Marco's Pride. Jane Porter
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children are not staying in a hotel.”
“I’ve already made reservations.”
“I canceled them.” His gaze dropped to wide-eyed Livia who practically quaked on Payton’s lap, her small knees pulled to her chest and her inky ringlets intensifying the stunning blueness of her eyes.
Marco’s hard jaw tightened. “She’s trembling like a mouse.”
Payton heard the unspoken criticism in his voice, heard the reproach that was always there.
In his book, Payton had failed as a wife, a woman and a mother many times over. An Italian woman would have never made the choices Payton had made.
But she wasn’t Italian and he’d never given her a chance.
Her chest burned. She felt like she’d swallowed fire. “She’s…overwhelmed,” Payton said even as she hugged Liv closer, letting her more timid twin hide her face from her father’s displeasure.
Liv’s preschool teacher had nicknamed her Tender Heart, and it’d stuck. Gia was the fighter. Liv was the lover.
“And this one?” Marco demanded, nodding at elf-like Gia who glared up at her father, her small mouth flattened, perfectly mimicking his dark expression.
“Gia lost her blanket and she misses it very much.”
“Her blanket,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“And she must have it?”
“Yes,” Gia answered for herself. Her father was speaking English. She had no problem understanding. “I miss blankie. I want blankie back.”
Marco’s and Gia’s gazes clashed and then held. Gia didn’t back down easily and she wasn’t going to be intimidated now.
To think she was only three years old! Payton knew already these two were going to really butt heads, as Gia grew older.
Marco looked at her. “They’re not too old for blankets?”
“No,” Gia answered smartly, indignantly. “They’re our lovies. The doctor says we can have a lovie.”
Again Marco’s gaze lifted and he stared at Payton rather incredulously. “You tell them this stuff?”
“No,” Payton replied. “Their pediatrician told them. Dr. Crosby explained to the girls that they were too old for pacifiers, but understood that Gia and Liv still needed a lovie. The blankets became the lovie.” Payton’s chin rose. Things you’d know if you’d been part of their lives, she wanted to spit at him, but wouldn’t, not with the girls here, not when they were already so unsettled.
The girls needed breakfast and a nap. They needed routine. They needed time and attention and lots of love, but Payton said none of these things, biting the inside of her lip so hard that she nearly drew blood.
Wasn’t it ironic that at Calvanté Design in San Francisco, she had was known for her warmth, her skill, her compassionate approach in dealing with people and problems, yet the moment she came face-to-face with Marco she felt wildly out of control?
“I’m not crazy about the word, lovie,” Marco said with a grimace, “but if she needs her blanket, we’ll get the blanket.”
He lifted Gia out of Payton’s arms and into his. Gia stiffened, resisting him. She turned her small face away, giving him her fierce profile but she didn’t utter a word.
Gia was scared. Gia, who wasn’t afraid of anyone, or anything, was afraid of her own father.
Payton’s heart squeezed. It was never supposed to turn out like this. It was never supposed to come down to this. If it hadn’t been for that lab report she wouldn’t be here now, either.
Marco reached into his elegant suit-coat and retrieved his phone. “When did you last have the blanket?”
“Sometime between boarding in San Francisco and changing planes in New York.”
Gia turned her head slightly to look at Marco.
“So it’s on the first plane,” he said.
Payton’s shoulders lifted. “Or in La Guardia’s terminal.” It was difficult changing planes in the middle of the night with two sleepy little girls, a tangle of carry-on bags, and a fistful of boarding passes. Payton could have sworn she’d double-checked the girl’s tiny backpacks for the blankets but obviously she’d overlooked Gia’s.
Marco punched in a number and rattled off directions in Italian. Payton hadn’t spoken Italian in a couple of years but she had no problem following his rapid speech.
He’d called his assistant, the one that handled his travel, and he was telling her to track down the lost blanket. If his assistant couldn’t locate it from her desk in Milan, he wanted her on the last flight out that day to try to retrieve it in person.
Marco hung up the phone and put it away. Payton felt reluctant admiration. She didn’t always like his tactics but they worked. He usually got what he wanted.
Except he hadn’t wanted her, and he’d gotten her anyway.
Payton’s faint smile faded. “Thank you,” she said, hating the tangle of emotion inside her chest. She’d told herself she was going to handle this calmly, told herself that she wasn’t going to let the past influence this reconciliation but that was easier said than done.
Marco nodded. “Do you have everything?”
Payton remembered her suitcase. “My bag never made it.”
He bit back a sigh and his flash of irritation stung her.
He never minded helping the girls but he objected to helping her. The distinction had been made years ago. The girls might be d’Angelo, but she wasn’t, and she’d never be.
Payton filled the necessary forms for tracking her lost suitcase, felt Marco’s close scrutiny. He still held Gia but Liv clung to Payton’s leg, trying to put as much distance between her and that man.
That man. Their father. Payton realized it had all begun. The changes. The choices. The courage.
The limousine ride was quiet. The girls dozed. The tires of the car hummed on the road. Payton noted that Marco kept his distance, sitting as far from her in the back of the car as possible, and for that she was thankful.
As the tall stone house with the late Baroque facade came into view, her stomach tightened. Once she’d been so in awe of the elegant house with the high windows, perfectly painted shutters, curved iron balustrade. But now she felt fear.
Inside the house, Payton settled the girls into the bright, airy nursery, the plaster painted a warm yellow and the low shelves in the room filled with toys and dolls. Then with the girls happily playing, she knew it was time to face Marco.
Marco waited for her in the salon downstairs. His suit jacket disappeared. He wore a thin dark brown sweater that hugged the hard planes of his chest, the expensive leather belt at his waist emphasizing his lean, muscular build. He’d always been athletic. He looked dangerous now.
“You’re back,” he said tautly, reaching for the espresso a maid had carried in.
His voice sounded cool and hard just like the rest of him and it sliced through Payton’s exhaustion, sliced through the jumble of thoughts in her head and brought her the focus she needed.
Payton stiffened slightly, helplessly. “Not by choice.”
He laughed low, the sound harsh and grating. “I find that hard to believe.”
Thank God she didn’t feel anything.
She hadn’t been sure if she would. She’d worried about this moment for weeks, anticipating the moment she finally came face-to-face and heard his voice again, saw his face again and the fierce fire in his eyes.
Now