Raye Morgan - The Italian's Forgotten Baby

But, strangely, he didn’t seem to have caught her very obvious mistake. Instead, he just looked puzzled.

“This is fascinating,” he said lightly. “Why don’t you give me a full explanation. What are my two names?”

“Well, first there’s Marco Smith, the man I got to know for two weeks.”

His dark eyes looked bewildered by that name. “Smith?” he repeated, giving it an Italian accent that made it seem all the more phony.

She sniffed, assuming he was just covering his tracks.

“And then there’s Marco DiSanto, the man I only met that last day, before he bid me a careless adieu and flew off into the clouds, never to be seen again.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he told her, shaking his head and frowning. “And anyway, I’m here, aren’t I? Marco DiSanto, in the flesh.”

She cocked her head to the side, pretending to consider the dilemma.

“Where do you want to go with this? Shall we discuss which one I liked better?” She shrugged. “That’s easy. I liked the liar, of course. He was funny and sexy and great to be with.”

His puzzlement was growing, but she’d gone too far to stop now.

“But you see, that’s the paradox. He was the lie. Bye-bye Marco Smith.” She pretended to wave a fond farewell toward the doorway. “Marco DiSanto, on the other hand, was not very nice to me. He told the truth, but it was a truth I didn’t want to hear.”

She stared into his eyes, looking for any tiny sign of regret he might be willing to bestow. Just a hint. It might have made her feel better.

For just a moment, she remembered how he used to laugh with her, his white teeth flashing against his tan skin. She would give almost anything to see that laughter now, that warmth. Instead, she saw amusement, but she couldn’t tell if he was smiling with her or against her. He had a sense of reserve in his face as he looked at her. She wanted passion and he was giving her polite appreciation instead. A little passion, a bit of memory, would have cancelled out a lot of her resentment.

But instead, he asked her a question she wasn’t expecting.

“Do you always tell the truth, Shayna?”

That startled her. She turned away. He knew the answer to that. He knew she’d lied to him about who she was for two weeks, just like she lied to everyone. She supposed it was only fair that he bring it up, since she’d brought up his lies. But still…

He went on, speaking softly.

“Truth can be a slippery thing. You know what they say. One man’s truth is another man’s fairy tale.”

She sighed. It seemed he did want to make her suffer. Well, she could give as good as she got. She gave him a direct look.

“Telling stories did seem to be a talent of yours when you were here before,” she noted.

He barely acknowledged her dig, waving it away as though he had larger things on his mind.

“Okay, here’s some truth for you, Shayna.” He paused, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I don’t know you.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him. For a few seconds, she went back over his words in her head. Had she really heard what she’d thought she heard?

“What are you talking about?”

He met her gaze firmly. “I don’t have any idea who you are. I feel like I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

For a second or two, she felt sick. The room seemed to sway. She closed her eyes and steadied herself, then looked him in the eye again, searching hard. The man she’d spent all that time with just a few weeks ago had to be in there somewhere, but she couldn’t find any sign of him at the moment.

“Is this some kind of game, Marco?”

“No. It’s not.” He shook his head, holding her gaze. “I’m serious as a midnight clock.”

She pulled her arms in close around her. It was a steamy tropical day, but she was shivering. Something in his words, something in his attitude, had chilled her to the core.

“I do not know who you are. I can’t remember a thing.”

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