She adjusted the turbanlike towel on her head and switched off the fan. “What did you say?”
Marco lifted his head, gazed at Payton who looked as if she’d been swallowed alive by two feuding bath towels and felt as if he’d throw up.
It couldn’t be.
She wouldn’t hide something this important from him. She wouldn’t keep something like this a secret.
He nearly gagged, his mouth tasted bitter, a little cold and metallic. The past returned to him in a sharp flash, his brain suddenly clear—too clear—and he saw it all again: the shock of her pregnancy, the announcement to his Marilena, the sudden, swift change in focus and direction.
He’d never forget the moment he realized his life wasn’t his life anymore. He’d never forget that she’d forced his hand.
His choices had been limited. There were fewer options.
She’d tricked then. She’d tricked him again.
“Marco, you look ill.”
She was moving toward him, bare feet padding across the floor, her expression so damn innocent it made his chest burn. “I feel ill,” he said.
“Is it your stomach? Did you eat something?”
“No.”
“Take something?”
He suddenly pictured her as she’d been late last night, straddling his hips. Her long red hair streaming like fire past smooth shoulders and milky white skin.
He remembered how he tugged at the lace garter around her slim waist, dragging it down across her smooth flat belly and rounded hips.
He remembered the way she smelled when she leaned forward to kiss him, her curls brushing his chest, sliding across his nipple. She’d smelled of love and sex and spice. She’d been wearing his new perfume, the one she’d helped with the ad, and the fragrance on her flushed skin, the scent of her body, the sway of her breasts as her lips covered his—
Seductress. Temptress. Con artist.
“Marco. Say something. What’s wrong?”
He felt like someone had died. He felt like he’d been given tragic news. This couldn’t be…this couldn’t be happening again.
“Marco.”
“There were no malignant cells.”
“What?”
The goddamn innocence. It was an act, all an act. Again.
He ground his jaw tight, ground his teeth on a bitterness that he could taste. “The biopsy is clean. The results are negative. Both results are negative. You’re fine.”
She moved toward him, hands out as if to embrace him. “My God, Marco, that’s wonderful! Can it possibly be true?”
“You tell me, Payton. You’re the actress.” Marco’s cold voice practically sliced through her.
Payton had stopped walking. Her body went numb. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ve known about this all along, that you got the news just before we went to Capri and you kept it from me.”
“No.”
“You knew before we got married you were healthy. Admit it.”
“I can’t admit something I didn’t do!” Payton’s heart raced and yet her limbs felt icy. She didn’t understand this, didn’t understand any of this. Her brain raced but her thoughts were going in circles. She couldn’t seem to see her way clear to the truth. “What was in the envelope?”
“Your lab reports.”
“May I please see them?”
He laughed bitterly. “Why? You already know what they say. Laboratory error, human mistake.” His short brutal words danced along her head. “It wasn’t even your film the lab was reading.”
Payton’s legs nearly gave way. “It was all a fluke?”
“Yes, cara. All one big miserable mistake.” He turned around and walked out of the bathroom. He was reaching for his clothes, pulling on boxers and slacks, before doing the zipper.
Payton was dressing just as fast. “Where are you going, Marco?”
“I don’t know. I just have to get out of here.”
“Marco, you have to believe that I had no idea. I never was told—”
“Bullshit.” He turned around and grabbed the paperwork off the bed. “Look at this. Read it. Phone call made to Payton Smith d’Angelo, May 31. Second phone call made, June 1 patient requests hard copy of paperwork—”
“But I didn’t.”
“Third notation,” he continued, ignoring her protest. “Documentation express mailed to Milan and signed for.” He looked up at her, his dark eyes burning. “What is it you want from me, Payton? Why do you have to play these games?”
She couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He didn’t believe her, wasn’t even listening to her. How could he love her if there was no trust?
She watched as he pulled his knit shirt over his head and slipped his feet into shoes.
If he left now she knew it would never be the same. He’d shatter her heart all over again. “Please, Marco, stay. Please don’t leave me, not like this.”
He heard the sob in his voice but it didn’t move him, didn’t touch him. At the moment he was numb. He could fee nothing.
“Don’t let her do this,” Payton begged, chasing him to the door.
Marco froze, his hand glued to the door knob. “Her?”
“Her, him, whoever it was,” she answered emotionally, close to losing control. “Who would do this anyway? Who would do this on our wedding night? Think about it, Marco, someone doesn’t want us together and this person is determined to hurt you. Hurt us.”
He knew in the back of his mind she had a point. He knew that someone had collected this information and put it inside an envelope and addressed it to
him, here, at their bridal suite at the hotel but the act didn’t change the facts. Payton had never been honest with him, never forthright.
He felt sick at heart, incredibly confused. Last night had been the happiest of his life. But this…? What in hell was going on?
Payton was either cruel or crazy, and she obviously needed help. How could she do this to him? To the girls? To all of them? Cancer wasn’t a joke. He remembered all their discussions, the conversation about chemo, the appointment to cut her hair…he shuddered, appalled and sickened all over again.
What sane woman would put her family through this? What sane woman would drag her children—and her husband—to hell and back?
“Please, Marco.” Payton’s voice shook. She was still struggling to get her shoes on. “Let me come with you. We can talk. We can work this out—”
“I don’t want to work things out.” All he knew was that he had to get away from her. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her, couldn’t bear to look at her, listen to her.
Payton watched Marco leave and she stopped dressing, her hand going to her stomach. Her black satin blouse puckered beneath her hand and she felt skin. What had just happened?
How had the most perfect day of her life turn into the worst nightmare?
Payton didn’t know what to do. They’d planned to spend the weekend at the hotel. It was a short honeymoon but after their week in Capri Payton knew Marco needed to get back to work, and she had been eager to meet with a specialist here in Milan.
Payton picked up the official looking letter lying on the bed. The letterhead was dark blue, raised ink and from the medical director at the oncology lab in San Francisco.
She read through the letter and there was lots of mumbo jumbo in it, and lots of excuses but the important thing to know was that she wasn’t ill, her biopsy had come back clean. Unfortunately a lab assistant had inadvertently switched her film with someone else’s.
Payton looked up, the letter settling into her lap. So someone else had cancer. Just not her.
This should have been wonderful news. This should have been cause for celebrating.
But there was no celebrating. Marco had gone and their wedding night had been poisoned.