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  LOVE’S UNSELFISH GIFT

  Sports Wives 5

  Destiny Blaine

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  LOVE’S UNSELFISH GIFT

  Copyright © 2010 by Destiny Blaine

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-802-7

  First E-book Publication: May 2010

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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  DEDICATION

  For My Husband.

  You’re loved and appreciated, but I’m very glad I don’t have “two” of you!

  LOVE’S UNSELFISH GIFT

  Sports Wives 5

  DESTINY BLAINE

  Copyright © 2010

  Prologue

  I took weighted steps, keeping a slow pace, the kind of stride certain to break at any given point. My knees buckled once or twice, but I managed to keep moving forward.

  Grabbing on to the end of one of the pews, I prayed, lifting my gaze away from the velvet burgundy bench-style seating to study the huge cross behind the pulpit. I needed to find inner strength to make it through the day, but I didn’t have any left.

  When I stood before our family—his family, the kind people who accepted me as one of their own—and our friends, professionals Marco had known throughout his entire football career, the short time he enjoyed as a player, I remembered how I made it this far.

  Surely widows found some solace in a flashback of memories. I lowered the microphone, and rather than read from the piece of paper now crumpled in my closed hand, I decided to speak from my heart.

  Glancing at the casket three steps lower than where I stood, I focused on Marco’s hands. Those hands once held me. His body once warmed me.

  I couldn’t help but notice how much Marco’s skin resembled the silicone dolls I’d grown fond of collecting over the years. Marco had dry skin, but the corpse in the coffin looked soft and recently waxed, like a mannequin from a museum. The man occupying the casket appeared as if he were made to order with perfect flesh to cover him.

  Fighting back tears, I tore my gaze away from the husband I loved and looked around the audience. Then, without further delay, the final goodbye began.

  “The first time I met Marco, I knew I was in trouble.” My breath hitched as the old, familiar love-struck feeling enveloped me. Speaking at this point proved inane. Muffled cries, those hardly vocal enough to make out, provoked reflection on the life I shared with the greatest man I’d ever known.

  That’s when it dawned on me. I still had to rely on Marco and his strength. Otherwise, I would break right in front of an audience.

  “Marco,” I whispered, clasping my hands in front of me and staring at his ashen knuckles. “It was difficult to breathe around you.” The tears fell and through them, I continued. “I couldn’t think a rational thought. I couldn’t live through a sensible moment without the profound need to reach for you every time I saw your sweet smile.”

  Crying and laughing at the same time, I pressed forward. “I needed to run like hell but soon realized if I did, I’d want you to follow right behind me.”

  I started my speech in pretty good shape, but then things took a hard turn toward reality. Marco wasn’t coming back. His funeral held significance and saying goodbye was more difficult than I could put into words.

  I wasn’t walking out of that church with my husband’s hand to hold so I spoke random words, expressed bizarre thoughts. I looked at the living, breathing replica of the man I’d soon bury…my husband’s twin brother, Alanzo. Then, I returned my focus to the stainless steel box where Marco would soon turn to ashes, back to dust.

  “I’m standing here today talking to a corpse, my dead husband. I’d rather do that for the next several hours than speak to the hundreds of mourners here to view a dead person, touch a cold body, and remind me of what a good man Marco Giovanni was.”

  I looked up realizing I’d spoken my innermost feelings. Did I care how those there to grieve would interpret my statement? No, I didn’t. The press and everyone in attendance could accept the fact I didn’t want a crowd around to watch me fall to pieces.

  “He is a good man,” I stated firmly. “He’s always been a good person, a decent and loving husband, a professional football player who set records and lived humbly in a…” A gasp left my throat when I thought of our small cottage and I quickly added, “We lived in a two-bedroom home and never wanted for much or believed in the impossible. Together we dared to love and the love we shared was always enough.”

  Looking at Mrs. Giovanni and then Alanzo, I spoke the last words I could muster through the tears and the piercing pain attacking my chest. “Five years ago, I fell in love with a dream. Two days ago, in a football stadium no less, my world came crashing down. The illusion is long gone, the fantasy now destroyed. My love is gone, my heart is broken, and my life as I’ve loved it, is over.

  “My name is Suzy Illiani Giovanni. Today, the world mourns a football great, a hero to thousands, a great man to many, and my husband, Marco Lucas Giovanni.”

