the Navigli canals. You took me once some years ago and I thought the girls would enjoy the performers.”
“It’s June already?”
“Yes. It’s summer,” Liv chimed. “Can you come with us?”
He smiled at the girls, and with his sleeves rolled up on his tan forearms he looked remarkably relaxed for a man who’d slept little the night before. “I have another idea,” he said. “What if we went to my favorite place in the whole world?”
“Where’s that?” Gia demanded.
“Capri.” He glanced at Payton, and their gazes locked and held. “We’ll all go,” he said decisively as if he expected her to argue. “We’ll spend a week relaxing together. I think we could use some sun, fresh air, and a change of pace.”
She was upstairs packing, trying to stay focused on the task at hand as Marco had said they’d be leaving later that afternoon, but it was hard to concentrate when her conscience pricked her.
Marco had said they’d fly to Naples, overnight in the city, and then either take a water taxi or helicopter to Capri the next day, but Payton couldn’t ask him to do this. It wasn’t right that he had to drop everything just for her.
As if able to read her thoughts, Marco stopped by the bedroom. “Nearly done?” he asked.
“No, not by a long shot. I’m having trouble getting everything together.”
“Why? You’re usually so organized.”
Payton turned from the dresser, her eyes wide with worry. “I can’t help thinking that this isn’t such a good idea.”
“What’s not?”
Oh, did he have to play dense now? She suppressed a weary sigh. “The trip,” she said. “The four of us going to Capri together. I know you have so much work. I know you’re practically buried in it. Why don’t you leave us in Naples. The girls and I can take a boat over to Capri together.”
“Leave you in Naples? Not a chance. This is a family trip. We’ll all go.” Marco’s voice exuded authority, decisiveness. “Besides, you’ll need me there. I should be there.” He corrected himself. “I want to be there.”
This was the Marco who inspired such confidence. This was the man who knew what mattered and when.
Payton sagged with relief. She could literally feel the shift in energy. When she first arrived he’d been so hard with her, so distant, disinterested, but the cold wall was lifting, giving her a glimpse of light and warmth.
He’d come through for the girls. He’d do right by the girls. She didn’t have to worry so much. Things were going to be fine. But still, there was his work and the looming fall show. “What about the collection?”
“It’s not important.”
That wasn’t true. The Spring collection was the heart of the business. “I’m not going to die tomorrow, Marco. You can’t drop everything. Promise me you’ll see the collection through.”
He stared at her hard. “Does it mean so much to you?”
“You have a gift. You’re a visionary. I’d hate to come between you and your work.”
His brows pulled, lowering above his eyes as he considered her. The room felt charged. Payton found the tension almost unbearable.
“I don’t understand you,” he said at last. “But then, I never did.”
He turned away, gazed out the window, but his face was blank, no hint of emotion in his hard yet sensual features. “If it’ll give you peace of mind, I’ll continue with the collection. I can handle most details via phone and modem, and if necessary, I’ll fly back for last minute fittings.”
“Thank you.”
He turned to face her, his expression one of disbelief. “Why do you thank me?”
Her slim shoulders lifted. “You’ve been really good about all this. Very kind.”
“Kind? Santo Cielo!” Marco swore softly. “I am not kind. I am far from kind. What I do is not kindness. It is necessity. It is the only thing I can do.”
Still. She was gratified and comforted more than he’d ever know. It was a relief to know that Marco understood and accepted the challenge. The girls would need so much in the coming months, they’d need strength and courage as well as endless love.
“This—” she picked the words delicately “—will change many things.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And Maril
ena—”
“She knows.”
“She’s okay with you taking us?”
“She’s fine, Payton.”
Her heart squeezed tight with a bittersweet pain that was more bitter than anything. “I’m sorry, Marco—”
“Do not apologize for this. You did not want this, you haven’t asked for this, I do not want you to ever apologize for something beyond your control.”
“But it impacts you.”
“Bene. So be it. I’m a man, Payton, not a child. I expect life to be difficult. I accept that there will be challenges. Disappointments.” His dark eyes met hers and they glowed with hot emotion. “But I do not accept defeats. You will beat this, Payton, and life will go on.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
NAPLES was beautiful any time of day and Payton was lucky to see the city in the afternoon sun and then witness it come alive late at night, too.
Arriving in Naples, they checked into a lavish suite in the luxury hotel, Excelsior, which overlooked the sparkling bay and boasted views of Mount Vesuvius beyond.
After changing into comfortable shoes and clothes they set off to explore the city, the streets of old Naples like all the other tourists.
Marco was passionate about Naples and he loved showing the city off. His late mother was a true Neapolitan and he’d spent many of his early years visiting his grandparents and aunts and uncles in and around Naples, including the Amalfi Coast.
With the girls comfortably seated in strollers, Marco and Payton toured some of the famous cathedrals and churches before exploring Castel Nuovo, a massive thirteenth century fortress which became the royal palace of the powerful fifteenth century Aragons.
No wonder Naples had been called Italy’s ‘most beautiful crown’, Payton thought, as they left the cool, dark chambers of the Palazzo Reale and stepped into glorious sunshine. There was so much cultural history here beginning with the ancient Greek and Roman civilizations, so many architectural masterpieces, and an abundance of natural beauty as well.
But the afternoon of walking and sightseeing had worn the little ones out and even Payton craved a nap before they headed to dinner.
Marco had booked a two-bedroom suite and back at the hotel Payton put the girls down for a nap in one room before returning to the living room. “I know you’d like a rest, too,” Marco said. “Take the bedroom. I’ll sleep in here tonight.”
