The Giuoco Piano – By Rachael Y

The Giuoco Piano  (a sequel to The Exchange Variation)

everything we love

and everything we know,

all of living is encapsulated

in a single act,

the act of letting go

the only rule about living – nikita gill

Prologue

The night air is warm, a soft breeze carries the scent of frangipani through the terrace doors.  Diaphanous white curtains billow and exquisitely cut pendants move slowly, turning the chandelier in the center of the room into a shimmering mass of crystal beauty.

Crystal glasses on the table reflect the candlelight and the water droplets on the outside of the silver ice bucket trickle languidly downwards, soaking into the white jacquard cloth that covers the table.  Velvety red roses, flown in from the mainland especially, sit in a vase in the center of the table, waiting to be admired.

The soaring soprano of the Puccini aria emanates from an art deco RCA Victor phonograph cabinet in the corner of the room and swells and soars, powering through the rooms of the lower floor of the building and beyond.  

He sits back in the heavily padded armchair, eyes closed, allowing himself to float on the melody, on the voices that fly closer to heaven than he will ever dare.

But what need has he of heaven?  He has everything he wants now.  He holds everything within his hands at long last.  They all dance to his tune, like marionettes in his puppet show.  

The sound of his laughter dances on the current of the breeze and the music, and he thinks that life has never been this good.

The soft, smooth rustle of silk in the doorway draws his attention away from the music and he opens his eyes to find her staring at him.  The expression in her golden eyes is unreadable as she looks at him.

“My dear!” his eyes travel the length of her most appreciatively.  As always, she is a vision.  Tonight, she is in a midnight blue silk gown with straps that meet at the apex of her shoulders.  The neckline plunges to display her delectable cleavage and her throat and decolletage are adorned with a cascade of sapphires and diamonds that glitter obscenely in the candlelight.  Her golden hair is piled on top of her head and more jewels shimmer at her ears.  Her wrists and fingers are bare, except for the enormous diamond that adorns the third finger of her left hand.  

His pride and his happiness swell at the sight of her wearing his ring.  She is to be his, at long last.

“You take my breath away.”  He rises from the chair and holds out his hand to her.  “As always.”  She says nothing, merely inclines her head in acknowledgement of his compliments.  Then she takes the hand he proffers and lets him lead her to the table.  

He pulls out the chair for her and allows her to settle herself before he seats himself opposite her.

Out of nowhere, a waiter appears and with little fuss, uncorks the vintage champagne, pouring two glasses before disappearing almost as quickly as he’d arrived. 

“I have waited a long time for this night,” he tells her as he unfolds his napkin and lays it on his lap.  He closes thick fingers around the stem of the champagne glass and raises it.  “A toast, I think.”

Still, she says nothing, but she lifts her glass and holds it up to his.

“To us, my dear, and to tomorrow..” He clinks crystal against crystal.  “To the day I have waited so long for.  The day when I make you my wife.”  His smile widens as he reaches out to take her hand.  “Tomorrow.  The day that you finally become Marlena Evans DiMera.”

Chapter 1 – The Opening

Six months previously….

Marlena sits alone on the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her and her arms wrapped tightly around her, as though compressing herself into the smallest space possible will somehow change the reality that they are now facing.

Stefano is free.  And he has Carrie.

As much as they have all tried to convince her that it’s not necessarily the case, she knows it’s true.  Stefano had threatened her.  He had taunted her.  Watch your beautiful young family and enjoy them while you can.  Because I will be coming for you when you least expect it.

Her face is pale as she watches Roman pacing helplessly.  Bo is out on the terrace on another endless phone call which will reveal absolutely nothing useful at all.  Hope is in the kitchen making another cup of tea which will inevitably sit on the table and go cold like the three she has made previously.  All they can do now is wait.  Wait until Stefano is ready to let them in on his joke.  Until he tells them what he wants from them.  

From her.

She can’t help but go over that day in her head.  Over and over.  She can’t help but wonder if Stefano had known then.  If his plans were already in hand.  If he had known the shape of his escape and already had the players in place.  Just watching and waiting.  She expects he had.  Stefano is nothing, if not prepared for any eventuality.

Carrie may have been an added bonus, but she doubts it.  She thinks he’s been watching and waiting.  He’s had his spies in the shadows, waiting for that unguarded moment.  When they thought that they were at last safe.  When he would prove to them that they will never be safe, as long as he draws breath.

She’s that lost in her thoughts and that tense that she physically jumps, her heart pounding, as a sharp rapping sounds on the door of the penthouse apartment that no longer feels like her safe space.  

She is on her feet by the time Roman reaches the door and yanks it open.  Outside stands a courier with a motorcycle helmet in one hand and a slimline padded envelope in the other.

“Is there a Dr. Evans here?” he asks blithely.

“I’ll take it.” Roman growls, holding his hand out for the package.

“I was told to deliver it directly to Dr. Evans.”  The young man says, completely unaware that he is transgressing every boundary possible where Roman is concerned.

“WHO gave it to you?” Roman shoves the man up against the wall, his fists buried in the flaps of the leather motorcycle jacket the young man wears.  “Who the fuck was it that told you that?  Was it DiMera?!  TELL ME!”

“The guy who dropped it off at the office!”  The courier is suddenly aware this is probably not a situation he wants to get involved in and he starts to wave the package around wildly.  “He didn’t give a name, just gave me a wad of cash and told me to bring it over and give it to a Dr. Evans and no-one else!”

“Roman!”  By now, Marlena and Bo are both at the door and Bo tries to pull Roman back off the young man.  “Bro, it wouldn’t be Stefano.  He’s long gone by now.  You and I both know it.  It’ll be one of his minions, that’s all.  This kid is just doing his job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything but thumps the courier against the wall again, a low growl sounding in his throat, giving tangible voice to all his frustration and rage.

“Let him go Roman,” Marlena’s voice is low and steady, and it is this that pierces Roman’s rage.  It’s like he deflates as he lets the young man go and he sags against his younger brother.  “I’m Doctor Evans,” Marlena turns her attention on the young man now, letting Bo handle Roman.  In truth, she wants this package just as much as Roman does.  If not more.  Because she knows it’s from him.  They all know it.  This is what she’s been waiting for.  And whatever is inside it, it’s the only clue they have to go on right now and the only clue that Stefano will give them.

The courier seems only too eager to hand over the package and as soon as it’s out of his hands, he jams his helmet back on his head and turns for the elevator.

Marlena carries the package back into the penthouse and closes the door quietly behind her.

Bo has led Roman out onto the terrace and is obviously giving him a dressing down.  Alone in the living room, she rips open the padded envelope.  A photocopy of a magazine article floats to the floor and in her hands, she holds a DVD.  It has no label and no cover.  

With shaking fingers, she inserts it into the DVD player and turns on the TV.

As she expects, as the TV flares into life, she is confronted by the image of Stefano DiMera.

Part of her crumbles inside at the sight of his face and she wants to sink to the ground.  But she will not let herself.  He wants to provoke her, wants to find the holes in her defenses.  This is the beginning of his game and if she’s going to beat him at it, she cannot fold at the first hurdle.  She must stand tall and take everything he hurls at her if she’s going to get Carrie back.

So, she stands tall and inviolable as she watches his gloating face fill the screen.  And she knows she will do anything to get Carrie back.  To save them all from his evil, once and for all.

“My dear Marlena.”  Stefano leans back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers.  He smirks dangerously.  She is the puppet on the end of his string, once again, and he knows it.  “I trust you are well?  I told you, did I not, that I would be seeing you again soon?”  He pauses for effect and gives a rich chuckle.

“Ahhhh, my dear.  I told you, no bars will ever hold me.  My reach is too great.  I have too many friends.  And now….” He smiles cruelly.  “Now, I have young Caroline Brady….”

The camera cuts to a clip of Carrie standing by a window, looking out.  Beyond her, the night is dark and Marlena can’t gain any insight as to where she is.  It could be by the sea, it could be in the mountains.  All Marlena knows is that it’s not Salem.  But what the camera does show is a definite swell of Carrie’s stomach.

Marlena gasps then and staggers slightly.  She is stilled by a hand on her elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Hope murmurs.  “We should have told you.  It got lost in the panic.”  She slips her arm around a silent Marlena, and they stand there watching an ashen Carrie who is more alone and frightened than she has ever been.

“… and her unborn child,” Stefano finishes his sentence with glee as the camera cuts back to him.  “I believe she was going to surprise you with her delightful news when she arrived.”  He laughs darkly.  “So, indeed.  Surprise, Marlena!  You are going to be a grandmother again.”

“Bastard!” Hope spits out as Stefano rocks back in his chair, roaring with laughter now.

Marlena swallows, her throat having to work hard to keep the bile down.  She, of all people, knows what horrors Stefano is capable of.  They cannot leave Carrie and her baby in his clutches.  They have to find them as soon as possible.

On the screen, Stefano’s laughter subsides, and he slowly leans forward in his chair as if he is being conspiratorial with her.  “So, now the question you are asking is, Marlena, what do I want?”  He winks at the camera.  Directly at her.  And he smiles knowingly, and she wants to vomit.  She knows what he wants.  It’s what he’s always wanted.

He wants her.

“Well, let me tell you, my Queen of the night.  We are going to play a game.”  He smiles again, that smug reptilian smile of his and her skin crawls.  She is aware now that Roman and Bo are in the room too, but her attention is only for the screen.  For the web he is weaving to ensnare her.

“You claim to understand Grace.”  One greying eyebrow beetles upwards.  “Well, I am going to take you on a journey through her life.  Through the things that she did for me.  You are going to feel the blood on her hands.”  He smiles but there is no humor in that smile.  It is obscene.  His eyes glitter with malevolence as he considers his plans.  “I have laid out a path for you, and you will follow it.  You may remember the things Grace did, or you may not.  But you will understand.”  He raises his eyebrows and strokes his well-manicured beard.  “You will understand what you did for me.  What you were to me.”  The intensity of both his voice and his gaze causes her to shiver and Hope’s arm tightens around her.  “And, if you play my game as I require you to play it, then at the end, you will find your daughter.  And then we will see what is what, and who is who.”

He twirls his hand at her through the screen.  “I have enclosed your first clue with this film.  When you reach the correct location, I will contact you with further instructions.”  His smile fades as his stare impales her through the barrier of the television screen.  “Do not tarry, Marlena.  I am an old man and I grow impatient quickly.”

With that, the DVD ends.  

Hope looks around and spies the photocopied paper and picks it up.  She scans it, her brow folding into furrows as she tries to pick out the meaning from the black and white text and photos.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, jabbing her finger at the paper.  “It’s you!”

She hands Marlena the sheet of A4 and points at a grainy figure in the photograph.  It’s not the best picture in the world, but it’s her.  Or rather the her that was Grace twelve years ago.

She is standing next to a tall gentleman in a three-piece suit.  He has his arm around her and is gazing at her, she is laughing.  The man is named as Earl Ashton-Clyme.  She is just labelled his ‘guest’.

Well, she can’t imagine, with the things Stefano had her doing all over Europe that she’d be wanting to advertise her presence with a name.

Ashton-Clyme.

“What is it?”  Roman snatches the paper from her fingers but she ignores him, going instead to the French doors so she can look out over the city.

She can remember it.  Fragments of it.  Snatches.

It was October, with a chill in the air.  The throngs of crowd pushing and jostling.  Stepping on the hem of her long, golden gown.  He, Ashton-Clyme, unable to take his eyes off her.  Sitting in a balcony in, his hand under her skirt as she lost herself in surges of song.  Was it Turandot?  Yes, Nessun Dorma as his lips trace the curve of her neck.  Stefano, unseen at the back of the theatre.  Watching them.  Watching her.

Where had they stayed?  Why had they been there?  For the opera, surely.  But had it been just for that?

And why this man?  What had he been to Grace?  He had been her mark, that much she knows, but she cannot remember why or for what.

“Doc?”  Roman is at her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.  “Do you know what this is about?”

She turns to him, taking in his worn face, the lines around his eyes and the iciness she feels around her heart melts a little.

She cups her hand to his cheek and smiles sadly at him.  “I have an idea what it’s about.  But only the shape of an idea.”

“Do you remember something?” Hope asks from across the room. 

“Bits and pieces,” she admits.  “The picture.  It was taken in London at the Royal Opera House.  New Covent Garden.”

“And the guy?”  Bo asks it so Roman won’t have to.

“I don’t remember.  I just remember that we were there to see the opera.  We stayed somewhere nearby.”  She pauses, feeling annoyed with herself.  She can remember the opera that she saw but not where she stayed?  She is sure Stefano will want her to find a specific location and she’s just as positive that it’s not the Opera House itself.  That would be far too obvious.  It needs to be somewhere where he can communicate with her.  He will have to know where she is, so a hotel seems like the most obvious choice.

“We need to figure out who this guy is and what you were doing with him.” Roman says.  “We need more information.”

“No.”  She shakes her head.  “You heard him Roman.  I can’t waste time researching.  Stefano isn’t going to wait around.  And Carrie’s baby isn’t going to wait around either.  We have to find her before her pregnancy progresses too far.”

“Pregnancy?” Roman looks bewildered and Marlena covers her mouth with her hand, realizing what she has just done.  

“Oh Roman, I’m so sorry.”

“Carrie’s pregnant, Roman.”  Hope says softly as she and Bo cross the room to where Marlena and Roman stand by the open door.  “She wanted to surprise you when she came home.  We should have told you when we realized that she was missing but we just… kind of forgot once Bo raised the alarm about her being missing.”

“She’s having a baby?”  Roman’s voice is full of wonder and fear.

“Yes, so now, more than ever, we can’t waste time in finding her.”  Marlena runs her hand down Roman’s arm until she reaches his hand.  She grasps it in hers and squeezes it.  Her voice is warm and full of certainty.  She knows her path.  It’s a path Stefano is laying out for her, to be sure.  But it’s the path she has to tread.  “Stefano wants me in London.  I’ll just have to figure out exactly where when I get there.”

“Uh, no.”  Roman shakes his head in horror.  “No, Doc.  You’re not going anywhere.  You’re staying right here where I can keep you safe.”

“And what about Carrie?”  Marlena asks gently.  “You heard him Roman.  I have to do what he says.  I have to play his game.  It’s the only hope we have of finding Carrie.  You know that.  You know that I’m right.”

“You can’t.” Roman shakes his head adamantly.  “I won’t let you.”

“Sweeheart, it’s not your choice.  You don’t get to make this decision.” She takes his other hand in hers and faces him head on.  “Roman, I’m a grown woman and will do whatever I have to do to find our daughter.  Do you understand?  You can’t tell me what to do.  Not now.  Not when the stakes are this high.”

“Marlena…” his voice breaks and he takes her in his arms, pressing her close to him and she can feel his heat beating, thumping against hers.  “I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

“Roman, you’re not going to lose me.  I promise.”  

It is a lie and they both know it.   

Chapter 2 – Streets of London

London (24 Hours Later)

Marlena looks silently out of the window of the sleek black Daimler as it glides through the tiny, choked streets of the ancient capital city.  There are people everywhere and she’s not sure where to look.  Nothing seems familiar so far, nothing is striking any chords with her.  

She’s not even sure what she is expecting to happen.  Some flash of inspiration, some sudden insight or memory to strike her out of the blue.  She doesn’t know, except that if she is going to remember anything or have any kind of intuitive insight, then it’s going to be here. 

It had taken them little over twelve hours to arrange the trip.  At first, it had seemed hopeless.  Roman no longer had access to John Black’s money and their previous ability to step onto his private jet and fly wherever they wished was no longer an option.  However, Bo had quickly offered up the fact that Victor was willing to help in any way possible and would certainly furnish the use of his jet and any required staff, travel and accommodation needs would be catered for.  Marlena and Roman had both initially been loathe to take him up on the offer but they had quickly recognized that they had no other options open to them.  Being beholden to Victor was a lesser evil then allowing Stefano to keep Carrie within his grasp for any longer than necessary.

And so late the previous evening, they had boarded the airplane with several bags of luggage and a large file of information which had been sourced by people working for Victor as well as the available police research resource which had been given over to their disposal for the day.

Marlena had read the background on Earl Roger Ashton-Clyme and while it felt familiar and none of it was surprising, none of it also left her any the wiser as to why she had been with him that night or what Stefano wanted her to understand about this particular assignation. In brief, Ashton-Clyme was a hereditary peer who had inherited his title and estate in his early twenties. He had a country estate in Derbyshire, and he sat in the House of Lords so he had a house in the city as well.  He was also dead, having died of heart failure at the tender age of sixty-two, in 1994.  Three years after Marlena had returned to Salem with no memory of him.

Marlena had spent several hours on the plane curled up on a couch studying pictures of both properties.  The Derbyshire mansion, in particular, had sent chills whispering through her veins as she studied the symmetrical 18^th century stone façade.  She had been to this house.  Something had happened here.  She had done something, or something had happened to her, she knew that as sure as she knew how to breathe.   

But that didn’t get her any closer to knowing what it was that Stefano wanted from her in regards to this man or the time she spent with him.

The house in London had been in Richmond and Marlena was pretty sure, looking at the photograph that this wasn’t where she was supposed to go.  This wasn’t what Stefano wanted from her.  While it was conceivable that the Earl might have traveled back to Richmond after attending the opera, she was fairly sure he didn’t.  Or at least hadn’t that night.  

Stefano had told her that he would contact her with further instructions.  Once she had reached the location he intends for her to find.  She doubts that is a private house.  No, it’s got to be somewhere he can place surveillance.  Somewhere he knows she will spend enough time that he can deliver her a message without arousing suspicion.  It has to be either a restaurant or hotel.  And it has to be where she attended or stayed with Ashton-Clyme that night in September a little more than twelve years ago.

