Читать книгу The Italian Marriage - Kathryn Ross, Kathryn Ross - Страница 6

‘DADDY is getting married.’

The words fell in the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon like an incendiary device.

‘Sorry?’ Gemma had been pouring a glass of lemonade for her son and it spilt on the picnic rug, flowing over the hem of her floral sundress. ‘What did you say, Liam?’

‘You’ve spilt lemonade,’ the four-year-old pointed out, reaching to get a chocolate bar from the picnic basket.

‘Yes, I know.’ Ordinarily, Gemma would have told her son not to eat the chocolate until he’d finished his sandwiches but her mind was in total disarray. ‘What did you say about Daddy?’ she asked again, trying hard not to sound flustered.

‘He’s going to get married.’ Liam munched on the chocolate and regarded her steadily from dark eyes that were unnervingly like his father’s. ‘Does that mean I will have two mummys like Annie does?’

‘Well…I suppose it does…’

Gemma was at a loss to know what to say. She was still reeling with shock.

It was strange how one moment the world could seem settled and then the next a gaping great hole could open up under your feet. She didn’t know why she felt so shocked…or surprised. Marcus Rossini was thirty-eight, spectacularly handsome, and wealthy. He’d had his pick of women for years. With forty looming on the horizon, maybe he thought it was finally time to put his philandering days behind him and settle down.

So who was the woman? she wondered. She’d put bets on it being his childhood sweetheart, Sophia Albani. Women had come and gone over the years but she seemed to have remained in the background—despite the miles that sometimes separated them, despite the fact that Marcus had fathered a child. Sophia had taken it all in her stride and their relationship seemed to have survived, against all odds. Maybe that was the test of true love? For some reason the pain of that thought seared straight through to Gemma’s heart.

‘Are you sure about this, Liam?’ she asked her son gently. ‘How do you know Daddy is getting married? Did he tell you himself?’

Liam shook his head and reached into the basket to get a biscuit. ‘I was supposed to be in bed but I got up because I had tummy ache and I heard him talking…’

‘Was this last night?’

Liam nodded.

Curiosity ate into Gemma. ‘Who was he talking to?’

Liam shrugged.

‘Do you think it was Sophia? Was she at Daddy’s house yesterday?’

‘He was talking on the phone.’ Liam grasped a packet of crisps and Gemma broke from the trance that had possessed her. Interrogating a four-year-old was not the done thing and Marcus’s personal life was nothing to do with her.

‘Liam, no more junk food. Eat a sandwich, please.’

Liam wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like them. I don’t like that green squishy stuff.’

‘It’s not squishy, it’s cucumber and you love it.’

Liam shook his head mutinously. ‘I hate it.’

‘Just have one to please me.’

‘Daddy doesn’t make me eat horrid things.’

Gemma felt a flash of irritation. It was always the same. Liam idolized his dad; she felt that she heard a sentence similar to this half a million times during the day. ‘Daddy doesn’t make me go to bed this early…Daddy lets me watch this programme on TV…Daddy reads to me when I wake up at night…’

Gemma tried to let it all go over her head without resorting to any sarcastic replies, but sometimes when she was tired or harassed it was more than flesh and blood could stand and she really wanted to say something derogatory—something that would tell Liam that his wonderful daddy wasn’t a man you could trust.

But of course she would never, never stoop that low. Because the truth of the matter was that, no matter how much Marcus Rossini had hurt her in the past, or how much she wanted to forget his very existence, he was a damned good dad to Liam and that was all that really counted in the end.

‘Please don’t argue with me, Liam. Just eat the sandwich. Otherwise I just might have to tell Daddy that you’ve been naughty when he comes to pick you up tonight.’

She watched as the child hesitated and then dutifully did as he was asked. It always worked, Gemma thought, as she dabbed at the hem of her dress with a tissue to mop up the lemonade. And the irony was that her conversations with his father were as brief as Gemma could possibly make them. She never discussed anything with him except the arrangements for picking Liam up. In fact, she hadn’t even seen Marcus for months, because as soon as his car drew up outside she sent Liam out with his bag ready packed, eliminating the need for Marcus even to walk through her front door. And, when he returned, she had her mother answer the door to them. Gemma found it easier that way. She couldn’t converse easily with Marcus—not without reopening lots of old wounds.

