Marco's Pride

by Jane Porter

  “You never heard from your dad after he left?”

  She shrugged. “He sent a Christmas card announcing he was getting married and then that was the end of that.”

  He reached over and plucked a loose curl from the edge of her hat and tucked it beneath the brim, behind her ear. “I have a feeling your mom would be proud of you. I imagine you’re a lot like her.”

  Payton loved the feel of his hand against her ear and cheek. She loved it when he touched her but he didn’t touch her often. It wasn’t just a skin thing; it was a heart thing.

  Marco stood and reaching for her hand, pulled Payton to her feet. “I’m sorry now I never had the chance to meet your mother. I think I would have liked her.”

  “You would have driven each other crazy.”

  “Just like you’ve driven me crazy.” Marco’s eyes glowed as he gazed down at her. He still held her hand in his, fingers loosely linked.

  “I never drove you crazy! You hardly knew I existed.”

  But the moment the words were out of her mouth, Payton felt a tingle race down her spine. His gaze was intense and she felt a rise of energy, the tension back between them.

  “I’m glad you and the girls are back,” he said, voice husky as his head dipped and he kissed her gently, on her cheek near her mouth.

  Her heart began to thud and blood raced through her. She felt a wash of hot desire. The awareness of him, of her, of the energy of them together, was almost too much for her to bear.

  “We can’t do this.” She placed her against his chest to push him away but once her hand made contact with his chest she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. He felt big, strong, hard. He felt like the Marco she loved, the Marco she’d missed.

  “Marilena,” Payton whispered, her throat growing parched. “There’s Marilena.”

  He lifted her chin, stared down into her eyes. “Fine. I’ll end it with her then.”

  Payton’s heart jumped to her throat. The adrenaline was making her tremble, her legs so weak they felt disconnected from the rest of her. “You can’t do that. You can’t do that to her. Not again, not—”

  He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, silencing her protest with a real kiss.

  She’d stiffened, instinctively resisting, but his lips were warm, persuasive and the firm pressure of his mouth sent sparks of feeling throughout her body. It was hard to deny her hunger, much less her attraction. His breath, his touch, his skin—it was all so familiar and yet strange, wonderful and yet heartbreaking.

  No one had ever made her feel as much as Marco, and yet Marco didn’t belong to her. This kiss, like everything else between them, was stolen. Fleeting. He’d be gone, back to Milan in no time and she’d be on her own again. Struggling to put together the pieces of her life.

  She tried to shut down her emotions, limit her response, but it was as if he knew her struggle and was determined to prove her desire was stronger than her common sense.

  He deepened the kiss, his lips parting hers and even as she shuddered at the flick of his tongue, Marco reached up to cup her breast through her thin knit summer top.

  Payton inhaled sharply as fingers closed around one taut nipple and rubbed the sensitive flesh. He was making her want things, want him, and it was impossible. It couldn’t happen. They both had to have more control.

  “Stop,” she breathed against his mouth. “Stop, stop, Marco, this is wrong. You know it. I know it. We can’t do this.”

  He lifted his head, stared down at her. He was breathing just as hard as she. “Then maybe it’s time we made some changes.”

  She clenched her hands, pushed against his chest. “Don’t. I didn’t come to interfere. I don’t want to interfere. We’ve done this before. Tried this before. It didn’t work, remember? You divorced me, Marco—”

  “Only because you asked me to.”

  Payton couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to do this. “I asked you to divorce me if you weren’t ever going to love me, and you said—” she swallowed, fighting to hang on to her composure, as well as her pride, “I was a mistake,” she persisted, her voice breaking. “A…one-night stand. Or don’t you remember that, too?”

  Of course he remembered the words. They’d been cruel. “I lied.” The words had been deliberately cruel. He’d lashed out at her, trying to get back at her. Her unhappiness made him crazy. Nothing he did was right. Nothing was good enough.

  “I lied,” he repeated, just as he realized he’d been lying to himself ever since. “You were never a one-night stand. You—we—weren’t a mistake, either.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. We were inevitable. We were meant to happen.”

  Marco had hoped he could manage business from Capri but there were too many issues requiring his input. He might be able to have fabric samples sent to him, but they couldn’t do proper fittings or final model interviews without his approval.

  “I’m going to Milan,” he announced the next morning. “I’ll catch a flight from Naples and probably won’t be able to make it back until tomorrow late afternoon.”

  It was nearly noon when he reached Milan but instead of heading straight to his showroom in the fashion district, he had his driver take him by Marilena’s house.

  “It’s good to see you,” Marilena said, warmly welcoming him. “I’ve missed you.”

  But he hadn’t missed her. In fact, he hadn’t even thought of her unless Payton brought her up.

  He was doing the right thing, breaking off the engagement. His heart had only ever loved one woman and that was the redhead in Capri.

  Marco waited for Marilena to take a seat. Marilena sat down gracefully. She was remarkably elegant, even in times of duress, but her leisurely movements grated on him today for the first time. He knew without a doubt he and Marilena were over. Their relationship had run its course. Marilena was a beautiful woman but she wasn’t the right woman for him. The past two years he’d felt like a man sleepwalking through life and suddenly he was awake at last.