So, she is looking for a needle in a haystack, and it seems that the best place to start is the one place they know for sure that she had been on that night.  

The Royal Opera House itself.

“You can stop here,” she murmurs as the cross-roads that mark the entrance to New Covent Garden Market glide into sight.  Victor’s driver stops and tells Bo to call him when they know where they are going.  He will find some less busy place to park up and read his newspaper until they are done.

Marlena allows Roman to help her out of the car and to hold her hand protectively as the two couples walk towards the imposing edifice that marks the start of the complex of buildings that make up the Royal Opera House.  But she is hardly aware of him, or of the noise and bustle of the surrounding street.  The honking of cars and taxis, the blur of cycle couriers and the incessant chatter of the tourists the bump and jostle past them all pass her by as she trains her focus on the buildings in front of her.  

Her companions join her in her silence.  Over the past twenty-four hours they have said everything they know to say.  They have had all the disagreements and arguments they are going to have for the time-being.  At least until they know more about what Stefano’s intentions are.  They understand that they are now one hundred percent reliant on this location jogging some long-repressed memory of Marlena’s and none of them are willing to intrude on her thoughts for fear of destroying a thread that she might be following to that currently obscured conclusion.

So Roman holds her hand and watches her as her eyes scour the emerging façade of the Royal Opera house and its sister buildings.  There is the large block-like edifice that houses the Linbury Studio theatre.  This is followed by the large iron and glass structure which was the Floral Hall (once a floral market) but has been extensively refurbished since she was here and is now the Paul Hamlyn Hall.  And then there is the Victorian structure that was constructed in the nineteenth century in all its alabaster-columned ‘roman renaissance’ glory.  It is imposing, soaring over the cramped, narrow street and Marlena has to crane her neck to see the vaulted apex of the roof above her.  

Back down at street level, horns are still blaring as she studies the glittering glass entrance to the theatre.  It’s been extensively refurbished, she knows, since she came here with Roger. (Since when did she start calling him Roger, she wonders.)  But it still looks largely the same as the structure she recalls from that time.

She stands there silently and looks at the building for what seems like an eternity.  Eventually, Roman squeezes her hand and runs his hand down the inside of her arm.  “Doc?” he ventures quietly, his voice slipping into her consciousness under the busy bustle of the noisy street.  She shivers and pulls her hand from his.  Grabbing the lapels of her coat, she brings them together in front of her, as though it is a shield.  It’s still unseasonably warm for the time of the year but there is a definite chill in the air, and it only adds to her feelings of confusion and unease.  All those years ago, it had been a similar time of year, maybe not as late as October but looking at the building in front of her, she can feel still feel the clawing touch of the cold night air against her bare shoulders as he had drawn her wrap around her.

-Are you cold, my darling?  Shall we go back to the hotel?

She shook her head, a pretty, flirtatious smile playing around her lips.  -And leave your friends, Roger?  That would be unspeakably rude.

She can hear her own voice, her words inflected with a strange, European lilt.  She can see his handsome bearded face; his smile as he had run his hand down her back and pulled her close to him.  And then…

Nothing.  She loses the thread, and she clenches her fist and emits a small grunt of frustration.

She says nothing to her companions, but steps forward and dodges a taxi and a cyclist as she ventures across the road towards the entrance to the historic theatre.  The others follow her, a deep frown on Roman’s face.  He hates this, not knowing what is going on in her head.  Not having a clue what is going to happen next.  Not having an ounce of control.  Carrie is his daughter, his responsibility, yet here he is, having to rely on Marlena to provide the clues to her whereabouts.  Having to potentially put Marlena in danger once again.  He doesn’t like this at all, and he has done everything he can think of to dissuade Marlena from this course of action.  But Marlena’s mind is set, and he knows it is useless to try and change it.  All he can do is what he is doing and that is to follow her and make sure he keeps her safe.  If it kills him, if he dies trying, he will keep her safe.  He will not let DiMera hurt her again.

Marlena stops, facing the door in front of her, the second from the left of the main building.

– That was just beautiful.  Thank you for bringing me.   

– Not as beautiful as you.  

He bent his head and kissed her; his lips cool against hers.  While he kissed her, she looked over his shoulder and found Stefano, standing in the doorway.  He was watching her, his eyes narrow, a scowl on his darkened face.

She wrapped her arms around Roger’s shoulders and deepened the kiss. Ashton-Clyme groaned against her mouth as she pressed her body close to his.  She could feel him responding to her and she could feel Stefano’s glower deepening.  Then she broke the kiss and twisted around so that she was facing Stefano with Ashton-Clyme behind her, his arms around her shoulders.  Stefano turned away in disgust and she laughed, the sound like a peel of bells.

She turns her head upwards to meet Ashton-Clyme’s eyes and a teasing smile follows her laughter. 

– How about that drink you promised me?

“Doc?!” Roman grabs her hand.  “Doc, what’s going on?  Do you remember something”

“Roman!”  She rounds on him, exasperated.  “Please.  If you want us to find Carrie, just let me do what I have to do.  Please, don’t interrupt me.”

“Doc, I’m sorry.  I’m just worried.  I don’t know what to do!”  Roman’s hand balls into a fist and he waves it helplessly in the air.  “Marlena…”  He doesn’t finish his sentence. What he wants to tell her is that he wants to help her, but he doesn’t know how.  That he’s worried about her.  About what this is going to do to her.  Stefano is quite deliberately immersing her in Grace’s world and he’s doing that for a reason.  Whether it’s just to keep Marlena off-balance or whether he believes this will bring Grace back, Roman is not sure.  

If he’s honest, he’s not sure what it will do to her either.  She’s only just started to come to terms with who Grace was and the things that she did.  Deliberately evoking Grace’s memories could well explode all the work that Marlena has done with Laura’s help over the past couple of months.

What he really wants to say to her is, Marlena, I’m scared.   Marlena, I’m terrified I’m going to lose you again and I am holding on as tight as I can because I can already feel you slipping though my fingers. 

But he doesn’t say that.  Instead, he opens his mouth and closes it again and drops his hand uselessly at his side.  Hope silently touches his arm and gives him a sympathetic look.  She understands.  She knows the fears that gnaw at him.  She knows what Stefano is capable of and she knows he is right to be scared.

Marlena takes two steps closer to the Opera House and closes her eyes.  At that moment, a tourist with his eyes on the building walks directly into her and Bo, who is the closest, catches her as she stumbles.  She ignores the muttered apology and instead catches Bo’s arm.  

“Put your arms around me,” she orders him.

“What?” He looks confused.

“Please.”  She gives him an imploring look.  “I’m remembering things and I think it might help.”

“Shouldn’t Roman-“

“No, too familiar,” she says sharply.  “That will get in the way.  I’ll remember other things.  Just do it, Bo.  Please.”

Bo looks across at Hope who nods almost imperceptibly.  Her hand tightens on Roman’s upper arm as he watches his brother embrace his wife.  “It’s going to be okay Roman,” she murmurs, and he nods although neither of them really believe it.

Marlena closes her eyes as she feels Bo’s muscular arms around her shoulders.  She adjusts them so that one hand is beneath her coat, his fingers cool against the warm skin at the base of her throat.  She closes her eyes again and she can smell Roger’s musky scent and she can see Stefano’s dark eyes glittering as he turns away.

His black jacket is striking against the mossy gold silk of her dress, and she can feel the weight of the diamonds at her throat and in her ears.  She sparkles like starlight, and she doesn’t want the night to end.  She wants Stefano to watch her.  She wants the world to watch her to see who she is and what she is capable of.

– How about that drink you promised me?   I thought you wanted to show me off?

– Mmmm, I did, but you look so delicious tonight, now I think I want you all to myself.

Her laughter was throaty.

– Oh my darling, there’s plenty of time for that.

She turned again, smiling up at him from under long curled lashes as she adjusted his bow tie with a sly smile.  

– I’m hungry.  Take me for some supper and some fizz and I promise you, it’ll be worth your while.

He sighed and dropped a kiss on her lips.

– Your wish is my command, my queen. Supper and champagne it is.

Marlena’s eyes snap open and she wriggles out of Bo’s embrace.

“This way,” is all she says as she ducks beneath Bo’s outstretched arm and sets off at a pace towards the alleyway that leads to Covent Garden Market.  Roman lets out an expletive and follows her, Bo and Hope hot on his heels.

They follow her across the cobbled courtyard in front of Covent Garden Market where she veers left and heads down the side of the market.  At the bottom, instead of turning right towards the crowds watching the street entertainers in front of St Peter’s Church, she turns left again and heads along another crowded street.  

Roman catches up with her but despite sorely wanting to touch her, to still her and urge caution, he stays one step behind her and follows her as this time, she turns right.  

She finally comes to stop in front of a restaurant which bears the legend Rules.  Being only mid-morning, it is closed, and she emits a frustrated sigh.

“Here,” she says by way of explanation.  “We came here, after the opera.”

“We?” Bo asks, catching his breath.

“Roger and I, and some of his friends.  I don’t remember their names, but I don’t think they’re important.  At least, I don’t think they are part of the story Stefano is trying to tell me.”

“Story?” Roman asks, although he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“You know he wants me to know what I did as Grace.  He wants me to remember.  He’s brought me here because he knows the sights and sounds and scents, he thinks they will trigger memories.  And he’s right.  Standing outside the Opera House, I remember fragments from that night.  If I had gone inside, I would remember more.”  Roman looks both worried and doubtful.  “Maybe I’ll still have to.  Maybe I won’t.”  She shrugs.  “The thing is, he doesn’t just want to lay out in front of me what Grace did.  He wants me to experience it.  He wants me to live the nuances, if that’s by being in the places that she was or if it’s by remembering what she did, that’s what he wants.”

“How do you know this?” Bo asks uncertainly.  It certainly sounds like a plan Stefano might have but Marlena sounds so convinced and he’s not sure how she can be with such little information to go on.

“Because I know Stefano.  Because Grace knew him, better than anyone.”  She leans back against the window of the restaurant, the red awning shading her from the watery late morning sun.  She suddenly feels very tired.  “I just know.”  She knows that and so much more.  She knows this is how it begins and she’s pretty sure she knows how it ends too.

She turns and looks through the window at the darkened restaurant beyond.  Flattening her palm against the glass, she tries to make out the shapes but it’s no good.  She needs to be inside for this to work.  Out here she’s just standing on a central London street in the middle of the day and she has nothing more.  

She leans her head against the glass and sobs quietly, overcome with the tiredness and frustration she feels.

“Heeey, Doc,” Roman pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her.  Despite herself, she sinks into his embrace, suddenly grateful for his solid presence and his gentleness with her.  She knows how exceedingly difficult he must be finding this.  He is nothing, if not a man of action and to be reduced to following her around, knowing all the while that he is allowing her to walk straight into Stefano’s trap….  Well, she doesn’t know how he is bearing it if she is honest with herself.

“Listen,” he tilts her head up and wipes the tears from her cheeks with his crooked finger.  “Don’t worry, okay?  If you are right, and God help us, I’m pretty sure you are….  You think Stefano is going to stand by and watch you fall at the first hurdle?  If he wants you to follow his trail of breadcrumbs, he’s going to make sure he puts them where you can find them.  And if you don’t find them straight away, he’ll make sure he leaves signs pointing you to the next one.  This isn’t going to be all up to you.  I guarantee it.”

“Roman’s right,” Hope rubs Marlena’s back.  “You’re putting too much pressure and too much responsibility on yourself.  Stefano got you here for a reason.  He’s going to make sure you know what that reason is.  You don’t have to look so hard for it.  It’s going to find you, if you don’t find it.”

Marlena nods slowly.  “I just want all this to be over,” she says, her voice choked.  “I keep thinking the sooner I figure out what he wants, the sooner we’ll get to the endgame.  The sooner we’ll find Carrie.”

“I think we’ll get there when Stefano wants us to get there,” Hope says gently.  “I really hate to say it, but he holds all the cards right now.  All we can do is follow the clues.”

“When we get them,” Roman adds.

“But what do we do now?” Marlena asks.  “I’ve hit a dead end.  At least until this place opens.”  She peers at the door.  “Midday.  It opens at midday.”  She looks at her watch.  “Another hour.”

“I saw a coffee bar back around the corner,” Hope says.  “I think we could all use a break.”

Marlena nods wearily and with Roman’s arm still around her shoulder, they make their way back around the corner.

Chapter 3 – The Thin End of the Wedge

Marlena drains her coffee and looks blankly out into the street.  On the footpath, an old man in a dirty overcoat brushes roughly past a mother wearing her baby in a sling and she turns to shout at him as he staggers away.  

She shakes her head which feels as chaotic as the street in front of her.  Maybe peace would be better.  Maybe peace would make the space for the memories to find her.  But are they memories she really wants?

“He was there,” she says quietly. 

“Who was where?” Bo asks, confused.

“Stefano.  The night I was at the opera with the Earl.  He was there.”  She recalls those dark, glittering eyes beneath angry brows.  “He watched us from the circle.  We were in a box, and he sat there and watched us, all night.  I saw him standing in the doorway of the opera house when we were standing in the street, trying to decide what to do next.”

“Do you think he’s watching us now?” Hope looks around and out to the street, scanning for anything unusual.

“Maybe.” Marlena shrugs and then frowns.  “Unlikely.  It’s more likely that he has someone, or more than one person watching us.  Keeping tabs.  He’ll be keeping a low profile right now.  Too many people looking for him.  Stefano doesn’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Brady, get us another round of coffee,” Hope asks, arching her back in a weary stretch.  No free refills in London.  Like everything else in this place, coffee is at a premium.  Bo does as she asks and they are soon replenished with more caffeine to keep them awake, a task that is getting harder and harder.

“We need to find a place to stay,” Hope says, taking a sip of the hot coffee.  “I know you were hoping you would remember where you stayed with Ashton-Clyme but if you can’t, we need to find somewhere nearby.”

“I know,” Marlena sighs.  “I’m sorry.  This is so frustrating.  I know it’s all there, it’s just out of reach and I can’t unlock it, however much I search.”

“It’s okay Doc,” Roman tells her gently.  “I gotta be honest with you, I’m not entirely sure I want you to unlock it.”

“I know, Roman.”  Marlena turns to him, her expression softening now.  “I do know how hard this is for you.  I know what a risk you’re taking by standing by and letting me do this.  But you do know it’s the only way we’re going to find Carrie, don’t you?  And it’s the only reason I’m doing it.  .”  She covers his cool, dry hand with hers.  “I wouldn’t put our future at risk on a whim.  It’s you and the children.  You are the only reason I would ever risk engaging with Stefano.”

“I know that baby, but you just said it and it makes my blood run cold.  .”  He winces and rubs his hand wearily across his forehead.  “We’re up against Stefano and he’s holding all the cards.  He’s controlling the game and I’m so worried that the future we’ve fought so hard for…”

“We won’t let him, okay?”  She takesentwines her fingers between his hands in hers.and squeezes his hand.  “Roman, he’s tried how many times to destroy us, and he’s never managed before, so.  So, what makes this time any difference.  different?”  She attempts to smile but she knows it is watery and less than convincing.  “Let’s just do this and find Carrie and take her home, okay?”  Roman looks doubtful.  “Trust me Roman.  I know Stefano and I know how to play him at his own games, and we will beat him this time too.  I promise.”  Her heart pounds as she says it because this time, she’s not at all sure that it’s a promise she can keep.

“Listen bro, we’re not going to let anything happen to Marlena or Carrie. Or you for that matter.”  Bo chimes up, clapping his hand on Roman’s shoulder.  “That’s why we’re here with you.  We’ve got your back, okay?”

Marlena misses Roman’s reply because she is suddenly metaphorically knocked sideways by a scent that comes out of nowhere.  A spicy, woody scent.  A scent that is unutterably Roger.

And she can feel his hand on her thigh, beneath her skirt as they watch the opera.  The roughness of his beard against her skin as he kisses her.  His coat around her shoulders as they walk to the restaurant, cool satin and scratchy wool impregnated with that scent he wears….

She looks up and sees the man, the wearer of the scent nipping lightly down the steps from the cafe to the street.  He has greying hair and a brown suede blazer with patched elbows and for a moment, she thinks it is Roger, even though she knows logically it can’t be him.  He’s seven years in his grave.  But this man looks like him and smells like him and what are the chances of that?  Behind her, the barista hastens to the door, calling pointlessly that the customer hadhas left his scarf behind.  

She is out of her chair before she even knows what she is doing and she.  She snatches the scarf from the hand of the young man who, with whom, even now, she is practically colliding with in her haste to get out of the door and pursue the man, who is already moving down the street and out of view.

“I’ll try and catch up with him,” she says by way of explanation as she yanks the door open, allowing a cool blast of autumnal air to enter the shop.  She ignores the sudden cacophony of expletives and questions from her family and with her hand on the cold metal handrail, she bounds down the stairs and follows the back of the disappearing man who is rounding the corner into the street where Rules is getting ready to open.

But when she followspursues him around the corner, she can’t find any trace of him.  It is almost lunchtime, and the tourists are out in force but try as she might, she can’t spy that brown jacket or gray hair anywhere.

Her shoulders slump as she lifts the scarf to her nose and deeply inhales.  As before, the presence of the familiar scent is more than enough to trigger a deluge of images and fragmentary bites of memories.  His laugh.  The glimmer of his deep brown eyes as he surveyed her.  The feeling of his hands against his skin as he fastened glittering droplets of gemstones around her neck.  The warmth of him next to her in the back seat of the limousine.  The scratchiness of his beard against her face and neck.  The weight of him as he moved on top of her…  the sound of him….