Thankfully, Liam was too young to realize this at the moment, but one day, she supposed, the threat of reporting him to his dad wouldn’t work quite so easily.

Was Marcus really going to get married? she wondered as she watched Liam. She felt something inside her twist painfully. Not that she cared on a personal level, she told herself firmly; she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that Marcus was not the man for her. She was only concerned about how it would affect Liam.

‘Can I go on the swings now?’ Liam asked as he finished his sandwich.

‘Yes, if you like.’

She watched as he ran the short distance towards the playground, little legs hurtling along in blue jeans like a mini tornado. Then he turned around halfway there and ran back to her, flinging his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ he said.

‘I love you too,’ Gemma said, giving him a hug.

‘Will you watch how high I can go on the swings?’ His dark eyes were filled with an impish excitement.

‘I will, darling.’

She watched as he ran off into the playground again, her heart heavy with pride and with love.

Although it was a sunny Saturday afternoon there weren’t many people in the park. If it wasn’t for the distant roar of the London traffic they could have pretended they were in the midst of the countryside.

Gemma wondered what Marcus was doing today. He usually picked Liam up in the morning and spent the weekend with him, but there had been a last-minute change of plan. He’d had the boy last night instead, dropping him off early this morning, because he said he had something to do today and that he would pick him up again around four-thirty.

Maybe he was seeing Sophia…maybe he was taking her out today to buy an engagement ring?

Gemma put the box of sandwiches away into the basket and settled back on the blanket to watch her son. Marcus could set up a harem for all she cared, she told herself briskly. It was none of her business.

The drone of bees plundering the foxgloves in the flowerbed next to her filled the air. For a second the heat and the tranquillity conjured up the memory of an afternoon when she had lain entwined in Marcus’s arms by the banks of a river. His hands had been running possessively and confidently over her body, finding the buttons of her blouse and stealing beneath the material to find the heat of her naked flesh. ‘I want to make love to you, Gemma…I want you right now…’

The heat and the urgency of that memory made her go hot inside now, with a renewed surge of longing. And she hated herself for it. It was years since she had slept with Marcus and those feelings were dead, she told herself fiercely. Dead and buried, with a full grieving process very firmly behind her.

‘Hi, Gemma.’ Marcus’s voice coming so coolly and so quickly on top of the steamy memory made her sit bolt upright and turn around.

It was almost as if she had conjured him up, as if he had stepped out from her daydreams and into reality.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in stunned surprise.

‘I’ve come to see you.’ He sat down beside her on the rug, his manner relaxed and confident, as if they always met like this on a Saturday afternoon in the park. ‘Liam told me you were coming here today for a picnic.’

‘Did he…?’ Gemma could hardly concentrate for thinking how attractive he looked. Marcus was half Italian and he had dark Latin smouldering good looks, olive skin and jet-black hair that gleamed almost blue in the sunlight. Blue chinos and a faded blue shirt sat well on the tall broad-shouldered frame.

Every time Gemma saw him she was struck afresh by how gorgeous he was, and she could remember forcibly what it was that had drawn her so firmly under his spell in the first place. There was something very powerful about Marcus Rossini and it wasn’t just that his body was well-toned and muscular. It was everything about him; the set of his jaw, the chiselled, strong profile and the gleam of his velvet dark eyes. As those eyes held hers now, Gemma felt a shiver of apprehension.

‘You look well,’ he said politely.

‘Thanks.’

‘Seems ages since I saw you.’

She felt his eyes running in a quick assessment over her long blonde hair and slender figure; felt them as acutely as if he were touching her and it stirred up a renewed feeling of heat inside her. And suddenly she knew why she was so careful to avoid contact with this man. There was something about him that could stir her senses with just a glance.

‘So what do you want, Marcus?’ Her voice was sharper than she intended but he didn’t appear to notice.

