The Italian's Forgotten Baby. Raye Morgan

to jog my memory.” His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. “And this was all I found.”

      She stared down at the image of pure joy the photo had captured. Her heart beat faster. She remembered that day. Kimo had taken the picture. It was the day before Marco left, the day she had decided she just might be in love. The day before she’d realized that Marco was not who he pretended to be.

      “So you came to find out who this overly friendly female might be,” she managed to say lightly.

      “The clerk at the airport pointed me in the right direction and gave me your name.” He shrugged with Mediterranean charm. “And you know the rest.”

      She could hardly stand to look at her face in the picture—or his, either. She had been so happy. She’d been so sure…

      Rising from the bar stool, she walked across the room and went out onto the lanai, folding her arms across her chest and staring out at the ocean in the distance. She wanted to go for a swim. A long, cleansing swim. The water looked cool and clear and refreshing.

      He’d come up beside her and was looking out at the horizon, as well.

      He hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry.”

      She looked at him quickly. “Sorry? But surely you didn’t do this on purpose. It’s not your fault.”

      He shrugged. “The result is the same.” He grimaced, obviously loath to go on. But he seemed to think it was necessary.

      “You see, to you, I’m a man you think you know well. Very well.” He winced slightly and glanced at her, then away again. “To me, you’re a stranger.”

      She stared at him. Yes, she did see. And what she saw was about as disturbing as it could get. If what he was telling her was true, he didn’t feel any ties to her at all. No passion. No friendship. No memories of the good times they created together. No memory of that one enchanted night they spent together. For him, all that never happened.

      If a tree fell in an empty forest and there was no one to hear it, did it make a sound? Was it real? If she was the only one with the memories, would they fade away, like old photographs left out in the sun? Had they ever really happened? Or would they become misty dreams that only she knew anything about?

      Despite her shock and her surprise, she very quickly understood a number of things about this situation. First, any feelings he might have had for her didn’t exist. All her dreams were in ashes. There was hardly any point in going on with this.

      Second, she now realized he had never gone back and told her father where she was because he didn’t remember that he was supposed to do that. Right now, he didn’t even seem to remember who she was. And that was why her father hadn’t shown up yet. He still didn’t know she was here.

      That was the good, she supposed. But it hardly compensated for all the rest.

      “So in the end, you came back here,” she said softly. “Why?”

      He thought for a moment before he responded. “To recreate a personal narrative,” he responded carefully. “I need to find the pieces of the puzzle and put them into the picture so that I can feel whole and go on with my life.”

      “Oh.” So it was all about him, was it? But she really couldn’t criticize him for that. After all, how could he care about people he didn’t remember he knew?

      “And there’s one more thing,” he said, looking around the room as though he’d lost something. “I was working on some plans. New designs. They weren’t in my luggage when it was recovered. I was hoping to find someone who might know what I did with them.”

      “Plans?” She looked at him expectantly. She hadn’t seen any evidence of him working on any plans until the last day when she’d gone to his hotel room. That was when she’d first seen the large, detailed papers, spread out all over the floor. And that was when she’d seen the logo for her father’s company on one of them and realized Marco was not who he was pretending to be. “What sort of plans?”

      She held her breath, waiting to see if he would tell the truth this time, but he didn’t hesitate.

      “Shipbuilding blueprints. And some experimental designs. Some ideas I was working on.”

      “Designs?” she asked, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

      “I design open class monohulls. Racing yachts.”

      “Ah.” Yes, she knew that now. “Are they important? Something you can’t replicate easily?”

      He gave a short laugh. “Something I probably can’t replicate at all. It’s very important I find out what happened to them.”

      Shayna had a sad epiphany. She’d found the answer to one of her main questions. His plans—that was why he’d come back. It had nothing to do with her. She should be happy about that. He was a liar and a sneak, and she didn’t want any part of him.

      No, Marco hadn’t come back to find her. Maybe he had come back to fill in the blanks in his memory—if there really were any. But that was also beside the point. What he’d really come back for were his plans.

      “Is it very important to find them?” she asked.

      He gave her the most candid look he’d allowed so far. “It’s the only important thing,” he said firmly. “It’s my legacy, my life.”

      At least he was honest about it, but unease churned inside her as she considered the facts. The plans were all that mattered to him. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t exist except as a means of finding his precious plans. She sighed. It was almost a relief to know the truth. This way, there was no question. She had to push him out of her life and she had to do it right away. He’d already done enough damage.