She shakes her head.  She doesn’t want these memories.  He had been kind to her, and she thinks he had even loved her and.  But she had just been using and manipulating him.  It was Grace that did that, she reminds herself.  But somehow, it doesn’t help.

“Marlena?” Roman’s voice is cautious behind her, and she steels herself to turn and look at him.  She doesn’t want him to see the inner turmoil that she is feeling.  It would only hurt him more and she doesn’t want to hurt him any more than is necessary.  Only to protect him, she reminds herself.  “What….” the hell was that about…?”

“I thought,” she shrugs, her brow furrowing.  “That man, he was wearing the scent that Ashton-Clyme used to wear.  I thought for a split second it was him.”

“Doc, he’s been dead for years.” Roman tells her gently.

“I know,” she sighs.  “I wasn’t thinking.  The smell as he passed me just triggered some memories and I didn’t even think.  I just wanted to follow him.  I wanted to see if anything more came to me.”

“Seems like a bit too much of a co-incidence to me,” Hope says, a frown on her face.  “This man who has the build and appearance of Ashton-Clyme just happens to be wearing the fragrance that he used to wear.  One that’s not particularly common either I would hazard a guess.  And he just happens to have been in the same coffee shop where we are sitting.”

“We knew he’d be having us watched,” Marlena is pale now.  The proof that Stefano’s has eyes on her every move is more unnerving than she might have expected.

 The three of them scan the street again, looking both for the mystery man or for some indication that someone is watching them.  Then Roman wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders and they walk dejectedly back to the coffee-house where Bo is waiting with their belongings.

“The old man knows exactly where we are and what we’re doing,” Roman says in exasperation as he sits heavily in his chair.  “He’s got us like puppets on a damn string.”

“Even the leaving of the scarf behind… that was probably done on purpose,” Hope nods at the muted but multi-colored striped felt scarf in Marlena’s hands.

Marlena says nothing but brings the scarf to her face again and buries her nose in it.  She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.  If Stefano is going to plant such obvious clues and triggers, she would be a fool not to take advantage of them.

It takes a moment before his face swims into view and this time it is more than just the flashes of images and sensations.  This time it is…

They stood on the street, waiting for the car.  This time, she simply had the gauzy golden wrap around her shoulders, but there he was, folding his arms around her in an effort to keep her warm.

• You were magnificent tonight, – he murmured in her ear.
• I don’t think your friends would agree with you, – she laughed.  – I get the impression they think I’m a trashy American.  And probably a gold-digger to boot. –
• They don’t know you like I do, – his lips brushed her ear and her jaw.  – And the women are just jealous of you because they know their husbands are jealous of me. After all, I’m the one that gets to take you home. –

The car pulled up at the curb and Roger unwound himself from her.  The top-hatted doorman from the restaurant stepped forward and opened the door of the car.  Grace allowed herself to be helped into the car by Roger and waited until he was settled beside her before leaning across for a lingering kiss.

• That you do, my darling, – she whispered, her fingers flittering up the inside of his thigh.

• Back to the Savoy, Albert, – Roger said, his voice hoarse.

Marlena gasps as her eyes fly open.  “The Savoy,” she blurts out, unable to help the smile that lights up her face.  “It was the Savoy!”

~

She enters the lobby of the Savoy Hotel through wood and glass revolving doors and stops short.  It as though time has stopped.  She had not known she would remember this room, but it is as though she walked through those doors yesterday and absolutely nothing has changed.  The rugs covering the black and white checked floor are the same rich brown.  The central columns supporting the brown and cream ceiling are just as she remembers.  The burnished wood of the concierge desk gleams softly in the warm lamplight.  Everything is just the same as her memory has recorded it.

“Ahhh, Doctor Evans,” a rich baritone voice shakes her from her contemplation, and she starts at the sound of her own name.  “Welcome to the Savoy.”  The man, who appears to be the duty manager holds out his hand in greeting.  Confused, she reaches out her own and shakes his.  “I’m Leonard Cruskey.  We weren’t sure whether you’d be arriving today or tomorrow, but your suite is almost ready for you now.”

“I’m sorry?” her brow creases as she tries to understand what it is he is saying.

“Your suite.”  He indicates that they should move over to the concierge desk.  He continues as they walk to the gleaming chestnut desks.  “I need to check with housekeeping, but I think it should be ready for you.  If not now, then certainly within the next half an hour.”

“My suite?”  She shakes her head.  “I’m sorry, I think you must have the wrong person.  We’ve only just arrived in London.  I haven’t booked any suite.”  She feels Roman move closer behind her and Bo and Hope linger a little behind him.

“No, no mistake.  Your assistant booked the Churchill suite for you.  She sent your photo over, so we would know you when you arrived.”  Cruskey pats a manila folder on the desk with a smile.  “As I said, she couldn’t be sure whether you would arrive today or tomorrow.  Please, if you just give me a moment, I will check to see if the suite is ready.”

“My assistant?” Marlena repeats, her stomach suddenly churning.  She doesn’t have an assistant anymore, Grace had seen to that when she had destroyed Marlena’s career, she had also fired Marlena’s assistant, Cynthia.  And hardly anyone in Salem knows where they have gone, let alone where they might want to be staying.

“Good, yes.”  Cruskey puts down the phone and then adjusts his dark blue suit jacket as he nods at the porter who has their luggage on a cart.  “Yes, the suite is ready.  Do you know how to get there?”

“Yes.” Marlena doesn’t like that she knows, that means that she has stayed in that suite before.  With Roger.  “Um, if you don’t mind me asking.  When did my… assistant book the room?”

“Ah…” Leonard Cruskey flicks through his file.  “Beginning of October, it looks like.”

Marlena is appalled.  Today is the twelfth of October.  If she had any questions as to whether Stefano had known well in advance of his plans to escape prison and snatch Carrie, this answers all of them.  He has been planning this for weeks.  Probably since the moment he was arrested.  He is playing her with all the consummate skill he possesses.

“Can I ask if… did she pay for the room in advance?” Marlena asks.  “It’s just that… well”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Remiss of me.”  Cruskey flips open the folder again and hands her an envelope.  “She had your credit card couriered over last week.  Said you would probably need it.  Also,” he hands her another envelope.  “Also, your tickets to the opening night at the Opera House.”

“I’m sorry?”  She shakes her head again.  

“Tristan und Isolde.” He says as if it explains everything.  “It opens tomorrow night.  Your assistant couriered those along with your card.  And you have a reservation at Rules for after the show.”

“Right.” Marlena blinks.  She can feel Roman at her back, so close he is practically touching her.  His protectiveness is rolling off him in waves, but she can’t really blame him.  None of them were expecting this level of Machiavellian intrigue from Stefano.  He really has gone to extraordinary lengths in planning this ‘game’ of his.

“Ah…” Cruskey seems to notice Bo and Hope for the first time.  “Do your friends have a reservation?  Your assistant booked the suite for you and your husband, but she didn’t say anything about any further guests.”

“Ah, no.  We decided to tag along at the last minute,” Hope manages what she hopes is a convincing smile.  “I mean, who can resist London in the fall, right?”

“Do you have any available rooms?” Marlena asks.  “You can put it on my card.”

“Nah,” Bo shakes his head.  “It’s okay.  Vic can pay for ours.”  He holds up his wallet. “I got cards too.”

Marlena nods and she thinks quietly that he is right.  The card in her hands is courtesy of Stefano.  It is either blood money, or John Black’s stolen money that is paying for the privilege of staying in this fine establishment and there is no reason to use any more of it than they have to.

Roman takes the envelope from her and slides out the opera tickets.  Two box seat tickets to the opening night of Tristan und Isolde.  Two nights from now.

“How far in advance do you have to book these tickets?” he asks the concierge casually.

“Opening night?” Cruskey shrugs as he taps at his computer.  “Oh, months I think.”

Roman taps the tickets against his fingers and exhales heavily.  Marlena takes them back from him and leans in against him, her head against his chest.  He wraps his arms around her, and they just stand there for long minutes.  She can hear the thud of his heart inside his chest.  He buries his nose in her hair and just breathes in the scent of her.  Neither of them has to say anything.  

When Bo and Hope are finished with their room booking, Cruskey tells them that he will have their bags redirected from the suite to their room.  And then the four of them head for the elevators.

~

Marlena stands by the window and stares out over the slow-flowing Thames.  Above the city, the sky is blue with fluffy clouds skittering past, driven by a cool autumnal breeze.  Upstream, the Hungerford tail bridge squats heavily over the river, its Victorian steel latticework flanked by narrow footbridges which will soon be replaced by new elegant footbridges with fans of steel suspending them seemingly in mid-air.

Beyond the bridge, the newly installed London Eye turns slowly, surveying the ancient city in its somnolent transit.  She watches as the capsules on the outer rim catch and reflect the afternoon sun as they move on their torpid way, and she wonders what this beautiful and complex city looks like from such a height.

The city has changed since she was last here.  The skyline has altered and there are dozens of buildings along the river that she doesn’t recognize.  But then again, there are hundreds that she does.  The Royal Festival Hall, County Hall which houses the Aquarium.  Westminster Bridge and Palace.  The clock tower which houses Big Ben.  And in the other direction, downstream, the Oxo Tower and the Tate Modern.

London is the same place it was and yet it is not.  Just as she is not the same person she was.  Not as Grace, or as the Marlena she was before Grace filled her skin and made her a stranger to herself.

She leans her forehead against the cool glass, sighing at the relief it brings to her tense, aching head.

“You okay Doc?” Roman comes up behind her.  

She says nothing in reply.

How can she tell him that the moment she walked into this suite she had been assaulted by the memories of another man?  Of his touch, his laughter and his kisses.  Of the warmth of his limbs.  Of the way he groaned against her ear when she touched him in the ways she had learnt that he most liked to be touched.  Memories which have been unbound from the alcoves where her mind had hidden them away and which have an intensity that makes them feel like they could have happened yesterday.  

She feels as though she’s betraying Roman, both by having the memories and by keeping them from him.  But how can she tell him?  Their recovery as a couple from both Grace and the mercenary is fragile.  They are both still finding their feet, as individuals, and as halves of a totality that has approached Hell and stood teetering at the edge.

So, how can she threaten this eggshell-thin reclamation of their life together by exploding it with the memories of her life as Grace?   But how can she not?  How are they ever going to rebuild their trust in each other if she starts this journey with lies? 

“Doc?” Roman repeats and tentatively touches her shoulder.

“Just hold me,” she whispers in a voice that is strained and just a little bit desperate.  Roman folds his arms around her shoulders and she turns and leans into his chest, taking a deep breath, filling her senses with him so that there is no room left for Roger Ashton-Clyme, Stefano DiMera or anyone else.

“I just don’t get how he knew.  How did he know to get those tickets for opening night?  How did he know Carrie would be on that plane?”  Bo sits forward on the dainty sofa, his elbows on his knees.  He rubs his hand across his forehead wearily.

“He had it all planned, Brady.” Hope is watching Roman and Marlena with concern.  “He may have standing access to tickets, we don’t know.  But he had something planned and Carrie’s trip probably just happened to dovetail with that plan.  Maybe if she hadn’t been booked onto that plane, he would have taken her on her way to work.  We don’t know.  What we do know is that he’s been planning this for weeks.  Probably since the moment he landed in that jail cell down in Louisiana.”  She sighs and leans against the cushions that are stacked up against the back of the couch.  

“All so he can play his sick mind-games.”  Bo picks up the beer on the table and takes a large mouthful.  There is nothing they can do right now except for ruminate and discuss what Stefano’s next move might be.  “What does he hope to gain from all this?”

“He wants to mess with Marlena’s head,” Roman says, painedly.  “He’s trying to keep her off-balance, remind her what she did as Grace.  Those things that she was talking about at Mom and Pop’s the other week.  He wants her to remember them in excruciating detail.  He’s trying to break her.  Trying to break us.  If he can’t have her, he sure as hell doesn’t want me to have her.  Not whole and healthy.”

Marlena can’t help the sob that erupts from her as she buries her face in Roman’s shirt.  She wishes Laura were here.  She wishes that she and Roman were anywhere but here.  She wishes she’d never heard the name Stefano DiMera.  She wishes a million things, but she can have none of them.  Not while Stefano is holding their daughter hostage.

“Brady, why don’t you take your brother for a drink downstairs?” Hope says quietly.  Marlena’s distress is palpable and she’s not sure Roman is helping.  She knows he wants desperately to help his wife but right now his presence seems to be hindering rather than helping Marlena’s emotional turmoil.

Roman looks like he’s about to argue and she gives him the sternest look she can and then gives him a curt shake of her head.  He pauses for a long moment and then looking down at the woman in his arms, his shoulders slump and he nods.  If she can’t talk to him then maybe she can talk to Hope who has also had DiMera and his manipulations coiling like a snake inside her head.

“Okay,” he says in a choked voice and kisses Marlena’s forehead.  “If you need me, Doc….”

She looks up at him, wiping tears from desolate eyes.  “I’ll be fine,” she whispers.  “I just need some time.  Go with Bo.  You need to talk too.”

He nods mutely and follows Bo as he stands and makes for the door.  He glances at Hope on the way past, silently imploring her to help Marlena.  Hope nods and when the door closes behind the Brady brothers, she sighs.   

Marlena has turned back to the view of the city and Hope stands and makes her way across to where Marlena leans against the low windowsill.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks quietly.

“Want to?” Marlena says indifferently.  “I wouldn’t say I want to.”

“Okay then, do you think you should talk about it?” Hope puts her hand on Marlena’s upper arm.  “Look, I know this has to be incredibly hard on you…”

“Hard?” Marlena gives a short, rigid laugh.  “Hope, this is torture.  He has Carrie and I have to just play along with whatever he has in store for me.”  She turns to her sister-in-law, tears in her eyes.  “This is the suite I stayed in with Roger.  I knew as soon as I walked into the room.  All those memories I’ve been struggling so hard to catch snatches of… they came back full force when I walked in that door.”  She nods at the door Roman has so recently exited.  “We stayed here, more than once.  I was Grace and I made love to that man in this room and Hope,” she wipes tears from her cheeks, “he was lovely.  He was a kind, gentle, romantic man.  And Grace just used him.”

“What did Stefano want from him?” Hope asks softly.

“Oh, there was information on some business and political deals that he was peripherally involved in.”  Marlena turns back to the window.  “But there was also some jewelry that Stefano wanted to get his hands on.  In particular, a sapphire necklace that had been in his family for generations.  Stefano was obsessed with it.  I never understood why, it wasn’t like Stefano to covet inanimate objects.”

“Mmmmm, I don’t know that it was pure covetousness.” Hope shook her head.  “I think it’s part of his obsession with power and control.  He wants to know that he can do or have whatever he wants, no matter what or who is in his way.  He wants absolute dominion, and he’ll choose to take or obtain items that prove that he is able to manipulate or hoodwink even the most steadfast or powerful of people.  Even if it’s only proving it to himself.”

Marlena nods slowly.  “That’s an astute assessment of him,” she concedes.  “This time, he didn’t get his way though.”  She turns back to Hope.  “It was in trying to steal the necklace that Grace became undone.  He kept it locked in a safe at his estate in Derbyshire and that’s the last thing I remember as Grace before I woke up in that hospital room in San Christobal.  I was in Derbyshire, and I was there for the necklace.”

“So, what do you think Stefano’s purpose in bringing you here is?” Hope asks, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Marlena shakes her head.  “It could be anything, or everything.  To remind me that he has and has always had the upper hand.  That he can control anything he chooses.  I think Roman was as close to the truth as any of us could be though.  He’s got me off-balance and he’s keeping me there.  He wants me to know he’s in control and he wants me to remember my life as Grace.  What I did, how I felt.  How he controlled me even then.”  She shrugs, her eyes filling with tears again.  “Everywhere I look in this room I am reminded of who I was and the things I did.  And here, they weren’t bad things.  As much as she was able, Grace cared for that man.  So, I have these memories and emotions and I have nowhere to put them.  And then I look around and Roman is looking at me and he is so worried, I know he is and how can I tell him that I have just been recalling making love to another man in that bed over there and how good it felt?”

“Oh Marlena,” Hope sighs and takes her friend’s hand in hers.  “First of all, you need to stop punishing yourself for the things you did as Grace.  Whether it was hurting people or loving them or just feeling good…. You worked through this with Laura, and you were coming to a place where you could accept that Grace was how you survived something absolutely traumatizing.  Something that broke you and probably would have destroyed a lesser person.  You need to stop with the guilt.  If you carry on, you’re just giving Stefano what he wants.  Don’t let him break you again.  Don’t give him that power over you.”

Marlena sighs heavily.  

“Listen, come and sit down,” Hope pulls her in the direction of the sofa and Marlena sits down taking a cushion in her lap and hugging it protectively.  Hope sits in an armchair opposite her, leaning forward.  “Roman is worried about you and so am I.  I’m not sure you’ve thought this through.  I know you feel like you have to walk this path to save Carrie, but have you really stopped and thought where it might lead?”

“What do you mean?” Marlena hugs the cushion a bit tighter and picks at the fringing on the edge.

“I mean, the guilt that you’re feeling now about the things that you did as Grace.  Have you considered that Stefano might ask you to do those things now?  As Marlena?  Finish the work you started as Grace?”  Hope can see Marlena physically flinch as she considers her suggestion.  “And have you thought about what you’d do if that moment comes?  If he asks you to steal something?  Or…. kill someone?  Have you considered just how far you will go to save Carrie?  What price you’d be willing to pay?”

