Forever Rome (Forever #1)

by Brittney Sahin

  Yes. Yes. Yes! Maggie Lane—award-winning, career-focused journalist—was back.

  Touchdown.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Will raised his camera in front of me, capturing my photo, and I shot my hand in front of my face as I grimaced.

  “Maria still hasn’t shown?”

  His shoulders shrank as he removed his camera and took the seat next to me. “I doubt she’ll come. I didn’t tell you what happened earlier.”

  Oh no. “What’d you do?” I swallowed a mouthful of champagne, enjoying the sensation of fizz popping against the inside of my cheeks as I swished it around.

  He rubbed the nape of his neck and grabbed his own glass. “I told her that I didn’t want her to get her hopes up about continuing things back in New York.”

  I leaned forward and smacked Will hard on his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m not ready to settle down.” Will flashed me one of his wicked smiles, attempting to cover the emotions brewing beneath his steely surface.

  “I call bullshit. Besides, how does seeing each other back in New York translate to tying the knot?”

  A waiter appeared by my side and refilled our drinks. Before we had a chance to continue our conversation, a gentleman was at the microphone asking for people to take their seats.

  “This isn’t over,” I warned Will, and he smoothed on a shy smirk that I knew like the back of my hand.

  Sean and Lori joined our table. Sean and I made eye contact, and he tipped his head my way. Was this his way of letting me know we were good? We hadn’t ended the interview on the best of terms yesterday, so I’d been nervous to see him.

  He sat next to Lori and placed his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together on the table. Lori’s shoulders were relaxed, and she looked significantly less tense than yesterday. They must have made up, which was why Sean didn’t want to pummel me for my attack on him yesterday in the lobby.

  “You’re not drinking?” I tipped my head toward Lori’s full champagne flute.

  Her hand dipped to her abdomen. “My stomach is a bit off. Maybe I’m still recovering from the other night.” She winked at me, then I shifted my attention to two other couples I’d never met and didn’t recognize, as they joined our table. They introduced themselves and we chatted for a few moments before the lights dimmed throughout the room—all but those shining over the stage.

  The orchestra had stopped playing, and the players walked off the stage, leaving only a man in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. He was average height, with dark hair that was going gray at the temples. He perched a pair of glasses on his nose and reached into his pocket for a notecard.

  When the man began speaking about the organization, it was clear by his accent that he was from the U.S. Maybe even New York. He was a pediatric surgeon who was now living and working in Rome at the hospital in which the charitable foundation had been established.

  After hearing him speak for about ten minutes, I was blown away by the efforts being made by the hospital to help research and cure childhood cancer.

  “And now the man who started this organization when he was only twenty-two, Marco Valenti,” the surgeon announced.

  Twenty-two? Twenty-two!

  I was beyond stunned. Most men at twenty-two, especially new pro-athletes, weren’t exactly thinking about much beyond themselves. But then again, I was falling into that awful trap of mine where I stereotyped men. I really should stop making sweeping generalizations.

  Marco captured my eyes as he came to the microphone, and I found myself sitting up in the uncomfortable chair and arching my shoulders back.

  “Thank you all for coming. I appreciate your time, as well as your contributions to help aid in the efforts to put an end to childhood cancer.”

  The room was silent, and Marco stopped talking for a moment, his eyes still resting on me, but I lowered my gaze to his tight grip on the notecard in his hand.

  “Um.” He cleared his throat and it buzzed through the microphone. He blinked a couple times then looked down at the card in his hand, before shaking his head and stuffing it into his pocket.

  What was going on?

  Even from a distance, I noticed his shoulders shudder as he swiped a hand down his jaw, dragging it over his throat before dropping it to a fist at his side. “In the decade or so that I have been doing this, I have never mentioned what pushed me to start this organization.”

  Of course, he hadn’t . . .