  Today also marks the first day of the rest of
my life. A life I’m not sure I can face without Marco.

  Chapter One

  One Year and Seven Months Later

  Everyone loved my husband. Marco had more friends than enemies and in his profession, most believed adversaries were easier found than allies. I believed in the theory. Prior to meeting Marco, I had few friends. In fact, I doubt anyone called me out as a mere acquaintance.

  Marco had a purpose in life and lived as a simple man struggling to make the world a better place. A religious character of sorts, he had a devout faith, but he never discussed his beliefs with anyone, not even me.

  Impressively, he put back ninety percent of his income and lived off the rest. He’d once heard a preacher teach about tithing. Somehow, he translated everything backwards, and, of course, I didn’t know the difference until after he passed away.

  The media often reported about his unmatched generosity. I had to agree, once I realized the kind of money he earned. Marco was Mr. Generous-overkill, handing over almost everything he earned to charities, churches, homeless folks, and anyone who made him hear their desperate cry for help and monetary donations.

  After Marco’s death, I attended one memorial ceremony after another. I also walked into crowded rooms to speak on his behalf. Since his publicist booked him two years in advance, he had prior engagements to honor. The money, as everyone already knew, had been allocated for one charity or another, one good cause or the next. Those public commitments were secured and committee chairmen and school leaders wanted someone, anyone, to show up for a few hours.

  I nominated me. No one understood Marco any better.

  Waking up to the smell of bacon filling the room, I hauled my exhausted ass, right along with my aching bag of bones, out of bed and hobbled down the hall in search of a hot cup of coffee. My mother-in-law practically moved in over the weekend and planned to stay until I “looked like somebody” again.

  No thanks to the newspapers and countless reports of my failing health after Marco died, Marco’s mother took it upon herself to visit often. This was one of those occasions. With the Dallas Rascals season opener behind us, I wished a million times she’d head south and go back from where she’d traveled.

  “Suzy!” she exclaimed. “Breakfast!”

  I rounded the corner with my palm to my head. Why this woman insisted on treating me like the teenage daughter she never had, I couldn’t understand. I never thought of us as particularly close. In fact, we survived a very tumultuous time right after Marco and I decided to marry. Marco’s father, grandmother, and brother became my support system and with Anna for a mother-in-law, I needed a few people rallying around me.

  I was older than Marco by about twenty years, give another year or two. His mother was my age, give another four or five. We never discussed birthdates since matters with digits typically brought out the cougar claws in Anna.

  “Are you feeling okay, this morning?” she asked, setting a plate of scrambled eggs, dry toast, and bacon on the lavender placemat in front of me.

  “I’m good,” I lied. “How about you?” And by the way, when are you going home?

  “Today has been a rough day, Suzy.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was six-thirty in the fucking morning. Of course, it was a rough day. Pre-Folgers, mornings were a pain in the ass.

  “You’re not going to like this but—”

  She pegged that one. Already, I didn’t like what was about to fall from her lips.

  Anna needed to work on her presentation if she wanted me to agree to something she most likely arranged without my permission. I slapped the napkin in my lap and started shoveling eggs into my mouth as though it had been a year to the day since I last ate.

  “I spoke to Alanzo this morning. He’s driving up tomorrow. He plans to stay with you for a bit.”

  “What?” I gasped while I tried to process the new information. Dropping my fork, I chewed slower, trying to decipher why she felt compelled to shove my dead husband’s identical twin in my direction.

  “Honey, I know Marco’s death has been hard on you. It’s been hard on him too.”

  Yeah, dying was difficult for the deceased.

  “Alanzo loves you. He considers you family.”

  Oh, I mused. She was speaking of Alanzo and yes, I imagined losing his twin brought more sorrow than anyone realized.

  “We are family,” I reminded. “Alanzo was Marco’s twin brother for crying out loud. He’s like my brother too.”

  “But not really,” she corrected.

  I quickly noted where this conversation was going.

  “Down deep, you understand he’s not your brother,” she let her voice trail off, but her words remained thick with underlying motive. “He’s not blood related to you.”

  Right, because I didn’t have a brother or a sister or a mother to drive me completely batty, something Anna did with ease. “I’m alone,” I whispered when reality struck.

  “No sweetie, you aren’t alone. In our family, you’ll never be alone.”