Marlena looks down, unable to meet Hope’s eyes.  She swallows heavily.  She has considered it.  She knows Stefano better than anyone and she knows how ruthless he is in pursuit of what he wants.  And what he wants, is her.  And he will use whatever means at his disposal to control her, break her, entrap her, own her.  Roman is correct, he will not hesitate to destroy her in his pursuit of her, if that is what it takes to possess her.

“I’ve thought about it,” she admits, finally.  Then she looks up at Hope.  “And I’ll do whatever it takes to save Carrie.”  Her voice lowers and takes on an intensity that almost frightens Hope.  “Whatever it takes.”

“Roman won’t let you, you know that don’t you?” Hope asks.  “If it comes to that, he will do everything in his power to stop you putting yourself in danger or doing something… illegal.”

“I know.”  Marlena sighs.  “His protectiveness is…. I understand it, but it’s …. problematic.”

“Is that why you’re shutting him out?” Hope asks gently.  “I mean, I know you don’t want to hurt him by telling him about your lover… but I think it’s more than that.  You’ve been distant with him since we realized Stefano has Carrie.   Do you think by closing yourself off from him, you’re somehow protecting him?”

“Oh, I don’t know what I think!” Marlena says exasperatedly.  “I know whatever happens, he’s going to hate it and he’s going to try and stop me and whatever Stefano does to me or gets me to remember, or makes me do, it’s going to come between us.  How can it not?  That’s exactly what Stefano wants so he’s going to make it as difficult as he can for us to agree on anything.  He’s going to push every button we have until we don’t know which way is up.  It’s what he does.  And Roman fighting me every step of the way to stop the things that I need to do to find Carrie is only going to slow me down and it’s only going to hurt him.”   She thumps the cushion in her lap and lets out a grunt of frustration.  “In many ways it would be easier to do this on my own.”

“I understand why you might feel like that,” Hope nods her head.  “But you do know that’s not going to happen, right?  The plan here is to get Carrie back, not to lose you to Stefano as well.”  She leans back in the armchair.  “Stefano, whatever he wants to think, is not all-powerful.  The outcome of this is not set in stone.  And Bo and I will be here along with Roman to help you and look out for you and yes, challenge you if we think you’re going to step over a line that shouldn’t be stepped over.”  She sighs, feeling as exhausted as Marlena looks.  “We will find Carrie, Marlena.  You don’t have to bow to Stefano’s every demand.  He’s not going to hurt Carrie while he still thinks she’s a hold he has over you.  So, as long as you are broadly playing his game, he will accept some dissent.  Some refusals to do what he demands of you.  Please remember that.” 

Marlena chews on her lower lip as she considers Hope’s words.  Her point is valid.  If Stefano wants Marlena, he’s not going to sacrifice the pawn he has in Carrie quickly or easily.  But if Hope thinks he won’t sacrifice her at all, then she doesn’t know Stefano.  He can just as easily replace one pawn with another if the spirit takes him.  Or just take another to ensure her co-operation.
“You need to talk to Roman,” Hope continues.  “By shutting him out, you are just giving Stefano the wedge to slide between you.  The only way you’re going to get through this is to talk about it.  Talk about your fears and what you’re going to do if they come to fruition.  Roman needs to be part of whatever plans you make.  You need to find a way to come to some kind of compromise or Stefano is going to get exactly what he wants, the two of you at loggerheads and you, vulnerable and alone.”

Chapter 4 – Fundamental Movement 

It is four-thirty in the morning when Marlena awakes.  She lays there on her back, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling as she listens to Roman breathing beside her.  After she and Hope had finished their conversation, they had sought out Roman and Bo in the American Bar and had joined them for a drink.  She had badly wanted to order a martini, but she had been all too aware of how much that would alarm Roman.  In truth, it is causing her no small amount of anxiety as she considers how much of Grace is surfacing in her behavior of late.

So, she had ordered wine and then they had retired to the Savoy Grill for dinner.  Soon after they had eaten, exhaustion had finally caught up with her and she had collapsed into bed.  And now she is wide awake with a mixture of jetlag and anxiety.  She knows Hope is right, she has to talk to Roman.  What she is less sure of, is whether they can find some kind of compromise that will suit them both.  The idea that she is willing to go to any lengths to ensure Stefano finally releases Carrie into Roman’s care will not sit well with him.  And if, as she suspects that Stefano’s eventual endgame is allow Carrie her freedom in exchange for Marlena’s own, then there is no question that Roman will accept that.  

She knows that were the situations reversed, she wouldn’t assent to Roman sacrificing himself for anything, even their children, so she can’t expect him to.  But she needs to be prepared for every eventuality.  She will not walk away and leave Carrie in the hands of that evil old man.  If she can avoid delivering herself into Stefano’s hands, she will, but she knows that Stefano has planned this carefully and he will have considered all the possible escape routes and put blocks in front of every one of them.

She rolls onto her side and watches Roman as he sleeps.  Her expression softens as she watches him breathe in and breathe out.  She loves him so much.  She would do anything to protect him from the pain she knows he is going to experience.  Hope’s observations were particularly astute.  She has been pushing him away. For exactly the reasons Hope supposes.  She knows that when it comes down to it, Stefano is going to require her to do some highly distasteful things.  Things that Roman will take issue with.  Things that he will want to protect her from.  Things that will make her feel guilty and dirty.  Things she will hate herself for.  But ultimately things she will probably do because she must, in order to find Carrie and free her.  

And Roman will know she has done those things and he will question if she is the woman he has always thought her to be.  And he will not necessarily understand that a person will do anything in defense of those they love, when they are pushed to the edge of reason.  He will try and stop her and then he will look at the blood on her hands and his expression will tell her that he thinks he is looking at a stranger.  That he is looking at Grace.  And that fragile trust that they have worked so hard to redevelop will be irrevocably shattered.  She will break his heart in this endeavor, she knows it, and she is powerless to prevent it.

“Oh Roman,” she whispers as she reaches out and draws the back of her fingers down his cheek.  “I’m so sorry.  I hope none of this comes to pass.  But if it does, then you have to know, it’s only because I love you and the children, so much.  I’ll do anything to keep you all safe.”

Roman mumbles and shifts in his sleep and she withdraws her hand.  Then, silently, she slips out of bed and goes to her suitcase.  

Swiftly, she pulls out some sweatpants and a t-shirt and in the near darkness, she dresses and ties her hair into a ponytail.  On the way through the living area, she takes a bottle of water from the bar and sliding a room card into her back pocket, she leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

On exiting the lobby, she nods to the doorman and heads down Savoy Hill towards the river.  It’s still dark, but the embankment is well lit as she starts to jog along the wide footpath.  Running isn’t something that she has really made much time for in the past; but as Grace, she had assiduously exercised and increase her fitness and physical strength and that had paid dividends when it came to healing from the gunshot wound that Stefano had accidentally inflicted on her.  As such, since her recovery she has slowly rebuilt her stamina and fitness and now she can run a fair distance if she puts her mind to it.  And right now, she feels as though it’s the one thing that might clear her head.   

The night air is cool as she makes her way down Victoria Embankment, passing the multitude of statues and monuments on the opposite side of the road.  Her sneakers slap against the pavement as she settles into a nice rhythm and feels her heart start to pound in her chest.  Despite the early hour of the morning, there is plenty of traffic around, so she feels reasonably safe.  She certainly doesn’t think she’s in any danger from Stefano right now.  If he wanted to take her, he wouldn’t have gone to these spectacular lengths to prove to her how much he is in control of her actions and choices.  He would have just taken her in Salem, right out from under Roman’s nose in the same way he had taken Carrie.  In some ways, taking a run in London in the middle of the night is her way of thumbing her nose at him.  

I’m not afraid of you, old man.  At least, I’m damn well not going to let you know I’m afraid of you.

She increases her pace as she passes the Hungerford bridge and beyond it, Whitehall Gardens.  On the other side of the river, the London Eye is still and silent but brightly lit in neon. She is just past it when she takes a right turn onto Richmond Terrace, looking down beyond the crossroads to Downing Street.  Then she turns left onto Whitehall, passing the Cenotaph until the iconic shape of Big Ben comes into view.  Another middle of the night runner crosses her path, heading in the other direction and the odd taxi cruises quietly past but apart from that, she is completely alone.  She slows and takes a swig of her water as she waits for the lights to signal that she can cross.  Then she takes off at a run again, all but ignoring the Palace of Westminster on her left and Westminster Abbey on her right.  

She keeps running, her head blessedly empty of thoughts as she passes Lambeth Bridge, the square blocky building that houses MI5, and the Tate Britain art gallery.  When she reaches Vauxhall Bridge, she crosses the wide expanse of the Thames, running alongside the red and yellow railing of the low, squat bridge.  In front of her is the imposing building that houses the Secret Intelligence Service but she barely spares it a glance as she turns left again and makes her way along the south bank of the river. 

But now, she can’t help the thoughts that creep back into her head.  Her conversation with Hope playing through her mind.  

You need to talk to Roman.  By shutting him out, you are just giving Stefano the wedge to slide between you.

She knows that Hope is trying to help and that she is giving what, in most cases would be good advice, but Marlena knows that this isn’t most cases.  Stefano isn’t most men.  He is ruthless.  He will destroy Roman if he can.  And he will use her to do it.  And if he breaks her in the process, then all the better.  He is obsessed with her, but despite his protestations of loving her, he has never loved her.  He wants to possess her, to own her completely.  Her own happiness is irrelevant to him.  In fact, she thinks her misery is somehow compelling to him.   Inflicting distress on her seems to give him unutterable pleasure and gratification.  She wonders what kind of blackness taints a soul that revels so completely in making another human being so unhappy.

She is so deep in thought that doesn’t even see the Palace of Lambeth as she runs on alongside the ancient Thames River.

Talking to Roman seems like a good idea on the face of it.  God knows, she doesn’t know how she can carry on pushing him away the way she has been.  Because Hope is correct in that, that is exactly what she has been doing.  Maybe not entirely consciously, although there has been an element of that.  But she has withdrawn from him, she’s not telling him what’s going on inside her head.  Because quite frankly, it scares her and it’s her head.  She doesn’t know what it will do to Roman if she tells him.  That she’s scared of what comes next.  What lengths Stefano will require her to go to.  And that she is fully prepared to go to every one of those lengths.  

If she looks at herself objectively, through the eyes of a stranger, she doesn’t see herself as the Marlena that Roman fell in love with.  And while she loves him and trusts him implicitly, she’s not entirely sure she trusts him to still love her if he knows the truth of who she is now Grace has been unleashed inside of her.  The things she knows she is capable of… how will he see her if he knows and understands those?  How can he still love her if he knows the darkness that lurks in her heart?  Darkness that is no longer locked away in a corner of her head, labelled ‘Grace’.  

She knows how he felt about Grace.  Yes, it was complex.  But the bottom line was he hated Grace.  He hated her, the cruel things she did to him and to the family, not to mention the things she had done in Stefano’s employ.  And they might have been able to put that behind them, forget that, in time, had they been able to stay in Salem and rebuild their lives.  But Stefano has made sure they can’t do that.  He’s transplanted them into Grace’s world and intends to flaunt everything Grace was and did in their faces.  How forgiving is Roman going to be when he comes fact to fact with the things that Grace did?  And the things his wife is prepared to do to save his daughter.

She runs on, her pace increasing as she passes St Thomas’ Hospital on her right. She continues to turn over her options in her mind as her feet hit the pavement.  So, if she talks to Roman, what good will it do?  Just remind him, just rub it in that she had other men in her bed, that Stefano had used her as a whore for information and more.

Just remind him that as Grace, she has blood on her hands and give him a heads up that she will have more of it before this is done?  

And when they are finally led to Carrie?  If, as she expects, Stefano offers Carrie’s freedom for hers and she must accept his deal… because for all her vows to kill Stefano, she knows the Phoenix will have more than enough insurance to ensure she can’t risk physically hurting him… what then?  Even if they get through all the pain and destruction that he is going to rain down on them through this trip down memory lane.  What happens then?  Will Roman hate her so much by then he will just walk away?  

Maybe if he did, that would be the best for all of them.

She passes by County Hall and under the shadow of the massively imposing London Eye before she finally stops, gasping.  Bending over, she puts the heels of her palms on her knees and inhales, trying to catch her breath.  It’s a moment before she realizes that the pounding of her heart is not just from the physical exertion.  She can sense, rather than see the eyes on her.  Straightening, she looks across Jubilee Gardens towards the road.  She can’t see them, but she knows they are there.

“Come on, Stefano,” she shouts angrily.  “Just do it.  End this.  Don’t make me do this.  Don’t make me br…”  she swallows the rest of her words in a hiccupping moan and covers her face with her hands.  “Don’t make me break his heart,” she whispers with a wrenching sob.  “I can do all of the rest of it, but don’t ask me to do that.”

It’s several moments before she recovers enough to wipe her face.  She knows she can’t afford any weakness.  Not now, now during any of this.  She is alone in this.  As much as she wants to be able to rely on Roman and Hope and Bo; at the end of the day, this is her journey, and the destination is hers alone.  Wherever or whatever that destination ends up being.

Angrily, she wipes her face dry with the sleeves of her sweat top.  Then she takes a long draught of water and sets off again.

At Royal Festival Hall, she takes the new Millennium footbridge back across the river to the northern bank and makes her way back up towards the hotel.  It’s still dark but it is almost six am and the city is starting to awaken.  

“Roman, I’m so sorry my love.”  Her expression as she walks up the long driveway to the front entrance of the Savoy is sad but utterly determined.  “I’ll do anything I have to in order to save Carrie and to protect you all from Stefano.  Anything.”

She wipes the perspiration from her face as she pushes the revolving doors and enters the grand lobby.

“Roman, Roman it’s okay.  She’s here.  She just walked through the front door.”  Hope says into the cell phone that is attached to her ear.  She grabs Marlena’s wrist and glares at her angrily.  “I’ll bring her right up.”  She snaps the cell shut and then, “Marlena, where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry?” After the emotional turmoil of the past few days, the last thing she needs is Hope turning on her.  But then, she reflects, maybe she needs to put distance between herself and Hope and Bo too.  They are well-intentioned, but their help could end up being detrimental in the long run.

“Roman woke to find you gone.”  Hope says with no small show of annoyance. “He’s been absolutely frantic for the last 45 minutes.  No-one knew where you were, you didn’t even take your phone.” 

“I needed some air,” Marlena says curtly.  “I couldn’t sleep, and I needed to think.”

“Alone, in the dark, in the middle of London.  You couldn’t, oh I don’t know, go to the hotel gym?  You had to go out running.  In the middle of the night?”  Hope glares at her as Marlena pulls her hand away and rubs her wrist.  “Are you crazy?  You know Stefano’s goons are out there watching us.  Anything could have happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me, Hope.”  Marlena pushes past her and heads for the bank of elevators.  “I’m not a child.  I went for a run.  I’m back.  End of story.”

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open and Marlena steps inside, Hope following her.  

“Look, I know you’re having a tough time with all this, but Marlena, you can’t take risks like that.” Hope insists, leaning against the mirrored wall.  “Roman was beside himself…. We all were.  We thought Stefano had you.”

“Stefano has invested far too much time and thought and effort into this game.” Marlena points out.  “He wants to see it play out.  Trust me, he’s not going to kidnap me now.  He has bigger plans for me than that.”

The lift slows to a stop and the doors open.  Bo and Roman are waiting for then on the other side.  Fear and relief are written all over Roman’s face as he pulls Marlena forward and into his arms.  He enfolds her in a tight hug and covers the back of her head with his oversized hand.

“Jesus, Doc,” is all he can say for the longest moment as he holds her close.  And then, loosening his hold on her, “where the hell have you been?  I thought Stefano had… I was so worried!”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, tenderly cupping his face in the palm of her hand.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.  I couldn’t sleep and I felt so tense, I decided to work out some of the kinks with a run.  I didn’t even think about you waking and finding me gone.  I’m so sorry.”  She wants to run her fingers over his face and smooth out the lines etched below his eyes.  New lines are appearing every day of late it seems.  She wants to run her fingers through his hair and lead him to bed and make him forget he ever heard the name Stefano DiMera.  She wants so desperately to make this all go away for him.  But she can’t.  Instead, she’s going to make it inexplicably worse.  And that breaks her heart.

So, she doesn’t do any of that.  Instead, she turns from him and walks to the suite.

“Doc…” Roman follows her into the suite, closing the door behind him.  She heads into the bedroom, and he follows again, switching the lights on so that he can see her face.

“Roman, please don’t start in on me,” she tells him wearily as she strips off her sweat top.  “Hope has already told me what a stupid risk I took.  So, I’m going to tell you what I told her.”  She kicks off her sneakers and then strips off her t-shirt.  “Stefano has gone to far too much trouble to set up this game of his to cut it short by snatching me randomly off a street right at the beginning of this nightmare.  He wants us all to know how clever he is and how much control he has over us.”  She crooks her finger and points it at Roman.  “Trust me, Roman, he wants me here on the ground, following his little treasure hunt of clues and jumping when he says jump.”

She turns and heads for the bathroom.

Roman watches her enter the bathroom and close the door behind her.  A moment later, he hears the sound of the shower hitting the bathroom tiles.

Sighing he collapses into an armchair and rubs his face.  When he’d woken to find her gone, that had been his first assumption.  That somehow Stefano had managed to steal Marlena right from under his nose.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might go out running of her own volition.  Her point regarding Stefano’s intentions is valid and makes a lot of sense, but somehow Roman can’t bring himself to stop worrying that Stefano will take Marlena from him.  It already feels like it’s happening, breath by breath.  From the moment they had received the recorded message from Stefano, he has felt Marlena slipping away from him.  At times it’s almost like a physical blow, the wall he feels her putting up between them.  But he doesn’t know how to overcome it.   Before Grace, he would have told anyone that he knew Marlena inside out.  That he knew her heart and her soul and everything else about her.  But now?  Honestly, some days it is like she is a stranger to him, and he doesn’t have the first clue about what is going on inside her head.  And what’s more, he doesn’t know how to reach her.  He doesn’t know how far he can push her or what she will do if he pushes her over that line.

