Marco's Pride

Payton turned and mustered a smiled for the princess. “They love this little garden. It’s like something out of a storybook.”

Marilena’s gaze swept the stone walls lined by tall neatly trimmed hedges. “This was once the old palace’s herb garden. Marco and I are working to replant the original garden.” She looked at Payton. “Do you garden?”

“No. My mother and I lived in an apartment. We didn’t have a garden.” The princess didn’t say anything and Payton hastily added. “But I do sew. That’s how I fell in love with fashion design. My mom and I used to make all our own clothes.”

“And I bet you were quite good. I’m sure they didn’t look homemade.”

Payton glanced swiftly at the princess, wondering if she was making a jab at her poor past or not. But Marilena looked serene and Payton knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her mother had been a talented seamstress and had taught Payton how to sew at an early age. By the time Payton was fourteen she was poring over fashion magazines, copying popular European styles.

It’d always been her mother’s dream for Payton to study with the great designers in Europe. Payton knew they certainly couldn’t afford trips abroad and yet she indulged her mother’s fantasy. They discussed living in Milan, and Payton interning for one of the great Italian designers like Valentino, Prada, or d’Angelo.

Who would have ever thought such a dream would come true?

“They’re happy little girls,” Marilena commented, watching Liv and Cia play.

“They love all the sunshine,” Payton said. San Francisco was beautiful but the coastal fog and gray clouds meant cooler temperatures than the girls preferred. Gia suddenly scampered up the stone wall and Payton clapped her hands. “Gia, no! That’s dangerous. Down, please.”

Marilena laughed. “How did she climb so high so fast?”

“Gia can climb anything. I can’t take my eyes off the girls for a minute.”

“They’re certainly beautiful. I was telling Marco how absolutely ravishing I think they are.”

“They take after Marco.”

Marilena laughed huskily. “I don’t know about that. They have quite a bit of you. Their eyes are yours. The sweet shape of their faces, you again.” Marilena watched them stoop to examine a yellow winged butterfly that had landed on a rock. “They could have quite a modeling career. Have you talked to any agencies? I’m sure Marco could open doors.”

Just hearing the princess mention Marco’s name so casually sent flickers of fresh pain through her. Payton drew a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think the girls are ready for modeling. I think they just need to be little girls.”

“As always, Mother knows best. And look, here’s Marco now. He’s come home to have lunch with us all.”

It was early June and lunch was being served in the garden. The housemaids had carried a large wooden table into the sunshine and covered it with a fine linen cloth then set the table with large glazed ceramic plates and sparkling glassware.

The twins nibbled on olives as the adults talked. Marco opened a bottle of wine, a light red perfect for the weather and a midday meal. It seemed almost natural, Payton thought, the five of them sitting down to lunch together. Marilena was really lovely. She and Marco seemed so calm and easy together. They’d be good parents for the girls as well.

Payton looked at the girls, her gaze growing fond. They were dropping spoonfuls of buttery noodles into their mouth between whispers to each other. They loved pasta—had grown up on pasta—and she could tell it was a treat for them to be here, eating outside in the sun, wearing simple cotton sundresses that left their shoulders bare.

Her heart folded over just looking at them. She loved the girls so much it ached inside. Did all mothers feel this way? Did they all dread the day their babies grew up and would move away?

She felt eyes on her and turning, met Marco’s gaze. His expression was closed, and yet intense. He’d said virtually nothing to her all lunch, keeping his conversation directed at Marilena and the girls, and yet now they faced each other across a void as big as the Atlantic Ocean she’d just flown over.

Her heart seemed to fold once more and she drew in a small, shallow breath, hating that she felt absolutely confused by collision of past and present.

Being with Marco again made her realize that the love wasn’t dead after all. It was just buried. Deeply.

Buried so far below, packed so tightly down she’d tried to pretend that there’d been nothing there, nothing between them. No sparks, no chemistry, no emotions of any kind.

She’d managed to convince herself after one too many afternoons weeping in the shower that it was all a trick of her imagination, a projection of her loneliness.

He’d never loved her and the truth hurt so much she had to take her heart and break it open, empty the tenderness, the hope, the need and pretend she’d never felt anything. That she’d never wanted anything. That she’d never wanted him.

Tears surged to her eyes and she blinked rapidly, denying them now, just as she had denied everything else these past three years.