  I glanced at the end of the short kitchen table. Where my husband once sat, my MIL perched there, providing an instant reminder of who once occupied the seat. Sure, she’d only been a guest in my home for a few days, but it seemed like eternity. She’d managed to rearrange my life since her arrival and seemed to gloat while she complicated my days.

  “Suzy, Alanzo and I have decided to sell the house.” Translation: Anna decided. Alanzo rarely knew anything about the damn decisions she reached.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly aware of the truer reason she was there and refused to leave. “You can’t sell this house. This is my home.”

  Marco’s home. The cottage we shared together!

  “You still have your house in Preston Hollow. You can go back there and live just as comfortably as you always have. Maybe even return to the lifestyle you once loved.”

  Startled, I wasn’t sure how to interpret her suggestion. Did she mean I should go back to living off of my previous PFC husband’s money, spending thousands per week? Did she suggest returning to the country club scene? Or how about the old addictions, the habits I formed that died hard but eventually passed when Marco came into my life and saved me from myself? Why would Anna push me toward Preston Hollow?

  “Suzy?”

  “No,” I said, looking up all at once. “I can’t.” Then, it struck me. I had money. Marco left behind a pile of cash. The life insurance checks alone mounted to over five million dollars even after I was taxed to death.

  I broke a piece of bacon in half and stared at Anna. “How much do you want for the house?”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “Bullshit, Anna. You said you’re selling. I’m buying. How much do you want? One million? Two? Name your price, Anna, and I’ll pay it.” The house wasn’t worth one penny over two hundred thousand.

  “Cripes, Suzy, what do you want me to say?”

  “Why don’t you start with the fucking truth!” I never cursed Anna, never raised my voice in front of her, because everyone in the family worried about her fragile feelings.

  Well to hell with her sentimental side and shaky nerves. For once, she couldn’t pull that card and no one lurked around the corner waiting to dart in and save her. For the first time in a long time, I saw Anna for the manipulating woman I always knew she desperately tried to conceal.

  Anna straightened her back and tucked a straggling gray hair behind her ear. The smell of coffee filled the room, and I could’ve been enjoying the first cup in complete silence but no, I had Marco’s mother ready to ruin a perfectly good morning.

  Sometimes I hated him for dying. Right now, for an example.

  “Fine,” she said, standing. “You want the truth? Here it is. You’re going to start living again, Suzy Giovanni. You’re going to get dressed in the morning and go places, shopping for instance. The speaking engagements are almost over, and once you finish with those, you won’t have anything to do. You aren’t going to sit here all day and rememb
er when. I won’t allow it and refuse to watch it.”

  She wouldn’t allow it? I could help solve her little problem pronto. “How about I drive you to the airport?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she snipped. “Alanzo will be here tomorrow. I’ll drive his car back home, and he can use one of Marco’s if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” No, I really didn’t care at all. The problem I had was seeing a man with my husband’s face stroll into my home as if to make a mockery out of the mourning process, the grieving I seldom had time to do.

  Thanks to Marco’s family and the relentless media, I never had the chance to mourn my dead husband properly. I never sat on the floor of our closet and scattered his things about and took a few hours to reminisce.

  Instead, for nearly two years, I entertained a whirlwind of ongoing guests, made social calls, endured a parade of memorials and luncheons, and accepted dinner dates with the Professional Football Confederacy officials and, of course, their doting wives. Every day, the only thing I longed to do was curl up in a ball while burying my nose in Marco’s favorite sweatshirts in hopes of inhaling the scent of him one last time.

  Anna continued to babble about the events leading her to the house-selling conclusion. Marco left the house to her in the will, something I once encouraged. Since I owned a posh home over in Preston Hollow, I never thought about wanting to stay in a small cottage located near the downtown area. Besides, what were the odds Anna would survive Marco?

  I always assumed Marco would eventually get tired of cramped spaces and we’d move over to my place. The transition to the lap of luxury never interested Marco. He was a simple man who enjoyed complicated pleasures. He once teased how I topped that list.

  “I’ll give you two million dollars cash,” I said, my stomach lurching forward. Take the damn money and run.

  “Do you honestly think I need Marco’s money?”

  Marco’s money wasn’t a drop in the bucket to the money I accumulated prior to meeting him. I hoarded my alimony and invested wisely. Sure I spent a lot on the house and daily shopping, but I had a chunk of change to work with from the beginning. Even the tabloids dubbed me one of the wealthiest ex-wives in PFC history right after I started dating Marco.