~

When Marlena comes out of the bathroom, she can hear Bo and Hope talking with Roman in the living area of the suite.  She can only imagine the conversation.  Scowling, she takes a deep breath and studies herself in the mirror.  She looks tired and haunted, with dark circles under her eyes.  In fact, she looks disturbingly fragile and vulnerable and that’s the last thing she wants Roman to see when he looks at her right now.

She unwraps the towel from around her and inspects the scar from the gunshot wound.  It has healed well but it still stands out red and angry against her pale skin, a vivid reminder of Grace and the hell that Stefano has rained down on them for so many years.

Sighing, she opens her suitcase and pulls out some clothes.  She’s still wearing Grace’s clothes, interspersed with a few more conservative items she has bought since they returned from Louisiana, but this morning, she is grateful that she is able to dress in Grace’s style.  Despite the fact that the items are often far sheerer, tighter and fabric scanter than she is comfortable with; still, they sometimes feel like a suit of figurative armor – giving her a sense of strength and fierceness that she struggles to conjure otherwise.

Determinedly, she pulls on a pair of skin-tight pink pants and tops it with a bright orange tank.  Over the top, she pulls on a sheer white flowing blouse and buttons it to just below her cleavage.  Then she sets about drying and styling her hair.  Finally, she takes her time applying her make-up while she steels herself to face her family again.

~

“I just don’t know what to say to her,” Roman looks at Hope imploringly and then down at the coffee in his hands.  “I don’t know how to reach her.  I know we haven’t always been on the same level when it comes to communicating… we’ve had our issues sure.  But this is…  she has walls up that I have no idea how to get through.  Some days it feels like she’s a stranger.  And that scares me.  More than just a little.”

“She’s still the same Marlena, Roman.” Hope reminds him.  “She’s just got a lot to deal with.  She’s processing a lot of information currently.  A lot of feelings.  Stefano is pushing every button he can find.  And you know…. You may not want to hear it, but he’s spent a lot of years studying her.  He knows how to push her buttons.  I think she just needs you to be there for her right now.  Don’t push too hard in the other direction.  Trust her.  Trust that she’s got this.  Because she does.  She’s Marlena.  I’ve never known anyone more capable of dealing with Stefano and his mind-fucks.”

“And what about Grace?” Roman asks forlornly.

“Grace was her way of dealing with an awful, traumatic, destructive situation.  Grace saved her.  Grace was the part of her that said fuck you to a world which had just about killed her.”  Hope’s voice is low and intense.  “You can’t point to Grace and say that Marlena didn’t survive that situation.  She did.  She survived because of Grace and honestly, I think you should be grateful for that.  You should be grateful for Grace, both then and now.  Without her, you wouldn’t have beaten the mercenary and you probably wouldn’t have Marlena back.”

“Hope’s right.” Bo claps Roman on the shoulder.  “What Marlena has been through would have killed most people.  But she always walks out of the carnage.  And this situation is hard on her.  Put yourself in her shoes, man.”

“I am, Bo.  And that’s what scares me.”  Roman runs his hand through his hair and takes a swig of his coffee.  “You seem to forget that Carrie is my daughter.  I should be the one responsible for saving her, but I have to leave it to my wife to lead this search because she is the one that Stefano wants.  So, I know that as hard as this is, it’s only going to get worse.  I don’t know what Stefano has in store for us, but whatever it is, it will be designed to tear us apart.  And if she’s pushing me away now…”

“So… don’t let her.”  Hope tells him in all seriousness.  “I know it’s hard, I know you want her to tell you all her deepest, darkest fears, but she’s not ready to do that yet.  I tried to tell her yesterday that she needs to talk to you, but I can see… she’s not ready to open up.  Not to me, and not to you.  She wants to protect you, but she knows that’s an impossible task.  She’s torn, she’s twisted up inside because she wants to save Carrie and she wants to save you from any pain, and she knows she can’t do both.  But she can’t tell you any of that, not yet.  And you pushing her to open up… I think it’s just going to drive her further away.  So just keep letting her know you’re there for her.  Whatever happens.  However difficult it is, however much she pushes you away.  You have to just trust her to do what she needs to do.”

“Whatever the cost is to her?” Roman asks quietly.  “Because I’m not sure I can do that Hope.  Not if the cost is going to be her safety or her sanity.”

“I didn’t say that.” Hope shakes her head.  “None of us are going to let her put herself in harm’s way.”

“Whatever Stefano has planned,” Bo finishes off his coffee and puts his cup on the table.   We’re all here to help her, to help you deal with that.  Whatever he tries to thr-”

Bo doesn’t finish his sentence and when Roman follows his gaze, he sees why.  Marlena is in the doorway, all blazing color and light.  Curves and golden hair and smoldering eyes.  And she looks just like Grace looked when she was pretending to be Marlena and the thought makes his blood run cold.

“Doc,” he stands up and offers her his place on the sofa.  “We’ve ordered breakfast.  Should be here shortly.  I thought you might be hungry after your run.”

“Thanks.”  She nods and then she takes a breath.  “Look, I’m sorry about earlier.  I’m sorry I scared you.  That was unforgiveable.”  She nears Roman and then tentatively takes his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I know I’ve been difficult to be around lately.  I know I’ve been confusing.  I’m confused myself.  I’m just… trying to find my way through this.”  She looks up at him with luminous amber eyes.  “And I’m so scared for Carrie and her baby.”

“I know you are,” Roman folds his arms around her and pulls her against him, a measure of relief coursing through him.  “Baby, I know you’re confused and scared.  You don’t need to explain that to me.  Just don’t shut me out.  I want to be here for you.  I’m as scared for Carrie as you are, she’s my daughter.”

“She feels like she’s mine too,” Marlena’s words are muffled against his shirt, and he pulls back, tucking his fingers under her chin and lifting her head so he can see her face again.

“Roman, I love her just as much as I love Sami and Eric and Belle.  And I can’t bear that she’s in this situation because of me.”

“I know you love her like she’s your own,” Roman tells her gently.  “I’m just saying that you don’t have to take the whole weight of this on your own shoulders.  Carrie is our daughter, and we will get her back.  It’s not all down to you to save her.  You can’t do this on your own.”

Marlena says nothing but nods, a tear spilling from her lashes as she does.  Roman uses the pad of his thumb to wipe it away and then dips his head to press a gentle kiss to her lips.  On the sofa, Hope takes a deep breath and smiles hopefully at Bo.

Breakfast passes with far less tension than they’ve lately been experiencing, and it is only when they have had their fill of salmon, eggs benedict, bacon and sausages accompanied by copious amounts of orange juice and coffee that they begin to discuss how they should approach the coming day.

“Is anything really likely to happen between now and tonight?” Bo asks logically.  “I mean, we know DiMera has planned for you to go to the opera, so whatever his next move is, surely it’ll take place there, right?”

“I don’t think we can second-guess Stefano’s intentions,” Marlena replies.  “You’re probably right Bo, but the one thing I know for sure where Stefano is concerned is that no-one can be sure what his intentions are or what his next move will be.”  No-one says anything as her words sink in.  Because she is right.  Nothing is ever straightforward where Stefano is concerned.  “But you know what?  I am damned if I am going to sit around waiting for him to tell me what I can do next.  We’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and it’s a beautiful day.  Let’s just forget about Stefano for a few hours and do something we want to do.  Not what he tells us we can or must do.”

“The London Eye!” Hope blurts out.  “I’ve been dying to take a ride on the London Eye.”

“Let’s do it then,” Marlena gives Hope the first genuine smile she has managed in what feels like days.  “To hell with Stefano and his schemes for a few hours.  Let’s have a bit of fun!”

Chapter 5 – A Night at the Opera

It’s after three when they finally make it back to the suite at the Savoy.  They have ridden the London Eye and explored the South Bank of the Thames, making it as far as the recently rebuilt Globe theatre where they had done the obligatory tour.  Then they had taken a taxi back to the Savoy for a late lunch, and now it was finally time to contemplate the evening and how they were going to approach it.

However, their plans were thrown off-kilter by the announcement by Harold, the Savoy butler, that there had been several packages delivered for Doctor Evans earlier in the afternoon.

Marlena had stopped as he had mentioned it, her blood feeling like it was freezing like ice in her veins.  She had successfully managed to avoid thinking about Stefano for most of the day, so to have him force his way back into her head the moment she stepped foot in this room was most unwelcome.

“I should have expected this,” she murmured as she neared the packages on the desk.

“Wait!” Roman pulled her back, halting her advance on the package.  “We don’t know what they are.  We need to get them checked out before you go anywhere near them.”

“Oh, I have a good idea what they are,” she tells him quietly.  “Stefano wants to control everything he can.  What’s in these packages is not dangerous.  Not physically.  It’s just another part of his game.”

Pulling her arm from his grip, she steps forward and lifts the largest box.  It is addressed to her, care of the Savoy Hotel.  

 “Would anyone care for a drink before I depart?” Harold asks as the four of them contemplate the box.

“I’ll have a martini, please,” Marlena says, without thinking.  Hope’s head whips around to find Roman, who is staring at Marlena with a look of shock on his face.  When he finally looks across at Hope, she shakes her head silently.  Roman swallows and says nothing, his face ashen as Bo and Hope request a wine and a beer respectively and then Bo tells Harold that Roman will have a beer as well.

Marlena, oblivious to the reactions of her companions, takes a deep breath and pulls the brown paper from around the large, flat box.  It is, as she expects, a gift box from Selfridges of London.  And when she opens it, she pulls out a floor length evening gown in deep midnight blue in tiered, ruffled silk.  It is exquisite.  She had worn something similar on another trip to the Opera House with Roger; although that time, if she remembers rightly, they had been to see the ballet.  

“Wow, that dress must be worth a small fortune,” Hope breathes.  Marlena looks at the label inside the garment and nods.   She hadn’t expected anything less.  Stefano was all about appearance, and if he owned you, he wanted the world to know it.  She sighs and lays the dress over the back of a chair.  The next box contains strappy heels, a wrap for her shoulders and a purse to match the dress.  

She puts the box back on the desk and picks up the martini glass, taking a large mouthful of the cocktail as she surveys the items in front of her.

The last box is not labelled with the Selfridges legend.  Instead, it is a plain silver gift box.  When she opens it, she finds a vintage jewelry case in scuffed black velvet.  Pressing her lips together, she flips open the lid.

It takes a moment for it to register, but when it does, she literally throws the case back onto the desk and backs away.

He fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck, the gems lying cool and heavy against her skin, dripping down her front like a waterfall of blue and silver fire.  She looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the glistening brilliance of the jewels and then lifted her hand to adjust the necklace a fraction.

• It’s beautiful,- she breathed.  It really was, and it accented the dress she wore and, on the whole, made her look even more ravishing than she had when she had entered the room to take Roger’s breath away.  She could see now why Stefano had been coveting this particular piece.

• You are beautiful, my love,- he kissed the side of her neck.  -And incredibly special to me.  As this necklace is special to me.  My mother wore it and my grandmother and great-grandmother before her.  My mother would be so proud if she could see the beautiful, accomplished woman who wears it now.-

Grace just smiled at herself in the mirror and fingered the sparkling gems desirously.

“Doc, what is it?” Roman asks quickly.  In the case, the sapphires and diamonds flash in the late afternoon sun.

“It’s the one,” she says, more to herself than anything.  “It’s the necklace.  Roger’s…”

“Are you saying this is the necklace that belonged to Ashton-Clyme?  It’s the one that Stefano wanted you to steal?” Hope steps forward and picks up the jewelry case, studying the gemstones.  She’s not an absolute expert but she learnt a lot in her time as Princess Gina and the stones certainly look authentic to her eye.

“I can’t wear that.” Marlena exclaims in horror.  “I can’t!”

“There was nothing about this necklace being stolen from Ashton-Clyme in any of the articles we found about him,” Bo reminds them.  “Are you sure that it’s the same necklace?”

“It’s the necklace,” she says in a low, strained voice.  “I wore it several times.  I know this is the one.  Damn Stefano!”

She doesn’t even want to touch it.  She knows how much that necklace had meant to Roger.  It had been passed down to him from his mother and it had been in her family for generations.  It was a well-worn and well-loved piece as well as being just about priceless in terms of the value of the gemstones.

“Doc, it’s okay.  We don’t even have to go to the damned opera if you don’t want to.”  Roman pulls her into his arms.

“No.”  She shakes her head quickly as though if she doesn’t, she might find herself agreeing with him.  Suddenly a night at the opera is the very last thing that she wants to do.  “We do have to go to the opera,” she demurs.  “Stefano has made it clear that is a requirement.  But I’m not wearing that necklace.  I won’t.”

“So, Stefano had the necklace stolen after you had your accident?” Hope wonders.  “You had the accident that put you in the coma going after this necklace, right?”

“Yes,” Marlena nods, venturing now to pick up the jewelry box.  She runs her fingers over the cascade of sparkling stones.  “A careless moment.  Or maybe on some level, I didn’t want to succeed with this one.  I really liked… Grace really liked him.”

“I didn’t think Grace liked anybody,” Bo mutters.  “Except herself.”

“Brady!” Hope cries in annoyance.

“No, he’s right,” Marlena holds the case in one hand and picks up her martini in the other, taking another mouthful.  “She didn’t have any room for liking people.  To like somebody is to eventually have to accept that you will have to trust them to some degree. And for her, to open herself up to trust was to invite pain in to make its home inside her.  Grace was my subconscious’ solution to and for pain.  She wasn’t about to willingly open herself up to it.”  She drains the martini and puts the empty glass down on the desk.  Then she takes the necklace out of the box, running her fingers over it.

• I didn’t imagine that you could be any more stunning, or that this old thing would come to new life when I put it around your neck.  It’s like the two of you were made for each other.-

Grace turned and silenced his words with a long, passionate kiss.  He always knew the right things to say, the things that touched her in places she didn’t even know or remember existed.  She liked the way he made her feel, but at the same time, she didn’t like that she liked it so much.  She could feel the flutter of vulnerability in her stomach, drifting upwards to the hard, cold place some might have called a heart and she knew that she was in danger.  And not the kind of danger that she was used to handling.  

“So yes, for her to like Roger Ashton-Clyme was a big deal.” Marlena places the necklace back in the case and puts it back on the desk.  “And it was not something that sat easy with her.  In the end, the job to take the necklace was executed without the appropriate planning.  She wanted the job to be over because she was feeling too much for him.”

She looks directly at Roman now.  “I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to hear, Roman.  I know it’s been hard for me.  I’m having memories I don’t want to have; of a person I didn’t even know existed until a few days ago.”

“It was a long time ago,” Roman reminds her with his characteristic gentleness.  “It’s not like you chose any of this Marlena.  Yeah, I’ll admit, it’s not easy, thinking of you with someone else.” He reaches out and strokes her hair, his hand coming to rest against the side of her face.  “But sweetheart, after all that we’ve been through, how can I do anything but just accept that it happened?”  He gives her a sorrowful frown.  “It’s the past, but we have the future ahead of us and that’s what I want to focus on.  Once we’ve got Carrie back and DiMera is back behind bars, we can put all this behind us.”

“Yeah,” Marlena smiles but her lips tremble with the effort.  “Of course we can.”  Roman pulls her into his arms and wraps his arms around her and she buries her face in his sweater, breathing in deeply.  If she can just stay here in his arms, surround herself with him and his calm assurance then maybe she might just start to believe him.  She doubts it, but stranger things have happened.

~

She is fastening the straps on her extremely elegant shoes when she hears an insistent buzz from bedside cabinet.  Frowning, she gathers the voluminous fabric of her skirt and makes her way across to the bed and slides the drawer open.  Inside there is a non-descript, basic cell phone and it is flashing.  She feels like she should be surprised, but she’s not and steeling herself, she picks up the phone and presses a button to retrieve the message.

You must wear the necklace, Marlena.  Otherwise young Caroline will be deprived of meals for three days.  I think that would not be good for the child she carries, no?  Do not defy me.  If I tell you to do something, you will do it if you want to see your daughter again. Delete this message and do not tell your family you have received it.  If you do, I will know.  You may keep the phone, I will use it to contact you directly when needed.  S.

She presses her hand to her mouth.  He knows what they are saying.  She had assumed that he had listening devices placed in the room before they arrived but having the evidence that his henchmen have been in the room in her hands makes her feel violated and leaves her feeling physically sick.

With shaking hands, she deletes the text message and drops her phone onto the bed as though it is a snake in her hands.  She looks around the room helplessly.  She doesn’t have time to scour the suite for bugs and even if she found one or more, there would be no guarantee that she’d find all of them.  And if she did, wouldn’t that just make Stefano angry enough to take it out on Carrie?

She has no option to just carry on as if she knows nothing.  As if she had never held Stefano’s poisonous words in her hands.  She will have to wear Roger Ashton-Clyme’s gemstones around her neck and hope to God that the fall-out is not as bad as she imagines it could be.

She is still shaking as she sits down at the mirror and fixes a loose strand of hair, sliding it into an invisible clip that clamps it into place.  Like the invisible band around her heart.  Pinning her to the course of action that Stefano has plotted out for her.  A course unknown to her but one that will be brutal and destructive and quite possibly lethal in the final result.