It was going to be rough getting through this, making the visit work, accomplishing what she’d set out to do.

Lunch over, Marco stood and said something about spending time with Marilena before returning to work. Payton heard the girls say goodbye to Marilena, their little voices chiming together, as they often did and Marilena leaned forward to kiss the girls once on each cheek before Marco and Marilena walked away from the table, arm in arm.

An hour later, Payton quietly stepped from the girls’ bedroom having tucked them in and reassured herself that they were truly resting.

She stood in the doorway and watched them sleep. Their dark curls spread across the pillowcase. They slept facing each other as if they’d whispered themselves to sleep.

They had so much Marco in them. She’d always found it bittersweet that she’d lost Marco and yet she’d been given these daily reminders of him. It wasn’t just one thing, but many…the way Gia arched an eyebrow, Liv’s tilt to her head, both girls impatience and pride. The girls might look delicate but on the inside they were tough.

Just like Marco.

Marco had fascinated her from the start. She worked at d’Angelo three weeks before she got her first glimpse of him. He was there with a circle of others and yet he seemed different. Distinct.

He might have taken over his father’s famous company, but he was a true designer in his own right and his work preoccupied him.

Payton loved watching him sketch. She found excuses to be near the salon when he directed a fitting. She listened to him as he talked, absorbing everything, wanting to know more. Always eager to learn more.

She’d call her mother on the weekends. They were brief calls, so expensive, but she was determined her mother be part of her great adventure.

“Fabric has masculine and feminine qualities,” Payton would breathlessly repeat. “The perfectly designed suit is a blend of male and female, structure and softness, power and restraint.”

Her mother loved it. And Payton had loved hearing her mother laugh. Had loved knowing she was doing something that made her mother proud.

Mothers and daughters…Payton swallowed around the lump in her throat. Daughters became their mothers.

Daughters replaced their mothers.

Fighting tears, Payton slipped from the girls’ room and closed the door gently behind her. Fighting emotion, she headed back to her room only to discover Marco waiting for her.

“Does it usually take so long to put them down?” he asked.

She blinked, willing the tears to quickly dry. “I was just sitting with them a while. Sometimes I forget to slow down. Forget to just be there with them.”

His dark eyes searched her face. “You seem different, Payton. You’re not the same.”

“It’s been a long year.”

“Working too hard?”

Her mouth twisted. “Doesn’t everyone?”

His head inclined. “Probably.” Marco glanced down the hall. “Do you think they’ll sleep for a while?”

“An hour at least.”

“In that case, maybe it’s time we sat down and talked. Marilena’s gone, the girls are napping. We can have a proper conversation without interruption.”

Proper conversation, Payton repeated as she followed Marco downstairs to the smaller salon. She knew what proper conversation meant. Marco was going to do the talking. It was all about control. He was determined to control his environment; he was a master at controlling himself.

Only that one time…that one time he lost control changed everything. Just one lapse in judgment and his secure, preordained life exploded.

Downstairs Marco didn’t sit. He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as he faced her, black eyebrows flattened, expression tense. “Marilena and I had our first fight today.”

It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say at all. Payton pressed her hands against her lap and drew herself a little taller.

“It was about you,” he continued evenly, no emotion in his voice. “She knows I’m uncomfortable with you here. She knows that I’m feeling angry and she—” he broke off, jaw flexing “—she defended you. Said she liked you. She asked me to be kind to you.”

Marco looked away, swallowed, muscles popping in his jawbone near his ear. “I lost my temper with her. I lost my temper because I thought she didn’t know you. She didn’t know how dangerous you are.”

“I’m not a threat,” she contradicted quietly. “I’m not here to drive a wedge between you. I’ve already told you that.”

“So why do I fear you’ll destroy everything?”

She couldn’t look away from his dark smoldering gaze. “I don’t know.”

He laughed softly, laughed without mirth. “I have a million things on my plate at the moment and I can’t focus on any of them. It’s the fifty-year anniversary of d’Angelo. I’m getting married in less than two and a half months. I’m working feverishly to prepare for a Spring collection that has no backbone, no life to it. Dammit, Payton, I didn’t need this now.

“I love Marilena,” he continued. “I can’t allow you to come between us. I don’t know what to do with you, I don’t know if I need to send you to a hotel or send you home, but I can’t have Marilena caught between us.”

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