  Thank God Payton had arrived when she had. Thank God he hadn’t made Marilena his wife.

  “We need to talk,” he said. He’d never loved Marilena. He’d loved the idea that a beautiful, desirable woman like the princess would want him. But he’d never loved Marilena, at least, not the way he loved Payton.

  He told her as much, too, and Marilena’s composure began to crack. “You said she wouldn’t come between us. You insisted she wouldn’t ruin the wedding.” She never raised her voice, never lost control but she sounded close to breaking down now. “Marco, don’t let her do this.”

  “She’s not the one—”

  “How can you say that? Things were fine, things were perfect, before she came.”

  He sighed, closed his eyes. “Things weren’t fine. We were pretending.”

  “I wasn’t,” she retorted fiercely. “I do love you. I know we could have a great life together. We are so similar, you and me, we understand each other. Suit each other. How can you forget everything we’ve shared these past two years?”

  “We’ve had fun,” he agreed, knowing that they both had loved the opera, the shopping trips to Paris, the escapes to Rome for dinner with mutual friends. “But it’s not enough.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. There are the children to think of,” he said. “You’ve already it would be too much to take responsibility for them while Payton starts her treatment.”

  Marilena stood, walked to the end of the salon and averting her face wiped the traces of tears. “You will be sorry. You’ll regret this decision especially when you realize she’s tricked you again.”

  “Payton’s not like that—”

  “You’re such a fool!” Marilena turned to face him, her lovely face twisted in pain. “She is like that. She is manipulative. Destructive. She’s only here because you’re getting married again. She’s here to break us up and I have to hand it to her. She’s succeeded. She’s got you right back in the palm of he
r hand.”

  The princess’ expression suddenly darkened. “You haven’t—” she broke off, swallowed, her pale complexion going even whiter. “You haven’t…been intimate have you?”

  “No.”

  Her features crumpled yet again. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

  Her question offended him. He’d never seen her like this, never seen her so upset by anything. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “Take care of yourself, Marilena. I hope we can always be friends.”

  After Marco left Capri for Milan that morning, Payton and the girls spent the day at the villa’s elegant pool surrounded by pots of cascading purple bougainvillea. They swam, had lunch on the terrace, then played again in the shady end of the pool before taking a long lazy afternoon nap.

  The day had been delightfully relaxed, but the next morning Payton felt restless. When she was with Marco she didn’t think so much, or worry so much, but with him gone all her fears came rushing back.

  Hard to believe she had it. The C word. Cancer.

  She knew the steps that would come, knew how the treatment would go, she’d been through his before, not just once, but twice. Her mother. Her mother’s sister.

  Payton drew a breath, pictured only positive outcomes, unlike her mother and Aunt Susie’s outcome. She’d beat it.

  She’d come through it okay. And if she didn’t, well, the girls would be with their father.

  That was positive, right?

  But thinking positive didn’t ease all her fears, nor did it dull the ache inside her. She missed Marco. A lot. She missed his face, his smile, his voice, his touch. She missed the way he walked into a room, the way he swung the girls into his arms, the way he looked at her over the top of the twins’ heads.

  But the very fact that she felt so much, craved his company this much, sounded a warning inside her.

  She was getting far too attached. She was seriously falling for him all over again.

  Nothing good would come of this, she reminded herself, vigorously brushing her hair. He wasn’t hers. She wasn’t his type. Hadn’t she learned anything from last time?

  Eyes stinging, Payton forced herself to action, twisting her dark red curls into a knot on top of her head before gathering keys, wallet, and loose change, depositing all in her bright orange and red striped leather bag.

  She collected the girls from the nursery. Thank God for the twins. She adored their chatter, their high spirits, their sense of fun. Like her, they loved adventurers.

  Outside, Gia’s hand in her left and Liv’s in her right, they strolled down the street hop-hopping every third step at Gia’s insistence.

  “Mommy,” Liv’s small voice trilled in the golden sunshine.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shopping. Playing,” Payton answered thinking that the sun was gorgeous, glorious yellow light, and the leaves on the trees shone vibrant green.

  She drew a breath, reveling in the fullness of the afternoon, telling herself that this—it—was all…the highest, the best, the girls the three of them together in beautiful Capri. What more could one ask for?

  Life.

  “That’s it?” Livia persisted.

  “Maybe the hair salon.” Payton hated the sudden squeeze of her chest, the air pinched as if caught in a fist. “And then we’ll get some ice cream.”

  Gia stopped hop-hopping, and pulled the others to a stop, too. “Are we getting our hair cut?”

  It’s not a big deal, Payton reminded herself. This is minor. In the big picture hair means nothing. “No, sweet pea. Just Mommy is getting her hair cut.”

  “Cut?” Liv chimed.

  “Yes, shortened for the winter, I think.”

  Gia’s forehead wrinkled and she gazed up and about at the cloudless blue sky with the endless sunshine. “But it’s not winter, Mommy.”

  “No, but it will be and I thought I’d simplify things. Besides, change is good.”

  Despite Payton’s cheerful tone, the girls gazed at her wide-eyed, pensive, their easiness gone.