‘There is something I need to discuss with you,’ he said calmly.

Gemma remained silent; she knew what was coming. He was going to tell her he was getting married. She was surprised he had bothered to come and tell her in person. She supposed it was decent of him…supposed it was the civilized way to proceed. After all, they had a duty to their son to handle this in an adult way. Trouble was, she suddenly wasn’t feeling at all civilized.

Gemma took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself to react appropriately. She would wish him well and sound as if she meant it.

As their eyes met she felt her heart slam against her chest. Suddenly from nowhere she was remembering the night she had told him she was pregnant, and her feelings when he had proposed. She had felt the same heavy weight of emotion pressing against her chest then. The need to cry, to wail against the unfairness of the fact that this man just didn’t love her and would never love her. She had been left with no option but to turn him down. A marriage without love was no marriage at all.

Now he was about to tell her he was marrying someone else. There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat.

She looked away from him over towards Liam. He was swinging higher and higher, a look of intense concentration on his face, and he hadn’t even noticed that his dad was here yet.

‘I’m leaving London, Gemma,’ Marcus said quietly beside her. ‘I’m going back to live in Italy and I want to take Liam with me.’

Gemma stared at him blankly, shock waves pounding through her. This wasn’t at all what she had expected.

‘I know this is a shock, but when you calm down and think about it rationally you’ll realize this is a sensible move. This is the best thing for Liam. He is part Italian, he has a heritage and a way of life to learn about. He has the security of a large family waiting for him—cousins, uncles, aunts, not to mention a grandfather who loves him deeply.’

Gemma didn’t know why she was allowing Marcus to continue with this conversation. It was quite frankly crazy, but she was so shocked she couldn’t find her voice to stop him.

‘Liam belongs back home in Italy.’

‘Liam’s home is here with me.’ When she finally managed to speak, her voice was so full of anger that it didn’t even sound like her.

‘I understand this is going to be a wrench for you Gemma.’

With a fierce stab of panic Gemma noticed that he spoke as if this was already a fait accompli.

‘And I know how much you love Liam. That’s why I think you and I should get together on this and sort out a compromise that will suit us all.’

‘It’s not going to be a wrench because it will never happen.’ She cut across his calm words with a fierce determination and started to pack away the bottle of lemonade and the cups, needing to get away from this situation as quickly as she could.

He watched her frantic, angry movements with a cool detachment.

‘Look, I suggest that we put our own feelings aside and concentrate on what’s best for Liam now.’

The sheer arrogance of those words made Gemma look sharply up at him. ‘I have always concentrated on what is best for Liam,’ she said furiously, her blue eyes blazing with emotion. ‘How dare you suggest otherwise?’

‘Gemma, all I’m saying—’

‘I hear what you’re saying and you are talking rubbish. You waltz in at weekends and high days and holidays and think you are God’s gift to fatherhood. Well, let me tell you that you’re not. You have no idea of the day-to-day reality of being a parent. This idea is just a passing fancy…like everything else in your life.’

She couldn’t resist the sarcastic dig. ‘And you wouldn’t last two minutes if you had Liam full time.’

‘Well, that’s where I think you are wrong. I would be more than capable of having Liam full time.’

She noticed that his voice had lost the cool, pragmatic tone and there was an edge of annoyance showing now. Good, she thought furiously. How dared he calmly arrive and tell her he intended to take her son away? ‘No judge in the land would take a baby away from his mother without extreme good cause,’ she added tersely. ‘So just go away, Marcus. Go back to your dream world and don’t bother me again.’

‘He’s not a baby, Gemma. He will be starting school in September.’

Gemma ignored the comment and continued to tidy away the chocolate wrappers from the rug.

As she reached to fasten the lid on the basket Marcus stretched out and caught hold of her wrist. The contact of his skin against hers sent a jolt of shock shooting through her as if an electric charge had passed through her body. ‘This is something we need to sort out together. If it goes to court you will regret it, Gemma.’