“You ready to go, Doc?” Roman calls from the living room.  “They’re bringing the car around in a few minutes.”

“Almost done,” she calls back in a strong voice that belies her distress.  Silently, she checks her make-up and applies a dab of perfume to either side of her neck and her wrists.  Then she takes a deep breath and stands, smoothing out the skirt of the beautiful gown that Stefano has dressed her in, like the mannequin that she is to him.

“Wow,” Roman whistles when she walks into the adjoining room.  “Marlena, you look…”

She attempts just the merest hint of a smile as she walks over to the desk where the antique jewelry case still sits.  She takes out the necklace and holds it out to Roman.  “Can you please fasten it for me?” she asks him.

“I thought you weren’t going to wear it?” he asks, confused.

“I changed my mind,” she tells him simply.  “If I start refusing what Stefano asks of me now… he’s only going to ramp up his challenges.  It’s just a necklace.  I can wear it, it’s okay.”

“It’s a stolen necklace,” Roman reminds her.

“That was never reported stolen,” she replies nonchalantly.

“We don’t know that for sure.  All we know is that the press never reported the theft.  It could have been reported to the police and never made the news.”  Roman is not happy at the position that this puts Marlena in.  It’s a small risk, but it’s a risk, nonetheless.  If there is anyone at the opera who recognizes her or the necklace, they could be called to make explanations that they simply can’t make without incriminating Marlena.

“Listen, whatever Stefano has planned, it’s not having me locked up in a jail cell,” Marlena says quite reasonably.  “Just help me put it on.”

“Stefano doesn’t control the entire London Metropolitan Police Force,” Roman growls as he takes the necklace from her and slides it around her graceful neck.  

She lays her hand over the tangle of sapphire and diamond, adjusting the individual gems until they sit evenly against her decolletage.  And once Roman has finished, she turns around.

“Okay?” she asks, almost shyly as he assesses her.

“You look… incredible,” he tells her honestly.  “Doc, you look like a princess.  You certainly don’t look like you should be hanging out with a schmuck like me.”

“Oh stop!”  she bats him against the front of his hired evening suit, and she can’t help the smile that lights up her face.

There’s a knock on the door and Bo pops his head through the opening.  “The car’s here, you guys ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”  Marlena grabs her wrap and her purse and heads for the door, Roman in her wake.

~

“I don’t know, Brady.”  Hope carefully surveys the slowly filling lobby, scanning it for any sign of DiMera or his operatives.  Not that she’d be able to pick them out in this crowd.  “I’m just saying.  She was adamant she wasn’t wearing that necklace.  She acted like it was poison.  And then she just… ‘changes her mind’?”  She shrugs.  “It doesn’t make sense.  This is Marlena.  She doesn’t just change her mind on a whim.”

“You think Stefano got to her?” Bo is similarly searching the vestibule.  They had returned around thirty minutes before the end of the opera production and had placed themselves in a useful vantage point from which to view the audience as they file out of the auditorium.

“Don’t you?” Hope asks.  “C’mon Brady.  He’s gotten to her and she’s not telling us about it.”

“He’s threatened her,” Bo surmises.  It’s hardly a leap, given how quiet and jumpy she had been in the car on the way to the theatre.

“Her, or Roman; or more likely, Carrie.  I think it’s safe to assume from here on out that we can’t take anything Marlena says at face value,” Hope sighs, taking a sip of her juice as she dodges a tottering woman in towering heels who almost stumbles into her.

~

“You okay, Doc?” Roman murmurs, his arm firm around his waist as they make their way out of the exit and towards the open foyer.

“I keep expecting to round corners and find Stefano waiting there for me,” Marlena admits, clutching her purse in front of her as though it’s a shield.  “I just can’t shake the feeling that he has something in store for us here. I was waiting for it all through the interval.”

“Maybe he just wants us to feel like that,” Roman suggests.  “Maybe he just wants to keep you on edge, waiting for the next stunt he pulls.”

“No,” Marlena slows to a stop in the large atrium as she shakes her head.  Most of the audience are filing out of the doors in the façade of the historic building but there are small groups milling around, talking.  “No, he has something planned.  I can feel it.”

The words have barely left her mouth when a cry cuts through the relaxed chatter of the departing crowds.  Immediately the general hubbub dies down as people turn to look at the source of the spectacle.

“YOU!”

Marlena flinches and turns to follow the gaze of the remaining mass of opera patrons.

“I knew, when the tickets arrived, this was a set-up.”  A young woman is elbowing her way through the stilling crowd, stalking towards her.  She is maybe in her early thirties, her brunette hair coiled up into a loose chignon and she wears a fashionable violet gown slashed to mid-thigh.  She is followed by two men and another woman who look both embarrassed, and angry.  “I said to Christian, this is a bloody set-up.”  She gives a shrill, bitter laugh.  “I never expected in a million years it would be you, though.”

Marlena’s cheeks flame red as the woman comes face to face with her.  She is grateful for Roman at her side as his arm tightens around her waist.  “I’m sorry?” she asks, although she knows only too well who this is.

“You knew this was one of his favorite operas.  So of course you’d choose tonight to finally re-emerge.  You know he would have been here, if you hadn’t killed him!”  The woman spits with unchecked fury and she looks about to launch herself at Marlena but the two men with her both place a restraining hand on each arm.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong person,” Roman starts, stepping slightly in front of Marlena to protect her

“No, I know who she is.  I had to watch her for months, cozying up to my father.  Rubbing herself all over him.  Making him look like a fool.”  Her green eyes are bright with tears as she sets her jaw and wrenches her arms away from her companions.  Then she jabs her index finger in Marlena’s face.  “I’ve waited for twelve bloody years to tell her what I think of her.  She’s not getting away that easy.”

There are murmurs from the crowd that surrounds them, and Marlena looks sideways, trying to assess the mood of the gathered people and whether Bo and Hope are in the throng.  This could turn ugly quickly, especially given Roman’s growing tautness beside her.

“You bitch!”  the young woman hisses.  “You couldn’t be content with destroying his life, you have to rub it in our faces now?  Twelve years later you turn up.   Flaunting that bloody thing?”  She waves her hand at the necklace.  “I know you stole it.  You broke his bloody heart, the poor lovestruck fool.   And now you have the temerity to walk in here like you own the fucking place, like you’re some high and mighty- “

“Anabelle!” One of the men with her yanks on her arm and pulls her around to face him.  “That’s enough!”

“It’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough.  If it wasn’t for her, he might still be alive!” Anabelle spits out turning back to Marlena.  But she is crying now, mascara-streaked tears trickling over the curves of her cheeks.  “When you disappeared, it broke his heart.  He loved you.  He was crazy about you.”

“I…” Marlena shakes her head.  

“Listen, my wife has no idea who you are or what you are talking about,” Roman steps forward.  “Just leave- “

“Roman,” Marlena squeezes his arm.  No matter how aggressive these people are being, they deserve an answer from her.  Anabelle and Christian are Roger’s children, and they have every right to confront her.  “It’s okay.  I know Anabelle.  I know Christian.”

There is a distinct intake of breath from the crowd that now surrounds the quarrelling group, several people deep.

Ignoring the onlookers, Marlena takes a step forward.  “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“You’re damn right I do!” Anabelle clenches her fist.  “He loved you.  And he was bloody distraught when you disappeared.  But I knew exactly what had happened.” She laughs, a short, bitter laugh.  “I saw your face the first time you saw that necklace.” She nods at the jewels nestled around Marlena’s neck.  “I saw the gleam in your eyes.  I knew that was what you were after.  You didn’t love him.  You were just out for what you could get out of him.  And however much I tried to tell him that, he just wouldn’t listen to me.  Kept trying to tell me you were different, and you made him happy.”  She makes a noise that is halfway between a sob and a snort.  “You didn’t just break his heart; you came between us.  We were estranged when he died and that is your fault.  That is totally down to you.”

“I never meant to hurt your father,” Marlena says quietly.  “I am so sorry I caused him pain.  And I am sorry I caused you pain.  I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Ha, yeah.”  Anabelle’s eyes are bright with tears.  “So, that’s why you’re here tonight is it? at his favorite opera.  Wearing that.  Like that’s not rubbing it in.”  She nods at the necklace.  “That’s the first thing I checked. When you disappeared.  When he told me you weren’t answering his calls and you’d checked out of the hotel.  I checked the safe.  And it was gone.  And when I told him?  He looked shocked.  And then he told me he’d given it to you.  He’d given you the necklace that was the only keepsake her had from his mother.  The necklace that he’d always promised her would stay in the family.  That he was supposed to pass on to me.”  She shakes her head.  “Oh no.  He didn’t give you that necklace.  He would have never willingly parted with it.  He was protecting you.  Even then.  Even when he knew what you had done.  Up until the moment he died.  He never recovered from your betrayal, but he defended you to his last breath.  Came up with every excuse under the sun as to why you might have disappeared.   But I knew better.  I knew you’d taken what you came for.  You were just done with him.”

“I didn’t…” Marlena shakes her head.  Her heart aches in her chest for this woman and for her father.  The pain that Grace caused has echoed through the years.  She doesn’t just have the blood on her hands of people like Lamont, people who were evil and, it might be argued, got their just desserts.  No, she has the blood of these people.  Good, decent people whose only mistake had been to own some sparkling stones.  “I didn’t take the necklace, Anabelle.”

“Then why are you wearing it now?” The man to her left, Annabelle’s brother Christian demands.  “Bella is right.  Dad never would have given you that necklace.  However much he was besotted with you.  So, if you didn’t take it, how did you get it?”

“I…” Marlena wishes she had a better answer than someone made me wear it.  Something that made more sense.  Instead of answering though, she hands Roman her purse and then reaches around her neck and undoes the clasp of the necklace.  Slipping it from around her neck she holds it out towards Annabelle with a shaking hand.  “Take it,” she says, her cheeks red and her eyes bright.  “Please.  I can’t explain why I have it but before today, the last time I saw it was twelve years ago.  I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t take it and I don’t want it.”  She shakes her head firmly.  “It was your father’s, and it belongs to you.”

“No,” Anabelle shakes her head, looking at the necklace like it’s cursed.  “You’re right.  I don’t believe you.  That’s not an explanation.  You can’t even come up with a convincing lie?  You must be slipping in your old age.”  She sneers as she looks at Marlena and then at the necklace.  “I can’t look at that thing without thinking of him and what you did to him and the fact that I don’t have him here right now, because of you.”  Her chin trembles with the effort of keeping her tears in.  “You keep it.  And I hope every time you look at it, you remember what a decent, kind, man he was and how much he loved you.  And I hope you remember that he died of a broken heart because you are a vile, evil woman who doesn’t understand the first thing about love.  I hope it bloody, fucking, chokes you.”

She turns to Roman and grimaces.  “My condolences if you are unlucky enough to be married to this succubus.”  

With that, she turns and pushes her way through the crowd, exiting with her brother and friends in tow.  The last impression Marlena has is of Christian giving her a glare that makes her blood run cold.  And then they are gone.

The remaining crowd watches the remaining couple curiously for a long moment before one by one they start to become uncomfortable, and the assemblage starts to dissipate.  

Marlena watches the door that the Ashton-Clymes had departed through in a state of shock as around her people start to turn and murmur about the encounter.  Neither Marlena, nor Roman says anything for a long moment.

“Marlena, are you okay?” Bo asks as he and Hope approach Roman and Marlena.

“No.” Marlena shakes her head, still staring after Roger’s children.  “No, I’m not.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but she does open her purse and stuff the necklace inside with numb fingers.  She closes the clasp and swallows, her throat dry and sticky.  “I think I need a drink,” she says, her voice low and thick.

“Bar’s over this way,” Bo gently takes her arm and guides her over towards the bar.  A few people are milling around with drinks chatting, but the general volume lowers considerably as they near and people stare at Marlena curiously before turning back to their companions in that peculiarly English way of pretending not to have noticed that something untoward has been occurring.

Bo orders a round of double brandies and hands a snifter glass to Marlena who swallows it in one mouthful and then asks for a triple.  The bartender pulls out a clean glass and pours her a triple measure.  She also finishes this one in a single swallow as Roman, Bo and Hope down their first glass.

“Stefano sent them tickets?” Hope asks in a low voice.

“Yes.  Of course he did.”  Marlena grimaces as she bangs her glass down on the bar.  “He doesn’t care who he hurts.  If he has to hurt them to get to me, it means nothing to him.”

“You do know it wasn’t your fault, right?”  Hope asks putting her hand on Marlena’s arm.  “Ashton-Clyme’s death I mean.  It was years after Grace disappeared.  She’s just taking her apparently very unresolved grief and anger out on you.”

“Maybe.”  Marlena shrugs sadly.  “But maybe I contributed.”  She sighs, looking away towards the doors again.  “She was right.  He was crazy about Grace.  And if he thought she’d taken the necklace?  He would have been devastated.  Whatever he told his children, he would have felt like he’d been taken for a fool.  The lie about him giving it to me?  Was to cover what he would have felt was his own foolishness as much as to protect me.”

“Why were they so adamant he wouldn’t have given it to you?” Roman asks.

“Roger’s mother died when he was only six.” Marlena’s grip tightens on her purse.  “Not long afterward, a fire ripped through several rooms of their house in Derbyshire, and they lost many of their belongings, including photos and almost all the keepsakes the family had of her.  One of the only things that survived, because it was at the London house, was the necklace.  To make it even more meaningful to him, one of the clearest memories Roger had of his mother, he told me, was of helping her put the necklace on when she was getting ready to go to the opera.”

Her cheeks are starting to flame again, and she notices that people around them have stopped to listen to the conversation.  “I need some air,” she says abruptly and almost runs towards the door.  Roman, Bo and Hope hurry to catch her up, concerned about what might be awaiting her outside.

Luckily, there is nothing but the cold night air and Marlena breathes deeply, trying to calm her rattled nerves.

“Doc,” Roman comes up behind her and slides a warm hand down her arm.  “I know how bad you feel about this.  What can I do to help you?”

 “Oh Roman,” she turns to him, tears in her eyes.  “What can anybody do?  It’s done.  It was twelve years ago.  Nothing I do or say can take the pain away for those people.  Nothing will bring Roger back.”

“No, nothing can undo any of it.  That’s Stefano’s point.  But it’s what you do with it now, Doc.  That’s what I’m worried about.”  He lifts his hand and strokes a wisp of hair behind her ear.  “I’m worried about what it’s going to do to you.  As Stefano confronts you with the things Grace did, the more he uses those things to cause you pain and stoke the guilt you feel… how are you going to cope with that?  Are you going to be able to cope with it?”

“I have to be able to cope with it.” Marlena flinches as she feels a buzz come from her purse.  

He’s here.  She can feel his snake eyes on her.  Her skin is crawling with it, the intensity of his scrutiny.  The feeling of the pleasure he takes in being able to control her every move with just the slightest of pressures.  

She looks about her, trying to get a sense of where he might be.  But she can’t pick him out.  The street is too busy, and her concentration is to fractured to get a good sense of where he might be.

“We need to get out of here,” she says abruptly.

“I’ll call for the c-” Bo starts.

“No,” she shakes her head and begins to walk swiftly towards the entrance to the market.  “The restaurant isn’t… I just need to get away from here.”

Roman glances at Hope and then Bo for a fraction of a moment, his eyes betraying his intense concern at Marlena’s brittle emotional state.  Then he starts off after her, Bo and Hope close on his trail. 

From the shadows of one of the Opera House doorways, obsidian eyes watch the Brady’s departure.  And a deep, throaty laugh follows them.

Chapter 6 – The Stranger in the Mirror

The doorman at Rules holds the door open for the party of four as they step into the historic restaurant and look about them.  It is just as Marlena remembers it from all those years previous.  The walls are butter yellow, lined with original paintings and sketches.  The carpet, which she notes can’t be the same carpet as graced the floors when she was last here, nonetheless looks the same with its red base and swirls of yellow and brown.  

The maître d takes Marlena’s name and leads them to a booth lined with red velvet seats.  Marlena stops short as they near it and the senior waiter turns to her.

“Is everything all right Madam?” he asks.  

“I…” she shakes her head, “is there another table we could have?”

“I am afraid not,” he shakes his head regretfully, “we are fully booked tonight.  And you did request this table specifically for this booking.”

“I uh…” she clutches her purse so hard that her knuckles whiten.  She feels sick and her head feels oddly heavy.

“Doc, are you okay?” Roman takes her elbow and slips his other arm around her waist. 

“I..” she shakes her head, trying to dispel the waves of dizziness that are spilling over her.

“I’ll get some water,” the waiter hurries away as Roman helps Marlena into the booth.  He slides in next to her as Bo and Hope take their places across the table.

“You sat at this table with him?” Roman murmurs gently.  

Marlena, the world still swimming before her eyes, nods and then presses her fingers to her face.  “Every time.  He liked this one in particular, for some reason.”

She feels the purse in her lap buzz again and her nausea intensifies.  “I’m sorry, I need to use the bathroom.”

She waves off offers of help and pushes past Roman as he exits the booth to let her out.  She barely reaches the bathroom before she retches up the meagre contents of her stomach into one of the basins.  When the convulsions have stopped, she runs the cold water and splashes a couple of handfuls over her face.  

Her hands flat on the counter, she raises her head and stares at herself in the mirror.  It is like a stranger looking back at her.  She is still painfully thin, and she can see the shadows that betray the hollows of her cheeks.  Her eyes are rimmed with red and two spots of red burn high up on her cheeks.  Aside from that, her skin is so pale as to be almost translucent.  She looks like a ghost of herself, a paper cut-out that has about as much strength and substance.

