“Something special.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re going to be a father.”

Silence. Dead silence.

“In September,” she’d rushed on as his eyebrows pulled together and smoke drifted from his nostrils. Then he smiled-that winning, cocky grin, and she knew everything would be all right.

“A father. Me? Yeah, right.” His words were filled with sarcasm as he laughed. Slapping her on her naked rump, he added, “Good one, Trisha, you nearly had me believing that you were knocked up.”

Her back stiffened and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She’d fantasized that he would smile and twirl her off her feet and promise to marry her when she told him of the baby. She’d even been silly enough to believe that their love-and this baby, this precious, precious baby-might put an end to the horrid feud that existed between their families. Love would conquer over hatred.

“You’re kiddin’, right?” he said when he saw the tears filling the corners of her eyes.

“I’m going to have a baby, Mario,” she said angrily as she’d climbed out of bed and threw her sweater over her head. “Your baby.”

He stared at her for several long seconds, the cigarette dangling neglected from his lips, the ash growing. “No-”

“It’s true! Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be parents!”

“Oh, God, Trisha, how could you do this?” he’d whispered, his dark complexion turning pasty white. He rubbed his forehead as if he were trying to erase the entire conversation.

“I didn’t do it. We did.”

“But are you sure?”

“I had a test at the free clinic.”

“Fuck.” He fell onto the mattress and cradled his head in his hands. “How could this have happened?”

“You know how it happened.”

“This couldn’t have come at a worse time. My old man’s-”

“For crying out loud, Mario. I didn’t plan it. Sorry if it’s inconvenient for you,” she snarled, hurting inside. The room shook as a great jet roared through the sky and Trisha felt like dying inside.

Jabbing out his cigarette in a tray, he looked up at her. As if finally realizing how distressed she was, he opened his arms and motioned for her to join him on the bed. “Come on, Trisha. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s a miracle,” she said, defensive of her unborn child. “A miracle.”

“ ’Course it is.”

She didn’t trust him and tears threatened to overtake her again. “You aren’t happy.”

“Sure I am” he said, though his voice sounded glum. “I…I was just shocked, that’s all. Hell, it’s not every day you get news like this.” He patted the bed beside him and she sat on the edge of the stained mattress. His strong arms surrounded her and she wanted to trust him again-to believe in their love. His breath, smoky and warm, teased her ear. “You want this-this baby?”

“Don’t you?”

“Oh, sure. Sure.”

She relaxed a little, though she wished she’d heard more conviction in his voice.

“I guess this is the part where I should ask you to marry me, huh?”

Sniffing back her tears, she nodded. “I think that’s the proper thing to do.”

“Hey, well, proper. That’s me. Okay, then I’m askin’. Trisha, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” she’d vowed, throwing her arms around his neck and tumbling into the bed with him. “I love you, Mario. I’ve always loved you and I will love you until the day I die.”

“That’s my girl,” he’d said, kissing her and patting the top of her head as if she were a child.

Two weeks later they’d broken the news to their parents and both Witt and Anthony had hit the roof.

According to Mario, Anthony had called his son a dumb fuck and forbade him from ever seeing Trisha again. If Mario wanted to fall in love and get married, there was always that nice Lanza girl who lived in the neighborhood; and if he wanted to be so stupid as to knock someone up, Mario should have his head examined. He’d been told to quit thinking with his cock and start listening to reason. Anthony had warned his son never to see Trisha again, and Mario agreed.

But Mario had broken that promise. The next week Mario told Trisha about the scene with his father. To Trisha, Mario had seemed spinelessly relieved.

Witt had been working in his den and had been even more furious than Mario’s father. When Trisha broke the news to her father, Witt had turned crimson and been consumed by a rage so deep, Trisha feared for her life.

“You’ll never marry Polidori,” Witt had vowed, rounding the desk and kicking an antique vase that had shattered into a million pieces.

“You can’t stop me!” Trisha could be just as bullheaded as her father.

“You’re underage, Trisha. Sixteen, for crying out loud! We could have that bastard up on statutory rape.”

“He loves me, Dad. He wants to marry me.”

“Over my dead body,” Witt insisted. “This is one helluva blow, but we can still take care of things. There’s still time.”

“What do you mean?” she had asked, refusing to understand. But her stomach had begun to flutter in anxiety.

“I know a doctor who’ll-”

“No!” she’d screamed. “I’ll never have an abortion! Oh, God, Dad, you can’t be serious!” Panic screamed through her blood. Lose the baby? No! She’d run away before she’d let her father snuff out the life of her unborn child. Protectively she held her middle.

“Either you take care of this my way or the boy gets arrested,” Witt insisted, his face twisted in hatred. “And don’t mess with me, Trisha, ’cause there’s nothing I’d like better than to see Polidori’s only son in jail.”

“You wouldn’t-”

Witt’s lip had curled and his blue eyes had gleamed with pure malice. “He defiled you, Trisha. Raped you and got you pregnant. He used you-like some common slut. And if you think I’ll allow you to have Polidori’s child, you can think again.”

“I won’t-”

Witt had raised his hand, intending to strike her, and Trisha let out a bloodcurdling wail.

“I’ll handle this.” Kat had hurried into the room, as if she’d been hovering in the hall, waiting for the right moment to appear. She’d stared at Trisha with chilling calm. For the first time Trisha felt fear.

“She’s my daughter,” Witt protested.

“And you’re out of control.” Kat’s lips had compressed. “I said, I’ll handle this, Witt. It’s women’s business.”

