He held me tightly against him, stroking my
hair, putting small kisses on the top of my head. "I'm
so tired, Heaven, so tired. I thought you wanted a
large wedding."
"No, I want only you."
"Tony has to be at the wedding," he whispered
with his lips brushing my forehead. "It wouldn't be
real without him. He was like my father . . ." "Whatever you want," I mumbled, holding his
frail body closer. How thin he'd become. "You are
totally recovered from your pneumonia, aren't you?" "As recovered as I ever am from any disease." "You'll never be sick again! Not when you have
me to take care of you!"
All through the night he held me, and I held
him. We talked of our dreams, our life together, and
for the life of me it all seemed like smoke spiraling
out the windows and fading into the night. How could
I marry him now? How could I not marry him, no
matter what our relationship?
Toward dawn, I brought up the portrait doll of
my mother again. Did he know if Tony had made the
model? Did at one point in time Tony feel more than a
stepfather toward her?
His dark eyes clouded. "No! Not in a million
years! Heaven, Tony could have any woman he
wanted! He was madly in love with Jillian! There
wasn't a woman around who didn't make a play for
him . . . why since the time he grew his first beard,
he's never had to chase any woman. They chased
him."
I knew as I lay in the circle of his arms that he'd
never admit to himself that Tony used women, and