There was what one said and what one did.

He was sick of getting nowhere and accomplishing nothing. Endless talk. Wasted time.

Three years of wasted time.

Payton realized she was the only one talking. Marco wasn’t saying anything. He was just staring at her, and there was no expression in his eyes or face.

If only he’d say something. Anything. “If they’re happy, I can be happy,” she whispered, her voice was thickening with unshed tears. “If I know they love being with you then I’m okay when I go home and do what I’ll have to do.”

“When did you intend to go home?”

Marco’s question flattened her. She drew a breath, held it in and then slowly exhaled. “I’m holding a reservation for a week from Tuesday.”

“Nine days from now.”

“Yes.”

“And your treatment would begin when?”

“A week or so after that. There are some details to still be hammered out. More tests, and then hospital scheduling.”

Marco moved away, walking toward the other end of the courtyard. Payton watched him pace. He seemed lost in thought and periodically he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “You want the girls to stay here, with me, while you begin treatment?”

“I think it’s best.”

He stared at a fixed point, his expression shuttered. “They’ll be frightened being left behind.”

“Perhaps a little, but I think we can ease their fear if we’re united on this. If we’re friendly and the girls know they’re not being abandoned.”

He’d begun to pace the room. His chest burned and his head throbbed and the last four years flashed past him like a video on fast forward.

Payton the beautiful young American intern. Payton dressed in a daring one sleeve silver gown at the Trussardis. Dancing with Payton and watching her eyes light as she laughed.

Leaning back against the window, he pushed open the shutter and stared at the garden bathed in moonlight.

The garden reminded him of Marilena and smacking the window shutter with his palm he realized he’d forgotten to call her, forgotten to stop by after dinner as he’d promised.

Dammit.

His hand fell from the shutter and turning, he leaned against the wall and looked at Payton. “Is there any pain yet, anything that hurts?”

“No.”

“Good.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, the weight of the world pressing on him. Payton. Marilena. The girls. Business. There weren’t any easy answers in life, were there? No clear cut direction. No obvious solution. It all came down to listening to one’s conscience. To following one’s heart.

“I know you had a plan,” he said at length. “When you came here you had an idea of how you wanted this to go. What is it that you want? How can I help you?”

He listened to her, heard her out, and then when she was finally done talking he nodded. “Fine.”

 

Marco had never appeared on Marilena’s doorstep un-announced, and rarely before noon, but if the princess was surprised to see him at nine the next morning she gave no indication.