The Italian Marriage

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.