If days were long, nights were even longer. The tears she hid from the girls during the day fell all night. Hours of silent tears, hours of inexplicable grief. She and Marco hadn’t been together that long. She couldn’t explain why she felt such desolation.
She’d cry so long she’d soak her pillow and then when she couldn’t bear it any longer, she’d go to her desk and try to put it in a letter and yet all that came out, all that filled the page were the words
I miss I miss I miss
I love I love I love
You—
Payton jumped at the sound of the front door opening.
The girls squealed and ran out to see who’d arrived. Marco.
“How is she?” Payton asked, joining the girls in the hall. Gia was practically dancing around Marco while Liv stood on one foot and stared anxiously up at him.
“Resting. She hit her head on the steering column. The doctors want her to spend the night at the hospital for observation.”
“Concussion?”
“Mmmm.” He ruffled his hair. “I imagine they’ll release her in the morning but I’ve promised her I’d go back later. It’s no fun being in the hospital. She doesn’t really have family around anymore.”
“I understand.” And she did. Payton had no one left, either.
Marco glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change before dinner. The four of us can eat as family and then I’ll return to Marilena.”
Dinner was almost absurdly normal, Payton thought, prompting Gia for the fifth time to please sit down and eat her dinner. Liv wasn’t as wriggly, but she needed direction, too.
“A couple more bites, Liv,” Payton encouraged. “You don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with a hungry tummy.”
Marco chatted with the girls, mostly in English, although now and then he switched to Italian and appeared gratified that the girls understood him. When it came to speaking the language, Livia was more fluent than Gia but both girls could carry a simple conversation.
“How have they learned so much?” Marco asked Payton.
“They have an Italian friend. She’s been wonderful with the girls.” Payton didn’t bother to tell him that she’d taught the girls the first two years until she found an Italian professor at the university to come and work with them in the afternoons and every other weekend.
Dessert was just being served when the doorbell rang. One of the housemaids appeared and whispered something softly to Marco. Marco told the maid to invite the guest in.
Moments later a young woman in a black traveling coat appeared. With a smile she reached into her leather bag and triumphantly pulled out a pale blue blanket edged in an even paler satin ribbon.
Gia screamed. Liv jumped up in her chair as Gia went racing toward the blanket.
The guest handed the blue blanket over and Gia hugged it, pressing the fuzzy blanket to her cheek.
Payton glanced at Marco. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching Liv and Gia dance. Gia danced because she had her lovie back. Liv danced because her sister was happy.
Payton knew happiness was fleeting, but in this moment of time, everything made sense. “Thank you, Marco,” she whispered gratefully.
He’d heard her. He turned and looked at her and after a moment he smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”
And it was, she thought. It made him happy to bring joy to his children.
But once dinner was over, and Marco prepared to return to the hospital, Payton immediately felt loss. Even after all they’d been through, she still enjoyed Marco’s company, still liked the way he made her feel on the inside.
“I must get back to Marilena,” he said, heading toward the door. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“No.” Then suddenly Payton realized she was denying the truth again. Not need anything? She almost laughed at the irony of it. No, she didn’t need anything. She needed everything.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS beginning to get complicated, Marco thought early the next morning, as he returned to the exclusive hospital for the third time in less than twenty-four hours.
For the past two years he’d blamed Payton for the failure of their marriage and the demise of the family. He’d told himself she’d destroyed their family; she’d selfishly torn it apart by moving back to California with the girls. But he knew deep down it wasn’t all on her. He was just as responsible for the broken relationship as she. Yes, she’d moved back to San Francisco but he had let her.
Now the girls were back and he loved having them in the house again. But Payton was another matter. He knew she had to be under his roof—but under his skin?
She shouldn’t still have the power to upset him. She shouldn’t have any impact on him whatsoever. But she did.
He still felt such strong emotions around her. He felt intensely. He felt out of control.
Just like always.
The night he rescued Payton from Carlo Verri’s clutches he lost his way for a while. He fell hard for Payton and he wasn’t even available. At least, his heart wasn’t supposed to be available. He and the Princess Borgiano had a long-standing agreement. They were to marry eventually—everyone knew—and yet when Marco asked the young American redhead with curls spilling halfway down her back to dance, everything changed.
And life had never been quite the same since.
Marco checked Marilena out of the hospital and drove her home. Marilena had a maid to help her with her elegant town house and today Marco gave the maid instructions to keep a close eye on the princess.
Assured that his fiancée was comfortably settled, he returned to the office and was met by the hustle and bustle of the BBC film crew shuffling furniture and setting up lights and microphones.
Marco had thought they were interviewing him in the afternoon but apparently the fashion historian that was scheduled to come that morning never arrived so the journalist asked Marco if he’d mind getting started early.
Actually he didn’t mind a bit. It would free up his afternoon and give him a chance to drop in on the perfume advertisement being shot today across town.
He sat down for the interview and the hour passed quickly. He enjoyed talking about his father. He and his father had worked well together and even now his late father’s original vision continued to inspire him.
The cameraman stopped filming and literally seconds later two little heads popped around the door, dark curls dancing. “Ciao, Papa!” It was Livia who spoke, and she sounded so shy and yet excited. “Sono io! It’s me, Liv.”
Grinning he unfastened the microphone from his shirt, handed it back to a technician and crossed the room to scoop her up in his arms. “Si, I know.” He kissed her, and turned to Gia who was giving her father a critical once-over. “Buongiorno, Gia.”
Gia’s hands went to her hips. “Buongiorno, Papa. How are you?”
“Bene. And how are you?”
Her lips curved a little and yet she was determined not to smile. “Non male,” she answered, eyes glinting.
Not bad. Marco checked his smile. She would be a handful one day. Beautiful and high-spirited. Just like her mother. And suddenly he was turning, looking fo
r Payton, wanting to see her.
Payton was there behind the girls, half-hiding in the stairwell. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, moving forward and placing a hand on Gia’s dark head. “The girls were anxious to see where you worked, and it’s a beautiful morning for a walk.”
She looked sexy, stylish, dressed in a black mock turtleneck with three-quarter sleeves and an orange and cream striped skirt that reminded him of an American Popsicle. She was wearing black heels—high pumps—and her long curls had been pulled back in a low, smooth ponytail.
“You walked in those shoes?” he asked in disbelief.
She smiled. “Partway. And then we called a cab.”
“I should think so.” He liked the bold colors and strong graphics on her. The intense colors might overwhelm someone else, but the look suited Payton. She had the bone structure for it, not to mention the attitude.
“You look Italian,” he said, moving forward to kiss Payton on each cheek. She smiled faintly and he saw a dimple flutter near her mouth. She smelled even better than she looked and her cheek had been satin smooth.
“Thank you.” Her smile widened, her blue eyes sparking with amusement. “My design. Last Fall’s collection.”
“Very nice.” He liked the flash of dimple yet again, and the wry twist of her lips. He also liked the way he remembered her fragrance, the soft but distinctive scent lingering in his mind. What was the top note? Licorice? Anise? “But did it sell?”
The blue of her eyes deepened. “Couldn’t keep it in the stores.”
“Horizontal stripes aren’t supposed to be flattering.”
Payton almost laughed out loud. “It’s not a problem if you alternate the width of the stripes.” He was teasing her, playing with her and she was surprised by how much she enjoyed it. He used to be so serious with her. That one night at the opera, that first night, he’d been light, engaging, but after that he changed.
“We should go,” she said, conscious that everyone in the room was watching them, listening in. In fact, one of the cameramen was filming. “We’re keeping you.”
“Actually, you’re fine. We’ve just wrapped up here. I was going to head across town in a few minutes to check on an ad.”