  “I’m a private person in regards to my life. My family. I have never allowed any of it to be in the news. I think this is what drives the reporters a little nuts.” He laughed, and the celebrities and athletes in the audience murmured in agreement. “And I know what you all are thinking—my family is mafiaso, and that is how my life has been kept hush hush.” He smirked, and several in the crowd laughed. “But,” he said while holding up his hand, his mood a little lighter now, his eyes a little less sad, “I have decided to share with you one story about my life.”

  Marco’s eyes were back on mine, and I tried to ignore the increase in my breathing as I scooted around in my seat, still not able to get situated, especially with his gaze fixated on me.

  “My older brother Thomas taught me to play football. He wanted to grow up and play for Roma someday. It was his dream.”

  Someone special taught him, Sean had said. Marco had a brother?

  “Thomas and I were playing football one day. He was teaching me how to take the perfect shot. As he positioned himself in front of the goal and swung his leg, preparing for the shot—his eyes stared up into the sky in a daze, then he collapsed on the field.” Marco snapped his fingers. “Just like that.” He cleared his throat again. “My world stopped at that moment. I could feel the cold brutal truth of what was to come.” He touched his chest, and his words trembled as he spoke, “I could feel it in my bones.” He looked away from me and stared down at the microphone stand.

  My insides burned, and I wanted to cry for the words that were to come.

  “The doctors misdiagnosed him at first. He was only eight, and I was five. But I knew the doctors were wrong. I had wanted them to be right. God, did I want them to be right.” There was a crackling sound as Marco blew a breath into the microphone. “When they realized he had leukemia, it was too late.”

  I gulped and rubbed my forearms as goose bumps snaked up over my skin, covering even the skin that was kept warm beneath my dress. Liquid pulled at my eyes, and I swiped at the tears that hit my cheeks.

  Marco’s eyes were back on the crowd, and he straightened his shoulders, but his hands were in front of him. He fidgeted with the black band on his wrist. “He was a spectacular player. A natural. Far better than me. And when I play,” Marco’s voice broke, and then he noted, “played . . . I played for him. For his dream.”

  What I saw next stole my breath.

  The kids from earlier climbed the steps and joined Marco, surrounding him on stage. There were a dozen children of all ages. “These kids are all now cancer free. And I thank you for the help you have given, which has provided each of these boys and girls a chance to become the next Roma capitano. Or the prime minister. Or even the next Superman.”

  Everyone was on their feet, including myself, clapping for the children. And in that moment, I couldn’t see Marco as a cheater—he was simply an amazing human being.

  I glanced at Will out of the corner of my eye, noticing him brush a tear from his face.

  As the lights brightened in the room, people crowded the stage, greeting the kids, making their dreams come true as the young kids met famous athletes and movie stars. It was a beautiful sight.

  Will raised his camera and started moving around the room, capturing the scene with his lens.

  “Did you know?” I asked Lori when she’d joined me at my side.

  “Yeah. Marco hasn’t had the easiest of lives.” Lori wet her lips and looked over at him. Marco had his arms around two kids’ shoulders, and they were all cracking up.
Their little bodies were so alive, their hearts full of joy, their tiny bright teeth shining beneath the light as they smiled.

  I had a feeling there was more to the story, but I let my thoughts slide and focused on the moment. “This is all kind of unbelievable. Those kids—wow.”

  “Incredible, right?”

  “I don’t have words. And I’m a writer.” My breath caught in my throat when Marco’s eyes landed on mine.

  He patted one of the kids on the back and started my way.

  “Looks like my cue.” Lori winked at me.

  I quirked a brow at Lori, but she was already darting off. Then I focused on Marco as he stepped in front of me.

  I refrained from apologizing for his loss, as I was sure he was going to hear that a lot. “You’re celebrating your brother’s life in the most beautiful way imaginable,” I said instead with conviction. “Your brother would be proud.” I fought back the tears that threatened, but when Marco’s finger brushed my cheek, I realized a tear must have slipped by.