Roman is right, of course.  How the hell is she going to make it through this?  Every stroke of Stefano’s cuts her like a razor blade.  He is slowly but surely shredding her, and the wounds are every bit as damaging as the bullet-hole that still scars her abdomen.

Her purse buzzes again and part of her just wants to take the phone and drop it down one of the toilets.  But she knows she cannot do that.  So instead, she locks herself into a cubicle, sits on the closed toilet and takes the phone out of her bag.

There are three unread messages.

You look exquisite, Marlena.  As I knew you would.  You always did look stunning in that necklace.  You will put it back on now.  S

She swallows and opens the next message.

Put the necklace back on, Marlena.  I will not ask again.  

The red patches on her cheeks burn even more brightly as she contemplates the last message.  Opening it, she reads the message with dismay.

I am sorry to tell you that young Caroline will be going to bed without any dinner tonight.  Any further refusal to accede to my wishes will result in further and more severe punishment of your daughter.  Do I make myself clear?

Marlena’s eyes fill with frustrated, angry tears.  “Damn you,” she whispers at the phone.  “God damn you to eternal hell, Stefano.”

The tears spill down her cheeks as she takes the necklace from the bag and refastens it around her neck.  And almost like he is there with her, she can feel the ghost of Roger’s touch, straightening the necklace, running his fingers from the cascade of gems down over the gentle swell of her breasts.  She can see his sweet, crooked smile and the sparkle in his velvety brown eyes as he kisses her and then unfastens her dress…

• Now I’ve put that on you, I’m to take this off.  I’m going to make love to you wearing just those stones…  I want to see you shine, my love. –

Marlena leans her head back and lets out a silent sob, the tears rolling noiselessly down her cheeks.  

Then she hears the door open.

 “Marlena?” Hope’s voice floats into the elegant bathroom.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” her voice is throaty but doesn’t betray her tears.  “I’m fine, Hope.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Ooookay,” Hope doesn’t sound convinced.  “If you’re sure?”

 “I’m sure.” Marlena quickly wipes her face.  “I’m just about done here.  I’ll be two minutes.”  She stands and flushes the toilet to add some authenticity to her assurance.  Hope’s reply is lost in the resulting clamor, but Marlena is gratified to hear the door close.  

She lets herself out of the toilet stall and approaches the mirror again.  She grimaces at the sight that meets her.  Thankfully she is not red and blotchy, but her mascara is streaked over her cheeks and requires some wiping and fixing.  She does it as quickly as she can, and she is pleasantly pleased with the results when she is eventually done.

Taking a deep breath, she straightens the necklace, running her hands over the glittering lace of blue and white stones.  Marlena, you need to keep it together.  The past is the past.  It can only hurt you if you let it.  She needs to find a way to come to terms with these things she did.  To accept them, if not to embrace them.  If she doesn’t find a way to claim this darkness inside herself, then it will drown her.  And Carrie will be left at Stefano’s mercy.

She cannot let that happen.  She simply can’t.

She takes one last look at the stranger in the mirror and then heads back out into the restaurant.

~

Dinner passes without incident.  None of them are particularly hungry, despite the delicious food, but they make a show of ordering and eating what they can.  Conversation is desultory and halting as they try to find anything to talk about other than what’s on all of their minds.

It is when they are done and Roman asks for the bill that the next move in Stefano’s game of human chess is unveiled.  The maître d tells them that the meal has already been paid for and then hands Marlena a thick padded envelope.

“This was left for you earlier this afternoon, Dr. Evans.  I was told to give it to you before you left the restaurant.”

“Thank you.”  Her voice is thick with unexpressed emotion, and she barely looks at the envelope as she takes it from him.  

“No problem, I hope you enjoyed your meal.”  The waiter smiles and then leaves their table.

“I’ll call the car,” Bo is the first one to break the silence as Marlena studiously ignores both the envelope and her companions.  Instead, she makes a show of unfolding her wrap and pulling it around her shoulders.  Roman watches her for a moment and then glances at Hope.  Hope raises her eyebrows, pointedly returning Roman’s concerned look. 

“I need some air; can we go now?” Marlena asks Roman, her tone low.

“Sure, but it’s cold outside Doc, the car won’t be here for a few minutes yet.” Roman tells her as Bo ends his call to the driver.

“I need some air,” Marlena repeats.  “Please Roman, I need to get out of this place.  I feel claustrophobic.”

“Sure, of course.” Roman nods and slides out of the booth.  She follows him, allowing him to take her hand and help her stand.  She tucks the envelope next to the blue silk purse containing the contraband phone under her arm and tries to ignore that they are both there. And then she makes her way out of the restaurant.

Roman is right, the autumnal night is chilly.  Marlena’s eyes are unfocused as she stares into the half distance and she flinches as she feels the weight of Roman’s coat as he drapes it over her shoulders, in just the same way Roger had done it twelve years before.

• Oh my darling Grace, you are an enigma.  But I will figure you out. – He held the lapels of his coat closed in front of her and feathered kisses over her lips.

• Roger, you will never figure me out. –  She laughed at the absurdity.  – I wasn’t made to be understood.  That’s why you find me so compelling.  Because I don’t make any sense to you.  Or anyone. – She kissed him back, a sly smile curling her lips.  – Darling, just enjoy me while you have me.  Don’t waste your time trying to understand me.  

“Doc, are you okay?” Roman strokes the back of his fingers down the side of her cheek.

“Wha-?” Marlena shakes her head and comes back to the present, to the cold street, to her new reality.  “Oh, mmmm.”  She nods her head without much conviction.  She is exhausted.  She has been awake for too long and she has dealt with an emotional barrage today that has threatened to flatten her.  She doesn’t have the energy to try and convince Roman that everything is okay.  Everything is not okay, and probably never will be, ever again.

“Baby, I’m worried about you.” Roman takes her hands.  “You say you’re okay, but you don’t seem okay at all.  You’re not acting like yourself…” he doesn’t have a chance to continue the conversation as Victor’s car pulls up at the curbside and the Rules doorman opens the back door.  Hope climbs into the car first and the rest of them follow, Bo and Hope behind the driver and facing Roman and Marlena.  

Almost immediately, Marlena finds herself staring out of the window, pretending the previous conversation hasn’t happened, praying that Roman will just let it go.

“Doc, what is going on?” Roman finally asks the question that has been needling at him ever since she had returned to the table in the restaurant.  “I tell you I’m worried about you, and you say nothing.  I tell you that you’re not behaving like yourself, and you completely ignore it.  And me.  You have a ticking timebomb from DiMera sitting there in your lap and you’re ignoring that too.  What the hell is going on?”

“Roman, I am just tired.” She can’t even bring herself to look at him.  At any of them.  “I’ve been up since four a.m.  I can barely remember the last time I had an unbroken night’s sleep.”

“You’re not just tired.” Hope counters, her anger bleeding through in her clipped voice.  “Roman’s right.  You’ve been behaving out of character all day.  What aren’t you telling us?”

“What do you mean?” Marlena’s brow creases.

“You say you’re not wearing that necklace and then you put it on.  Not once, but twice,” Hope points out.  “Why?  Why would you do that?”

Marlena pauses, flirting for a moment with telling them the truth.  Because Stefano told me to.  Because he threatened to hurt Carrie if I didn’t carry out his demands.  But almost immediately, she knows she can’t.  This might be Victor’s car, but Stefano’s reach is long.  The driver is not with the car twenty-four hours a day.  Or maybe he’s even planted a listening device in her bag or in her gown.  She has no way of knowing how he’s listening, but she doesn’t doubt he is. 

Delete this message and do not tell your family you have received it.  If you do, I will know.

If she defies him and tells Roman and her friends the truth, Stefano will know, and Carrie will pay the price.

“Because this is Stefano’s game.  You forget how well I know Stefano.  I know how he operates and what he wants.”  She sighs, flattening her hands over the envelope in her lap.  “He makes the rules and I realized when I was dressing earlier on tonight that there was a reason he’d sent that necklace and that I was supposed to wear it.  It was part of his plan.  And if I hadn’t worn it, my presence wouldn’t have had the impact it did on Roger’s children.”  The sorrowful look spends just a moment on her face and then it is gone.  She can’t afford any more sympathy for Roger Ashton-Clyme’s children.  Not if she is going to survive this.  “Everything Stefano does has a purpose.  If I hadn’t worn the necklace, this evening wouldn’t have gone according to his plan.  And he would have been angry.  And when Stefano is angry, someone has to pay.  And who do you think that would be?”

“Carrie.” Hope says her niece’s name flatly.  “But Marlena, we talked about this earlier.”

“Stefano can punish Carrie a thousand and one ways for my perceived transgressions,” Marlena shakes her head.  “And to many varying degrees.  But any pain, any deprivation or punishment is too much in my book.  Stefano wants to hurt me; he can hurt me.  I can live with that.  But I will not let him hurt my family, not if I have it in my power to stop him.  And that means playing his games by every rule he lays down, then I am going to do just that.”

“Every rule?” Hope asks disbelievingly.

“Every rule.” Marlena nods dispassionately.

“Then, we’ve got a problem,” Hope holds Marlena’s gaze, the atmosphere between the two women growing increasingly tense and frigid.

“I guess we do.” Marlena responds.

“Doc, no.” Roman shakes his head emphatically.  “We have to draw the line somewhere.”

“No lines.” Marlena shakes her head as they pull up outside the Savoy.  “This is our child we’re talking about.  And our grandchild.”

“And what about if their safety is at the expense of other people’s lives?” Hope asks the question that has been uppermost in her mind for most of the day.  “You’re willing to cross that line?”

“I’m willing to cross any line.” Marlena says unequivocally, her expression resolute.  

“No!” Roman exclaims, shocked at what he is hearing.  “Marlena, you can’t be serious?”

“You think you can live with that Marlena?” Bo chimes in, just as shocked as Roman with what he is hearing.  “When you could barely come to terms with what Grace did?  You think when you’re actually faced with that choice, with a gun in your hands that you can take the life of another person, even if it is to save Carrie?”

“No, I don’t think I can live with it.” Marlena shakes her head wearily.  “But what other choice do I have?  Stefano wants Grace back and if he can’t have Grace, he wants to destroy me.  So, it’s either me or Carrie.  And once he’s discarded Carrie, who is next?  Sami?  Will? Roman, you?”  She shakes her head as the Savoy doorman opens the car door.  “No.  I can’t live with that.  Either way, this doesn’t end prettily for me.  So, I’m going to at least save my family.”  

With that, she climbs out of the car.

“Doc!  Marlena, STOP!”  Roman chases her into the lobby.  “You can’t-  I won’t let you do this.”

“Roman, don’t you get it?!” she cries with anguish.  “You don’t have a choice!  I don’t have a choice.  He has Carrie.  He can just as easily have Eric, Sami or Belle.  Or Brady.  Or any of the Brady’s.  He wants to torture me, and he will do it through my family.  He will pick off our children one by one until finally he takes you.  Until I have nothing left.  And what good will my morality and integrity do me then?  Huh?”

“Surely even Stefano’s not that sadistic,” Bo says as he and Hope come to stand in front of the elevators.  “God, yes, he’s twisted but Marlena, he’s never wanted to hurt you like that.  He’s never wanted to destroy you.”

“He used Sami to destroy my marriage to…” she pauses, reminding herself that it wasn’t Roman that she had been married to when Sami had taken Belle.  “Bo, he took great pleasure in seeing me in pain then.  And make no mistake.  He is very angry now.”  She shakes her head as she contemplates Stefano when he has been defied.  It has never been pretty.  And the betrayal by and loss of Grace has hit him hard.  He will not be bested.  He will have his revenge on her no matter the pain it causes.  “He is angry with Roman, and he is angry with me.  He thought he had Grace back.  And Roman took that away from him.  He wants his pound of flesh, from both of us.  And if that is at the price of our children’s lives, he won’t shy from that.  Yes Bo, he is that sadistic.”

The chime of the elevator interrupts their conversation and Marlena turns and steps into the empty car.  She hugs the envelope to her as though it’s a shield. 

“I know none of you want to hear this or to accept this is the reality we are faced with.  But I’ve thought of nothing else since we boarded the plane in Salem.  This is a no-win situation for me.”  She shrugs, her face white and stony.  “So no, I can’t live with any of it.  But I don’t really have any choice.”

“And if we try and stop you?” Hope asks as they follow Marlena into the elevator and wait for the door to close.

“You can try.”  Marlena raises her eyebrows.  “But short of putting me in a prison cell, do you think anything is going to stop me trying to save my children?  And do you really think Stefano will let me languish in prison?  He has far more interesting plans in store for me.” 

“Doc,” Roman’s voice is hoarse and pained.  “We can protect the kids.  You don’t have to-”

“Stefano has people everywhere Roman; you know that.”  The elevator arrives at the top floor and the doors slide smoothly open.  “No-one can watch the kids every hour of every day for the rest of their lives.  And you’re forgetting, he already has Carrie.”

They are all silent then, none of them knowing what to say.

Marlena shakes her head and then steps out of the elevator and walks down the hall to the suite, her skirt swishing in her wake.

“Marlena, I won’t let you do this!” Roman bursts into the suite after her and grabs her arm, spinning her around as she goes to slap the envelope on the table.  It falls on the floor as he grips her shoulders so that she can’t turn from him again.  His blue eyes narrow and his voice is gritty and full of emotion.  “I won’t.  We will find another way.”

“No.”  Her expression is stony, devoid of emotion.  “No, we won’t.  And if you can’t get onboard with this Roman, then maybe you should go back to Salem and let me deal with this my way.  In fact,” she glares at the three of them, “maybe you should all go back.”

“Oh, no.”  Hope shakes her head.  

“Are you crazy?”  Bo adds.

“Doc, for god’s sake, listen to yourself!” Roman cries desperately.  “What the hell is this doing to you?  You can’t do this.  You’re starting to sound like Grace.  Hell, you’re even ordering her drinks.  You’re not even fighting it.  You’re goddamn running towards it.”  His eyes are swimming with tears as he slides his hands down her arms and takes her hands in his.  “Please, Doc.  You can’t let Stefano do this to you.  To us!”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I have said?” Marlena hisses furiously.  “I don’t have a choice.  Stefano is forcing me to find the pieces of Grace inside me and to tack them back together.  To get through this, I will have to become as much Grace as I possibly can.  Grace is the only way I get through this intact, at least until I come face to face with that bastard and we get Carrie away from him.”

“And then what?” Hope demands.  “Then what happens?  When Stefano has you in his clutches?  And you are, who, by then?”

“Then I kill him.” Marlena says simply.  “Whomever I am.  I end it.”  A tear trickles from the corner of one eye.  It is a neat ending to a complicated story.  And it is a lie.  If she can, she will, but she knows Stefano.  She knows he is waiting for her.  He knows that is her intention.  She told him as much in New Orleans.

If you lay so much as a finger on any member of my family and I will *kill* you, Stefano.  You know I can do it and I *promise* you, I will.  I will *not* let you take anything more from me or my family.

So, he will have prepared his defenses.  She will walk into his web, and he will truss her up and force her to do and be whatever it is he wants.  And she will do anything, as long as her family are safe.  She had handed him that too, in New Orleans.

My love for my family is my greatest strength.

And also, her greatest weakness.

“Doc, no.” Roman whispers.

“Maybe it’s what I deserve,” she shrugs.  “Maybe, after the things I did as Grace, I just don’t deserve the kind of happiness I thought we might have.”  She manages a little smile.  “Although I had a glimpse of it, the last few days before…” she trails off.  Before Stefano took Carrie.  Before he blew their lives apart completely.  With a small, regretful smile, she lifts her hand to his cheek.  “It would have been quite something.  To grow old with you.  With our children around us.”

“We can still have that, Doc,” Roman shakes his head, tears freely flowing over his weathered cheeks now.  “Please, you have to trust that we can find a way through this.  We’ve always beaten him before.  We can beat him now.”

Her heart aches at his anguish.  She hates this more than anything else.  That she is hurting him.  That she will probably have to hurt him more than she will be able to bear.  But she can’t pretend any longer that this is anything other than what it is.  The end of the line for them.  For her.

“Roman, I know Stefano.  I know how his mind works.  I watched him at work for too long as Grace not to know how this plays out.  He has spent the past four days proving to us just how much in control of everything he is.  We are jumping like puppets on strings, and this is only the beginning.  As long as he has Carrie, he will control our every move.  He will send us where he wants us, he will be watching us and listening to us, and he will snap his fingers and I will jump because he knows I will do anything for my children.”  She pulls her remaining hand from his and wipes the stray tear from her cheek.  She is not crying.  She can’t afford tears.  She can’t afford any kind of weakness.

“I’m sorry.”  She shakes her head.  “I can’t talk about this anymore.  I need some air.”  She looks directly at Hope.  “I’ll stay inside the hotel but please, I need some space.”

She grabs her purse from the sofa and makes her way from the room, a distraught Roman staring at the door as it closes behind her.

Chapter 7 – Isolation

“Martini, please.”  Marlena stands at the counter and waits as the bartender mixes the drink.  

When it is ready, she takes it to a small table in the corner of the small, cozy bar and sits with her back to the wall, watching her fellow patrons.  Despite being close to midnight, it is a Saturday, and the hotel is busy.  She had tried the main bar, known as The American Bar, hoping to lose herself in the larger space but it had been too overwhelming.  This is far preferable.  She only hopes that Hope will respect her wishes and stop Roman from coming to find her.  She can’t do this anymore tonight.  She doesn’t have anything left in her to give.

She takes a mouthful of the martini and savors the bite of the gin as it slips down her throat.

And then her phone buzzes.  And buzzes again.

She takes it out and stares at it.  And then, pushing the accept call button, she puts the phone to her ear.