Although the words were softly spoken the meaning was clear. Nobody took on the might of the Rossini family and won. They had money and influence and they always got what they wanted. Gemma tried very hard not to let panic show in her eyes as she looked over at him. ‘You are not in Italy now, Marcus,’ she reminded him. ‘This is my home turf, and a court will never allow you to take Liam away from me.’

‘I don’t want to fight with you, Gemma,’ he said softly. ‘But if you insist on it, then I will use any means possible to make sure I win. If you play with fire then you must expect to be burnt.’

‘Daddy!’ Liam’s excited voice cut through the tense atmosphere and Marcus let go of her and turned as the little boy came running across the grass and flung himself into his arms.

Gemma watched the instinctive way Liam curled his arms around his father’s neck, cuddling in to him as close as he could get. ‘Daddy, will you push me on the swing? Will you? I can go really high, almost up to the sky and…’

‘Hey, steady on, partner.’ Marcus laughed. ‘Give me time to draw breath.’

‘Liam, we have to go now,’ Gemma cut in anxiously. She just wanted to be away from this situation. Her nerves couldn’t stand being around Marcus a moment longer.

‘Ah, Mum!’ Liam groaned. ‘Daddy’s only just come! Can’t he push me on the swings, can’t he, please?’

‘You can see him later.’ Gemma stood up and pretended to busy herself brushing down the folds of her long dress. ‘You’re spending tonight over at Daddy’s house. You can play on the swing in his garden.’

Marcus watched the way her long hair fell silkily over her shoulders, gleaming a rich honey gold in the sun; noticed the deep V of her sundress revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her curvaceous body.

‘Can I stay here with Daddy?’

The words caused a sharp rush of pain inside her.

‘No, you can’t.’ Gemma glanced over and met Marcus’s eyes. She imagined there was a gleam of triumph in them, a look that said, See, my son wants to be with me, not you. ‘Please stand up from the rug so I can fold it away,’ she asked him coldly.

Liam seemed set to argue some more. But, surprisingly, Marcus cut across him. ‘Do as Mummy says, Liam,’ he said, getting to his feet and lifting Liam with him so that Gemma could pack the rug away.

‘Thanks.’ Her voice was prickly.

‘We need to talk some more,’ Marcus said quietly as he watched her place the folded blanket over the top of the basket.

‘There is nothing to discuss. I’ve given you my answer.’

‘That’s not good enough.’

‘Why? Because it isn’t the answer you want?’ Gemma shrugged. ‘Well, tough, Marcus. I know you are used to getting your own way, but not this time.’

Anger glimmered in Marcus’s eyes. ‘We’ll see about that.’

The quiet way he said those words disturbed the cool veneer she had managed to wrap around herself. ‘The whole notion is ridiculous, Marcus, so just forget it.’

As her voice rose, Liam looked over at her. ‘Are you and Daddy arguing?’

‘No, darling, we’re just talking.’ Gemma held out her hand to him. ‘Come on, we have to get home. Uncle Richard said he might call.’

Marcus felt a flash of annoyance at that remark. ‘Uncle Richard’ was around at the house far too much recently for his liking.

‘We’ll talk again later in the week,’ Marcus said as he put Liam down.

‘I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.’

‘On the contrary, there is a lot to talk about,’ Marcus said coolly. ‘How about having dinner with me next Friday night? Will your mother babysit?’

‘Dinner?’ Gemma looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘No, she wouldn’t.’

‘Okay, I’ll come over to you, then.’

‘Marcus, that isn’t convenient.’

‘I’ll ring you later in the week to confirm.’ Marcus’s voice was steely.

Gemma was going to tell him flatly not to waste his time but Liam was watching and listening intently. So she just reached to take hold of the child’s hand. ‘Goodbye, Marcus,’ she said with as much cold finality in her voice as she could muster.

Marcus watched as she walked away from him across the grass, her long hair swinging glossily behind her in the softness of the breeze, her back ramrod straight.

Liam was skipping beside her and kept turning to wave at him but Gemma did not look back.

But she would do as he wanted, Marcus told himself grimly. By the time he had finished she would be begging him to compromise and he would have her exactly where he wanted her: back in his life.