  “Short like Gramma’s?” Gia challenged.

  Payton held her smile although her jaw had begun to ache. “I’m sure there are other short styles that aren’t quite so severe, don’t you think?”

  Liv’s dark blue eyes watered. “But Mommy I love your hair. You have bea-u-tiful hair.”

  “Thank you, baby. You have beautiful hair, too.” And Payton hugged the girls, touched, pained.

  She didn’t want this, either, but far better she do the big chop at once then watch her hair fall out in clumps, and far better the girls know about it in advance then it be some secret shock later. “Well, you two come with me and help me pick out a new style. It’ll be fun. You’ll be my advisors, right?”

  They were walking again and the sunlight dappled the pavement but the girls had lost some of their exuberance. Livia clung tightly to Payton’s hand and Gia shot her mother curious side glances.

  “Mommy,” Gia said after a moment. “Will your hair grow back?”

  Payton squeezed Gia’s hand. “Of course.”

  The girls reluctantly let the subject go and they walked the rest of the way talking about more cheerful subjects.

  Entering town, they crossed the wide square with the beautiful stone plaza. Flowers bloomed everywhere, riots of color in huge glazed planters and friendly wrought iron window baskets.

  They were just a block from the stylish hair salon when Livia stretched out an arm and cried, “Look! Daddy! He’s back!”

  Payton felt a thrill as Marco headed their way. “You’re back early. We didn’t expect you until later tonight.”

  “Wrapped up things sooner than I expected,” he answered, swinging the twins up into his arms. He leaned over to kiss Payton but she nervously turned her head, giving him her cheek instead of her mouth.

  She saw the flicker in his eyes, her cheek wasn’t what he’d wanted. From his expression she didn’t know whether he was angry or amused, but he dutifully kissed her cheek and let it slide. “Where are you three heading?”

  Payton adjusted the straps of her oversized bag. “We’re just running errands.” She prayed the girls wouldn’t say a word about the hair appointment. She knew Marco loved her hair long, but he wasn’t the one who’d have to watch it fall out in clumps. “And then we’re going to get an ice cream.”

  “Ice cream? You girls like ice cream?” Marco teased, grooves forming on either side of his mouth as he smiled at Gia and Liv.

  “Yes!” the girls squealed in unison, delighted by the attention. They’d enjoyed getting to know Marco better. The starchy uneasiness had finally begun to disappear.

  “Mommy’s getting her hair cut,” Liv announced solemnly.

  Oh, damn. Payton hid her frustration with a bright smile but Marco wasn’t buying it.

  He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “She is?”

  “Mmm, all off,” Gia added sharply. “Short.”

  “I don’t like short,” Liv cried. “I like Mommy’s hair long.”

  Marco set the girls down. “Well, then maybe Mommy doesn’t have to cut her hair today.”

  Payton could feel his displeasure and instead of ducking his gaze, she lifted her chin and met it head on. This was her business, not his. The cancer was her cancer, not his. The treatment was hers as well. In the end she was the one sick. In the end it was her body under siege. “I have an appointment. I can’t cancel at this late notice.”

  “Sure you can,” Marco returned. “I’ll cancel it for you and leave a generous tip. They won’t complain. They understand things come up.”

  “Marco.”

  “No. This is the girls’ vacation. Our vacation. You can do this later. In fact, it’d probably be easier later. For everyone involved.”

  She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to show him—remind him—that she was independent and capable of making decisions on her own, but truthfully, she didn’t want to upset the girls. Not this week.
Not when she wanted to create lasting, happy memories.

  So Marco canceled the appointment and then joined them on their errands around town. And Marco took their errands very seriously indeed. He read all the labels on the different sunblocks. He directed the shoe salesman toward the sandals he preferred, although in the end the twins got the pair they liked best. He tried hat after hat on Payton’s head until he found the perfect one, with the brim not too small, not too floppy, and without any ridiculous flowers or ribbons.

  Payton fought the urge to hurry him. Three simple errands had never taken so long and yet he obviously enjoyed being part of the shopping and selection process.

  “Done?” she asked, after popping into a corner convenience store to pick up some sweets and fun magazines for Pietra, the young woman Marco had hired to help look after the girls.

  “If you are,” he answered.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get ice cream!” the girls begged, drooping in the afternoon heat. “Now? Please?”

  Marco agreed and they ducked into a semidark store where an old ceiling fan gently whirred and the air felt deliciously cool.

  “Ah,” Payton sighed, sinking into a delicate wrought iron chair. “It feels great in here.”

  “It’s not that hot outside.” Marco withdrew his wallet and paid for the girls’ ice cream.

  “I’m from San Francisco,” she answered, pulling out a seat for Livia to sit down and then a chair for Gia. “When I’m not at work I live in sweatshirts.”

  “You glamour-puss.”

  Payton laughed. She liked it when Marco teased her. She liked it when things were easy between them…friendly. “I can’t help that my ancestors were from the Nordic countries where everything was ice and snow.”

  He returned to the table with a small cup of gelato for her. “Thankfully there’s no ice in your veins. You run about as hot as they come.”