  “Thank you,” he all but breathed out the words, his hand still on my face.

  His fingers twitched against my cheek, burning, and I took an innocent step back, feeling like I couldn’t breathe with him so close. There was so much pain emanating from his body.

  “Why did you finally decide to share your story after all these years?” the journalist in me asked.

  He smoothed a hand over his face and shifted his blazer back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It felt like the right time.” He swallowed. “I wasn’t planning on it, but then I saw you, and I decided to share.”

  My mouth opened, but the words wrapped tight in my throat, strangling me.

  “But it’s true—when it comes to my family, I do not talk about anything to anyone,” he said in a haunted voice.

  That part was nothing new to me.

  “Except to close friends, of course.”

  Was I in that category now? “I understand.” I took a nervous breath, feeling the pangs of awkwardness as we stood in front of each other, both not sure what to say.

  “Tell me why you are mad at me. Please.”

  “Oh.” How could I possibly talk about my feelings after what I had learned and seen? No. It wouldn’t be right.

  I scanned the room, looking behind Marco for Sophia, but didn’t see her. “Focus on the evening, please. My problems are . . . nothing.”

  His forehead wrinkled as he braced both my forearms, taking me by surprise. “Your problems are important. Please tell me what has you upset.”

  He was persistent, but there was no way I would bring up Sophia. No way.

  So I lied. “I got into a fight with my editor today about something, and I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I didn’t answer your calls or texts. Sorry. Then when I saw you earlier tonight I just— I’m sorry. But really, as I said, my problems are nothing. I’m good.”

  He studied me, his eyes switching to my mouth, and then back up again. “I do not believe you.”

  “I would love it if you would introduce me to some of the kids. Please.”

  He hesitated. “Fine. We will continue this later.” His hand swooped to the small of my back as he guided me toward the kids.

  I talked with some of the young girls and boys who spoke a little English, but Marco translated for the most part. The minutes ticked by quickly, and before I knew it, dinner was being served.

  Marco was sitting with a dozen kids at a special rectangular table, but every once in a while he would look my way, his eyes questioning me. I didn’t see Sophia anywhere, and I wondered if Marco had sent her home, given what he had said earlier.

  But it didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he want her there if they were back together? Of course, I wasn’t supposed to be worrying about Sophia, was I?

  Following dinner, the orchestra left, and a DJ started to spin more lively music. Several balloon artists and clowns joined the party to entertain the kids . . . and even some of the adults.

  I was standing off to the side of the dance floor, watching a few couples dance to the beat of a hip-hop song when one of the young boys approached me. “Dance with me?” A smile was plastered on his face as he held out his hand.

  “You speak English?” I had tried to talk to him earlier, but Marco had been our translator.

  He shrugged at me and took my hand, and I spotted Marco on the other side of the dance floor, smiling at us.

  Ah. So he had told the boy what to say. How utterly adorable.

  I held the hem of my gown up and prayed for balance as I attempted to dance to hip-hop in heels.

  “Grazie,” I told the boy once the song ended.

  He bowed to me and walked away. The next thing I knew more boys were coming up to request dances.

  I shook my head at Marco, a grin spreading across my face. He held his hands palms up, the picture of innocence.

  ***

  I got back to my hotel around two in the morning. I had drunk a little more than I should have once the kids left, but I also managed to keep myself occupied and away from Marco for the remainder of the evening. I hadn’t wanted to spoil his night with the reality of what I knew about him and Sophia.

  What I thought I knew.

  My phone alerted to me a text just as I stepped out of my dress. I grabbed my nightshirt and pulled it over my head before retrieving my phone off the dresser.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see a text from Marco, but my gut said it was him.

  I opened one eye, then the other.

  There are no words for how beautiful you looked tonight. Well, it looks like I just used a few words . . . but you get the idea.

