Marco's Pride. Jane Porter

were the one that moved to America.”

      He couldn’t reduce all their problems to the move. “It was the only thing I could do.”

      “That’s absurd. I wanted you here. I knew it’d be difficult to see the girls once you were half way round the world and I was right.”

      “You have business in the United States. You didn’t make many attempts to see us.” She pressed her nails into her hands, her voice taking on an edge. “I know for a fact you were in the Bay Area a number of times and yet you never came by the house.”

      His voice sharpened, too. “I tried. Every time I phoned you had an excuse. You were heading out of town, or one of the girls was sick.”

      “The time we were heading out of town, I was going to attend a funeral.” Her mother’s funeral. After a five-year battle with cancer her mother had finally lost the fight and Payton had been nearly incoherent with grief. “And children do get sick!”

      “I sent gifts,” he defended tersely, but Marco knew it was a lame defense. He had stayed away. Not because he wanted to, but because visiting Payton and the girls hurt more than it helped. He felt like hell after each visit. Felt like a failure.

      “A stuffed bear isn’t quite the same thing as a father.”

      “Don’t you think I know that?” he shouted, furious that she was right and that he’d lost control. God damn it, he hated that Payton could do this to him, hated that she made him feel like an absolute lunatic. “Don’t you think I struggle every day with the knowledge that my children are being raised halfway around the world and they view me as nothing more than a stranger?”

      She took a step toward him. “You’re right. They do think of you as a stranger. And why shouldn’t they? You haven’t even tried to be part of their lives. And then last month, it was their birthday. I sent you an invitation. Why didn’t you come?”

      He felt the blood drain from his face. “I couldn’t make it.”

      “So call me. E-mail me. Tell me so your children won’t be disappointed!”

      “They didn’t even notice I wasn’t there.”

      He had no idea, she thought, seething. He had no idea how out of touch he was.

      Her chest burned and her eyes felt gritty and she realized she was angry—not just with him, but with fate and life and everything. “Do you know they spent their party watching the door? Do you know they begged me not to cut the cake just in case you arrived late?”

      “Payton, stop.”

      “No, you stop. You stop treating the girls badly because you’re angry with me. They didn’t divorce you. They’re not to blame.”

      His shoulders slumped. “I don’t blame them.”

      “It seems like it.”

      “Then why are you here?”

      She dashed her fists beneath her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “My mother died earlier in the year. If anything should happen to me, the girls would come to you.” Her voice broke and she turned away. “It’s too late to save our marriage, but it’s not too late to make sure the girls have a loving relationship with you.”