“I’m not backing down,” he’d growled and stalked out of the den, kicking the door on his way out.

Quietly, Kat had shut the door and the lock clicking into place was like the knell of doom. Trisha’s eyes filled with tears because she knew she’d already lost. God, she’d hated her stepmother.

“Come on, Trisha, let’s talk sensibly about what’s going on here,” Kat said. “I know you’re upset and your father, well, he is, too. It’s just because he loves you so much.”

“Bullshit!” Sniffling, Trisha had backed up, her shoes crunching on the broken shards of glass.

“He does. In his own way. But he hates the Polidoris as much as he loves you and he’s serious when he says he’ll press charges. Mario will probably spend time in jail and how good would that be for you and your baby?” Kat’s smile was patronizing and cold as death.

Trisha had begun to sob brokenly, already giving in to the steady, unrelenting pressure her family was sure to put on her.

In the end, Kat had convinced her that the only reasonable thing to do, the best thing for all concerned, was to abort the baby, and the next day, before Trisha could change her mind, Kat had shuttled her off to a private clinic where she’d given up the only person-the only thing-that had meant anything to her.

She’d never gotten pregnant again. She’d lost the baby and Mario’s love. Though he claimed to still care for her, their relationship had never been the same. They had lost what little innocence they’d once shared. Because of Witt. Because of Kat. God, she’d hated them both.

Now, so many hateful years later, she rested her head on the steering wheel of her sports car. At least her father and Kat were dead. They deserved their ends. But, Trisha and Mario were still illicit lovers, running through the shadows to private rendezvous of hot sex with no strings attached. Trisha tried to hide the fact that she still loved him, even from herself, but then something always happened to awaken all her old, long-buried emotions, as if that little bit of life that had been so frail, existed for so little time, had linked Trisha to Mario forever.

Love, coupled with the possession and jealousy that came with it, always resurfaced. She would love Mario Polidori until the day she gave up her last breath. Tonight, watching Mario with Adria, Trisha had felt the old pangs of pain and loss, love and jealousy. She sniffed loudly and her hatred grew white-hot, settling in the pit of her stomach and burning.

Mario had been with Adria.

Beautiful Adria.

So much like Kat.

Too much like London.

20

“I’m going out,” Jason said as he paused at the door to his wife’s bedroom.

“Now?” Sitting in her robe, brushing her hair, Nicole caught Jason’s reflection in the mirror and she wondered why she’d ever been foolish enough to think that he loved her. She glanced at her watch. “Why?”

“Late meeting.”

“It’s nearly midnight,” she said, hating the wheedling sound of protest in her voice.

“I know.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to pull together whatever it was that kept her going. She set her brush down and said calmly, “You know, Jason, I should just divorce you and get it over with. Then you wouldn’t have to lie anymore.”

“I’m not-”

She held up a hand before opening her eyes. “Please. Give me some credit, will you?”

When she looked up, Jason was smiling that waxen, tight little grin that she’d grown to hate over the years-the smile he seemed to reserve just for her. “The skillet suddenly too hot for you, darling?” he said, and her insides revolted at the endearment.

How far they’d drifted apart over the years. Too far to ever find each other again. “What’s too hot isn’t the skillet, or the fire, it’s that damned little mistress of yours,” she said evenly though her insides churned. She’d thought she’d quit loving him years ago, but still the lies hurt.

At least he had the decency to blanch.

“She called here. Kim, isn’t it? The little blonde with legs that won’t quit and no breasts?” Nicole applied a little night cream to moisturize her face and hopefully forestall a few of the determined little lines that remained on her skin as the years crept by. “You really didn’t believe I didn’t know, did you?”

He seemed to puff up a bit-like he used to do when he practiced law and stood in front of a particularly recalcitrant witness on the stand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it, Jason.” She wiped off the excess cream. “Contrary to what you would like to think, I’m not stupid. And I know what’s going on with this London thing. You’re running scared, aren’t you?” She tossed her pale hair over her shoulders and removed her earrings, diamonds that sparkled in the soft lights arranged over her vanity. She’d picked out the earrings herself, though Jason had bought them for their fifth…or was it their sixth?…anniversary. “This new little London, she just could be your sister.”

“I don’t think so.”

Sometimes, when the pain wasn’t too great, when she could distance herself from him, it amused her to watch him lie. He did it so well, with such grace and such…conviction, as if he really believed himself.

“Zachary wouldn’t be hanging around if it weren’t serious,” she said. “Nelson looks like he’s hiding something, Trisha’s worse than ever-I shudder to think what she’s on these days-and your mother, usually so remote, she seems to have taken a sudden interest in the family. Oh, you’re worried,” she said, dropping her earrings into a velvet case and snapping it shut. “All very worried.”

“And you’re not?” He walked up behind her and placed his hands lightly around her throat. Their gazes locked in the mirror and she tilted her chin up a fraction as she felt him squeeze, ever so slightly. It would be so easy for him to cut off her wind and strangle her, but Nicole wasn’t afraid. She slid a meaningful glance to the framed eight-by-ten picture poised on the corner of the vanity.

Their daughter, Shelly, laughing, her hair windswept in the breeze rising off the ocean that day, gazed back at her. Shelly was the one thing that both she and Jason cared about. The only thing.

Jason’s gaze dropped to the picture and his fingers relaxed.

He would never do anything that might cause him to lose his daughter, for, as overly doting as Witt had been with London, so was Jason with Shelly. In his eyes, his daughter could do no wrong. The little imp had him wrapped around her slim little finger.