Prologue
He’d followed her for three blocks, undecided whether he would call out or just fade back into the shadows of their mutual memories. The weight of the past had frozen his vocal cords, but the sight of her graceful figure drew him like a magnet.
He repeatedly told himself there was no reason for so much trepidation. There was nothing between Mari and him now. The common ground they once shared was shadowed by his shame for his father’s actions as well as the bitterness he felt toward Mari for refusing to see or speak to him for half a lifetime.
He nearly did a complete turnabout in the revolving doors of the Palmer House Hotel, telling himself it would be best to just walk away. But at the last second, impulse drove him to speak her name.
“Marianna.”
She glanced around.
Mari’s eyes—God, he’d forgotten their power. The sounds in the bustling, luxurious hotel lobby faded as the color washed out of her cheeks. He felt a stab of regret. It’d been the sight of her breathtaking face that’d compelled him to pull up short and call her name.
For a few seconds, they remained motionless. The single word he’d uttered had been the first they’d shared since they’d both lost loved ones in one cruel swipe of fate’s hand.
“Marc,” Mari mouthed.
“I was at your performance and I followed you,” he explained rapidly. When she continued to stare at him, her expression rigid with shock, he realized how strange that sounded. “I just wanted to say…you were wonderful.”
She set down her cello case and straightened, seeming to gather herself. Her small smile seemed to give him permission to step closer. “Since when does Marc Kavanaugh listen to anything but rock music?”
“Give me some credit, Mari. A lot can change in fifteen years.”
“I’ll grant you that,” she replied softly.
He couldn’t stop himself from devouring the sight that had been ripped away from him so long ago. She wore the black dress that was standard apparel for a symphony member. The garment was simple and elegant, but it couldn’t hide the fact that womanhood had added some curves to Mari’s slender form.
In all the right places, Marc acknowledged as his gaze lingered for two heartbeats on her full breasts. He glanced down at her hands and noticed she was twisting them together, betraying her nerves. Mari was a cellist—a brilliant one. She had the hands of musician— sensitive and elegant. Even though she’d been young and inexperienced when they’d been together so long ago, she’d had a magical touch on his appreciative skin.
“Look at you. Marianna Itani, all grown up.”
“You, too.”
Maybe it was his imagination, but her lowered glance seemed almost as hungry as his inspection of her had been.
She returned his smile when she looked into his eyes. “Every inch the newly elected Cook County State’s Attorney.”
“How did you know about that?”
She shrugged. “I read about it. I wasn’t surprised. It was a foregone conclusion you’d excel at whatever you did. You always got what you wanted, once you made up your mind about it.” She swallowed and glanced away. “I was sorry to hear about your divorce.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that didn’t make any headlines. How did you know about that?”
She looked uncomfortable. “I still have a few contacts in Harbor Town. I keep in touch.”
Not with me though, Mari. Fifteen years of silence. Marc banished the flash of frustration, knowing how fruitless the emotion was.
“Right.” He nodded, understanding dawning. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Walt Edelmann over at the Shop and Save was the first person to know about my divorce outside of Sandra and myself. It’s almost supernatural the way that man acquires gossip.”
Her radiant smile made a dull ache expand in his chest. “Do you think Walt still works at the Shop and Save?”
“I know he does. I don’t go back to Harbor Town often, but, when I do, I always see Walt. He’s a standard fixture. He and my mother chat almost every day, which is code for exchanging juicy news.”