“I came so the girls could spend time with you—”

“And how do you propose they’ll spend time with me if they’re sequestered away in a city hotel?”

Payton drew another breath, trying desperately to stay calm. “They’ll spend the day with you, of course—”

“I work during the day. In fact, I need to leave to return to the office in just a moment.”

“You’re going back already?”

“It’s only eleven in the morning. It’s a work day, Payton.”

“But the girls—”

“Are sleeping right now, as they should be. They’re exhausted and obviously need the rest.” Payton didn’t say anything and his shoulders shifted impatiently. “You were the one that insisted on coming now. You didn’t ask my opinion, didn’t check with my schedule. Don’t blame me if I have work to do.”

She dug her nails into her palms. “I realize it’s short notice. I’m sorry about that. But I was hoping you could take some time off. Really get to know the girls better.”

“I’m getting married in a couple of months. I will be taking three weeks honeymoon then. It’s impossible to take more time now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t spend any time with the girls. I’ll make sure we have time together.”

Yes, just as he’d made sure he visited them often in California.

Payton felt a wave of anger roll through her. He’d always said she’d been selfish with the children that she’d turned them against him, but it wasn’t true. He’d never even tried to get to know them. He’d visited them less than a half dozen times in two years. What kind of relationship was that? “Your children are here for the first time in nearly two years—”

“And whose fault is that?” he bristled.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe they were arguing already. It was all they’d ever done during their last twelve months together. The fighting had become unbearable. The tension impossible. “We’ll see you later this afternoon then.”

 

Marco’s thoughts weren’t on business when he arrived at the d’Angelo headquarters on Via Borgospesso in the elegant fashion district. He was thinking about the girls, and he made a mental note to follow up with his secretary on Gia’s lost blanket. It was imperative that the blanket be found quickly. Traveling was hard enough on young children without the loss of a favorite possession.

Yet on arriving at the office he was mobbed by a half dozen of his senior staff members, each with a pressing problem. They followed them into his office, talking at once. The men’s designer, his creative director, the vice president in charge of textiles and home collection—they were all crowding through the door, shouting over each other.

Marco shut the door, waved them toward the stylish modern couches against the wall.