  He followed his text with an emoji of a smiley face winking at me. It was cute, and yet it pissed me off. I had managed to tuck away my anger in light of what he had revealed tonight, but the alcohol that flowed through my body weakened my judgment.

  I tossed my phone on the bed, deciding I shouldn’t respond. I didn’t trust what I would say. Instead, I walked into the bathroom and scrubbed the beautiful from my face.

  Feeling much better with my skin now clean, I exited the bathroom, dying to stretch out and sleep away my problems. But the knock on the door stopped me in my tracks. I moved out of the bedroom and to the living area. Was it Marco?

  No, Marco had texted me only five minutes ago—it had to be Will. I moved to the door and opened it without bothering to check the peephole, wondering if something was wrong.

  Instead, Marco came at me full throttle, his eyes gleaming, his hand slipping beneath my nightshirt as he lifted me into his arms and slanted his lips over mine.

  Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his hips and groaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. My arms came around his neck as I heard him kick the door closed.

  His hands were on my ass, burning my skin.

  He shifted in one swift movement, and my back was to the wall by the door. He secured his hands on my hips, holding me in place like I belonged to him. He broke our kiss, and his lips were at my ear. “You look even more beautiful like this.”

  His words snapped my attention back to what we were doing, and I dropped my legs to the ground and pressed my hands to his chest. “Um.” I watched the subtle movements in his chest as it rose and fell. I worked my attention up to his smoky gray eyes. How could such a kind and amazing man also be such a liar?

  “What—what are you doing here?”

  His hand went to the wall over my shoulder, and he hung his head, pressing his forehead against mine. He took a few locks of my hair in his hand, twirling them between his fingers. “I thought that was obvious.” He lifted his head a few moments later and took a step back, releasing me from my caged position. He played with the knot of his tie, loosening it.

  I moved past him and into the seating area before turning back to face him, holding my hand out in the air to keep him where he was. But the words remained unsaid. I mean, I knew what I had to do, what I had to say. But the dark part of my
mind whispered dirty things about what I wanted him to do to me . . .

  “This isn’t right.”

  “No, it’s not.” He removed his tie and tossed it on the chair in the living room, closing the gap between us until the backs of my legs bumped up against the bed. He was so close that his sweet scent overwhelmed me. I wanted nothing more than the taste of his lips on mine.

  “After what I’ve learned, it wouldn’t be right,” I said in a low voice, watching his hands as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing his tanned forearms.

  The black leather band drew my eye, and I reached out. It had a rougher texture than I expected. “If you are referring to the death of my brother . . .”

  Well, there was that, too. Marco was bound to be emotional—he might think I was worried about taking advantage of him. But no—his relationship with Sophia Rossi was an insurmountable obstacle. There would be no shagging tonight—not now, and not ever.

  I had hoped that sleeping with Marco would help me get him out of my system. Instead, Mr. Tall D. Handsome had left an imprint on my mind, my heart, my body. I didn’t love him—no, it was too soon for that. But in my heart, I knew I’d never get my fill of Marco Valenti.

  And he was taken. Worse, he’d lied.

  Perhaps putting an ocean between us would help ease the tension that still swept my insides, begging for release.

  “You should go.” I shut my eyes, not willing to see the response in his face when he spoke. I was weak when it came to his eyes. He’d suck me into his vortex of seduction, and I’d be lost.

  “Maggie.” My name was a plea on his lips. Why was he fighting this? Couldn’t he just be happy with Sophia, and leave me out of it?

  “Please, go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Marco tipped my chin up, but I kept my eyes shut. “I understand I left things—well, in not the best of ways the other day before I went to London. But I just—”

  I snapped my eyes open. “Please, don’t.”

  His forehead splayed the lines of his concern as he assessed me, taking note of the icy coldness in my tone. Tipsy or not, I needed to immunize myself against the man’s sex appeal. But I also didn’t want to be a stone cold bitch after what I’d learned about his brother and what Marco was doing to help others.