“Marlena, my dear.  I am so pleased to know that we understand one another.”  His chuckle is rich and unctuous and the sound of it makes her skin crawl.

“What do you want?” she says in a voice so low as to barely be heard.

“To congratulate you on your perceptiveness.  Of course, you are right.  You do know me.  Or at least, Grace does.”  The smirk comes through in his tone and he pauses for a beat to let his words sink in.  “Better than just about anyone, I would say.  And you are also correct in your conclusion that I am the one in control here.  It is so tedious that John cannot accept what is so perfectly plain.  But he will come to accept it, my dear.  In time.”

“Leave Roman out of this,” she whispers.  “Please.  Just… let him go home.  Tell him to go home.  I’ll give you whatever you want.  Just don’t make me hurt him like this.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Stefano laughs malevolently.  “Oh no, Marlena.  John took Grace from me.  He will suffer while I take you from him.  He will witness every moment of this.  That is part of the game, my dear.  This is your punishment, as well as his.”

 “You bastard!” she spits angrily.

“May I also say, how very beautiful you look tonight,” Stefano continues as though their conversation has been perfectly amicable up until this point.  “Did you enjoy the opera?  I thought it to be an excellent production.”

“You are here.” She takes another large mouthful of her martini and then fingers the sapphires and diamonds that adorn her neck and collarbones.  “I knew it.  I could feel you watching me.”

“Of course you did, Marlena.  We are connected, you and I.  I always know when you are nearby, and you know the same of me.”  He gives a self-satisfied sigh.  “The sooner you accept that and stop fighting it, the sooner we can reach the end of this amusement I have devised.”  She hears him swallow and she can only imagine he has reached for his glass of Strega.  “The sooner we can be together, Marlena.”

“I will never be with you!” she hisses furiously.  “Not like that.  Not ever.”

“Never is a very long time, Marlena,” Stefano says casually.  “Too long for young Caroline to be away from her family, no?”

Marlena’s cheeks flame but she is silent.  She has nothing to say.  Stefano has made his endgame clear now.  It’s what she expected but hearing it from his own mouth is chilling.

“Goodnight, Marlena.  Please pay attention to the conditions I set out for the next leg of your journey.  I expect them to be complied with before we progress any further.  I will talk with you again before long, I expect.  Ah, and I suggest you secrete this phone somewhere other than your bag.  I think your family already suspect something is amiss.  I would not be pleased to have this route of contact cut off.”  He laughs then, once again.  “Arrivederci, my Queen.  And sweet dreams, I hope you sleep well, tonight.” 

~

Roman continues to watch the unmoving door, long after Marlena has gone.  Finally, when he can unpin himself from the spot, he looks helplessly to his brother and sister -in-law.  Hope is already in motion.  She comes to him with her finger pressed against her lips and a handwritten note in her hands.  

We can’t talk here.  I believe Stefano is listening to every word that we say.

“You look like you could use a drink, Roman,” she says to him with intent.  He nods as she unfastens his bow tie and drops it on the sofa.  

“Yeah.” He nods as she unfastens his cufflinks and drops them next to the black silk tie.

“Let’s get outta here,” Bo suggests as though it’s the first time any of them have thought of it.

“Sounds good Brady,” Hope nods.  “I think I could use a drink right about now too.”

None of them say another word until they are in the elevator.

“What if we run into Doc?” Roman asks.  “She’s going to think we were following her.”

“We’re leaving the hotel,” Hope tells him.  And when he looks worried, “don’t worry about Marlena.  After she came back this morning, Bo called Shane.  The ISA have someone watching her at all times.  Nothing is going to happen to her.  Not here, not now.  Not on our watch.”

“This is crazy,” Roman shakes his head in disbelief.  “The things she was saying… I can’t believe that was Marlena saying those things.”

“Can’t you?” Hope asks gently.  “When we thought you were dead the first time, Marlena was willing to shoot Stefano to protect Sami and Eric.  And that’s never really changed.  Until now, the threat has always been to her personally.  Or to you.”

“She was willing to destroy her marriage to save you when Stefano had you in Maison Blanche,” Bo reminds him.  “Well, what she thought was her marriage.  I don’t know man, maybe she’s never really been tested like this before.  And with the knowledge of what she did as Grace… if she knows she did it before, why would she let anything stop her now if she thinks it will save her kids?”

“No more talking until we get out of here,” Hope tells them as the elevator doors open and they step out.  

Outside, Bo asks the doorman to call them a cab and within moments, one of the iconic black London taxis rolls up to them.  Once inside, the three of them relax a little as Bo asks the driver to take them to Gordon’s.

“Listen bro, I know you love Marlena.  Hell, we all love her.  But in this matter,” Bo shrugs, “man, you can’t trust her right now.”

“What do you mean, I can’t trust her?” Roman starts angrily.

“Roman!”  Hope leans across and puts her hand on Roman’s knee.  “Bo just means… we think Marlena’s compromised.  We think Stefano has made contact with her directly and she’s not telling us.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Roman’s brow creases.  “Of course she’d damn well tell us.  If that old bastard has said anything to her… Doc couldn’t keep that to herself.”

“Not even if he threatened to make Carrie suffer?  To hurt her?  Or any of your other children?” Hope asks, as gently as she can.

Roman doesn’t have time to answer as they pull up outside the bar.  The three of them enter the bar with the unassuming frontage and descend to the subterranean stone-walled vaults.  Bo and Roman find a table while Hope goes to order their drinks.

“Roman, you and I both know what kind of woman Grace was.” Bo reminds his brother.  “Man, she was all hard edges and hostility and the lies slid off her tongue so smooth and slick it was like they were coated with honey.”

“That woman back there is not Grace!”  Roman’s jaw is taught, his mouth a thin line.  “If it was, I would know, trust me.”

“Yes, she is Grace.  And she’s Marlena too.” Bo shakes her head.  “The Marlena you’ve loved… we’ve all loved for the past ten years, man, she’s a thing of the past.  You’ve gotta know that.  You have to accept it.”  He takes a deep breath, ignoring the glare from Roman.  “This Marlena, she’s different.  She’s in the process of fitting together this jigsaw puzzle of not just her past, but all those things that make her, her.  And whether you like it or not, Grace is inside her head.  Grace is part of that jigsaw puzzle.  And right now, Stefano is handing her the pieces in the order that he wants her to fit them together.”

“Jesus.”  Roman shakes her head.  “You really think he’s contacted her?”

“You don’t?” Bo leans back in his chair.  “C’mon bro.  That about-face with the necklace?  Her certainty that Stefano will make Carrie suffer somehow if she doesn’t do exactly what he says?  He’s playing her and she’s dancing to a very specific tune.  One where we’re not hearing the complete melody.”

“Bo’s right.”  Hope puts two beers in front of the brothers and sits down with a glass of red wine in her hand.  “We have to assume that Stefano is in direct contact with Marlena and that not only are we now faced with Stefano as an adversary, but we also have Marlena to contend with.  Marlena who doesn’t want us to interfere with Stefano’s plans or her intentions to carry them out.”

“I can’t believe Doc wouldn’t just tell me, give me some clue that Stefano has been in touch with her,” Roman says, still struggling to make sense of everything that has happened in the past few hours.

“She wouldn’t if she thinks he is listening to everything she says,” Hope points out.  “That’s one of the reasons I’m so sure the room has been bugged.  She’s probably rightly assumed that Stefano has concealed some kind of listening device in the clothing he has her in tonight.  If she believes he can hear every last thing she tells any of us, it completely isolates her and leaves her at his mercy.”

“He can feed her any of his twisted bullshit and she just has to try and figure out what to do with it,” Bo adds.  “And somewhere between the Marlena and the Grace parts of her, she has to find a way forward that makes sense to her.”

“And at the moment, that is to do everything that Stefano tells her to do,” Hope finishes.  “Because on some level, she trusts him.  She trusts that he will follow through on his threats.  She believes she knows him, and she knows the way his mind works.”

“Well then, what the hell do we do?” Roman asks, his heart aching at the thought of the hell Marlena must be suffering right now, trapped in this snare of Stefano’s devising.  “How do I let her know she’s not alone?”

“I don’t know that you can, Roman,” Hope shakes her head unhappily.  “I talked to Laura earlier when you guys were getting ready for the opera.  I wanted to get her take on what’s happening and I’m sorry to say, she agreed with me.  I think whatever we say or do right now, Marlena is mired so deep in Stefano’s psychological manipulations that she can’t see the way out.  I think if we’re honest with her about our concerns, she’s going to see it as a threat and a potential interference with the way she intends to comply with Stefano’s instructions.  She doesn’t see that there is any other path than the one that Stefano is laying out and I think she’ll fight us if we try and find a different way.  So, I think we have to find a different way, without her input.  And while we do that, we have to prevent her doing anything that might harm her or anyone else.”   

“And all the while, we let Stefano fill her head full of his evil bullshit?” Roman shakes his head.  “No Hope, I won’t stand by and watch her drown in the poison he’s feeding her.  We have to at least stop him communicating with her directly.”

“How?”  Bo asks.  “We don’t even know how he’s doing it.”

“My money is on a cell,” Hope ventures.  “He’s somehow gotten her a cell and he’s called or sent her texts.”

“Well then we find the cell and we get rid of it.” Roman swallows several mouthfuls if his beer.  “At least then she’s not being subjected to his evil, twisted lies.”

“Roman, he’ll just make sure she gets another one.” Bo follows suit with the beer.  The situation is too depressing, and the palliative of alcohol is too tempting.  “And next time she’ll know to be more careful, to hide it better.  To hide her reactions from us.”

“Bo’s right.”  Hope sighs.  “Roman, I hate this, just as much as you do.  Marlena is family.  And she’s only doing what she’s doing because she is trying to protect her family.  I get that.  But if we’re going to save her from herself, and from Stefano, we’re going to have to be careful how we play all of this.  Really careful.  Marlena is resourceful and incredibly intelligent.  We’re essentially going up against her as well as Stefano now.  And how ever much I hate to admit it, she’s also right when she says he is completely in control of things at the moment.  So, we need to quietly figure out how to wrest that control away from him.  And we can’t do that if we’re tipping our hand every five minutes.  We need to play our cards close to the chest.  Do you think you can work with us on that?”

Roman stares at her silently for what seems like an eternity and then nods his head.  He doesn’t like it; he doesn’t like any of this, but it’s the only thing that makes sense in this whole mess.  Saving Marlena from Stefano, whatever it takes.

~

Marlena is surprised to find the suite empty when she returns from the bar.  Deciding that she needs another drink, she calls for some ice and has the attendant butler fix her another martini.

When he is gone, she sits down on the sofa and picks up Roman’s bow tie and cufflinks in her free hand.  She stares at them for a long moment, biting her lip.  Then she puts them down on the table in front of her.

As she leans over, the envelope on the floor catches her eye.  She takes a sip of her martini before putting it on the table and bending down to pick up the plain brown envelope.  She’s not even aware she’s holding her breath as she tears the flap open and slides out the contents.

As before, there is a DVD.  It is accompanied once again by papers, but this time it is a complete newspaper article, photocopied from Le Parisien.  It is dated 6^th May 1988 and, in the photograph, there she is once again, this time on the arm of a prominent Parisian businessman, Claude Bachellier.  They stand next to a couple identified as Daniel and Veronique Bachellier.  She herself is identified as Claude’s ‘companion’ and is named as Victoria Devereaux.

“Nice touch,” she murmurs to herself, wondering if Grace had chosen the name deliberately in defiance of her past as Marlena or whether it had been a more unconscious attempt to connect with the people that had really cared about her.

A second article, this time clipped from La Figaro far more recent details the rise of his brother, Daniel Bachellier, as first a businessman alongside his brother Claude, and more recently a prominent political force in the Rassemblement pour la République party, which currently holds the balance of power in France.

Marlena rubs her forehead wearily as she carefully reads the profile of Daniel.  He is an ultra-conservative député in a center-right party. And he has a seemingly spotless past.  

But Marlena knows it is not spotless.  

She knows that when Veronique was playing tennis, Grace was playing far more pleasurable games with her husband.  She also knows that there are many shady dealings in the backgrounds of the Bachellier brothers; dealings that the French public would not like to know their elected representatives had been engaging in. 

She picks up her martini and takes a large mouthful, the bitter liquid searing as it slips down her throat.  It tastes good though and it’s starting to feel good, this third large martini; it’s starting to relax her in a way she hasn’t felt relaxed in months.  She knows she can’t afford to get drunk; she needs to keep her guard about her; but here, alone in the room, it’s more than a little tempting to just keep drinking until she doesn’t remember any more what she’s drinking to forget.

Sighing, she puts the martini glass down and goes across to the bureau where the TV sits behind worn walnut doors.  She pulls them open and locates the DVD slot.  Sliding the disc out of the plastic envelope, she slips it into the side of the television and switches it on.

By the time she lowers herself back onto the sofa, Stefano’s face is filling the screen.

“Ahhhhh, my Queen.  So, you have completed the first part of the challenge.  How are you enjoying yourself so far?” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.  “The Savoy, it is nice, eh?  Only the best for my Grace.”  He smiles knowingly and puts his finger to the side of his nose.  “She always did have exquisite taste.”

He laughs again and waves his hand.  “So, by now you will have seen Roger Ashton-Clyme’s children, or rather, they will have seen you.  I expect they were rather cross to see you wearing their poor father’s necklace.”  He smiles maliciously.  “I am sure you handled it with exceptional grace and humility, Marlena.  I expect you tried to do something noble like handing back the necklace.  Well…” he laughs, “if you did, it has served its purpose.  But if you still have it, then keep it.  It looks far more beautiful around your neck than it ever did mine.”

“And London,” he nods off to the side of the screen.  “Have you been enjoying your time in this fair city?  I believe you had trouble sleeping last night and took in some of the sights.”  He shakes his head, feigning a look of concern.  “You should be careful my dear, you never know what evil might be lurking out there, waiting to pounce.”

The corner of his mouth twists into a half-smile.  “But never fear Marlena, I would never let anyone hurt you, my dear.  You are far too precious to me to allow any harm to befall you.”

Marlena shudders and drains her martini glass.  She looks at the screen and then looks at her empty glass.  A split second later, she is up at the bar, mixing herself another drink as Stefano continues.

“So, what next?  A short flight to Paris.  I have made the servants aware of your arrival.  You will be staying at my apartment, of course.  You and John, that is.”  His smile fades now and a sneer plays around his lips.  “As to Bo and Hope Brady, it is time for them to depart.  They are not welcome in the next act of this play.  John of course, he is the architect of all this, so it is only right and correct that he should bear witness to how you follow the course I have set you.  But no-one else.”

Marlena considers his words from earlier on.

Please pay attention to the conditions I set out for the next leg of your journey.  I expect them to be complied with before we progress any further.  

She assumes that this is what he was referring to.  That Hope and Bo are not to play any further part.  She can’t say she’s sorry.  Hope is far too astute and will only provide added complications that she doesn’t need.  She wishes that Stefano would ask Roman to go too, but he has made it clear, both on the phone and in this message that he wants Roman to be there by her side.  He wants her husband to bear witness to the woman that she must become.  As she embraces the Grace still resident within her and uses her to wreak destruction on Stefano’s targets.

“I have booked tickets on a commercial flight for you and John.  It leaves at noon tomorrow. Your tickets will be at the front desk downstairs when you wish to collect them.  A car will meet you at Charles de Gaulle Airport and take you to the apartment.  Bo and Hope Brady will return to Salem on Victor Kiriakis’ plane.  You will have no further need of his assistance.”

He smiles and holds up his small glass of Strega at the camera.  “Salut, my dear Marlena.  Until we speak again.”  

~

The Brady trio returns sometime in the early hours of the morning.  Roman lets go of a noiseless groan when he finds Marlena passed out on the sofa, her open hand dangling above a martini glass that lies empty and reproachful on the carpet.  Her hair is half unclipped and tumbling over her bare shoulder and her cheeks bear traces of smudged mascara.  On the table lay several newspaper articles and an empty DVD case.

“Oh, Doc,” he says quietly as he bends and gathers her into his arms.  She moans and wraps her arms around his neck.  “I got you baby,” he whispers against the side of her face.  “I’m with you.  Always.”

Hope opens the door to the bedroom for him and he carries her in and lays her on the bed.  With Hope’s help, he undresses her and unpins the remaining strands of hair that haven’t yet unwound from her expert dressing.  Then he pulls the cover over her and leans over to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Here,” Hope hands him a glass of water and a blister pack of aspirin.  “She’s going to need these when she wakes up.”

Roman takes them and places them on the bedside table with a frown.  Then, with a final worried glance at his wife, he gets up and follows Hope back into the living room.

The three of them are silent as Bo presses play on the remote control and Stefano’s visage fills the television screen.  

They are still silent when the DVD switches itself off ten minutes later.

“Well, there you have it,” Bo says at last.

“You called it,” Roman says wearily, rubbing his forehead.  “The old man wants you gone.  Interfering with his plans, I guess.”

“Guess so.” Hope chews on the inside of her lower lip.  “Roman, if you-”

“No,” Roman shakes his head, determinedly.  “He made it clear.  You’re not welcome any more.  Doc and I will have to manage alone from here on out.”  He shrugs.  “What else can you do, anyway?  No, go home and keep an eye on the kids.  That’s the best way you can help us now.”

“Are you sure, bro?” Bo asks, clearly uncertain as to whether this is the right course of action.

“I’m sure.  We talked about this.  The old bastard has Carrie.  Marlena knows better than any of us what Stefano is capable of, and she says we need to follow his instructions to the letter.  So, that’s what we need to do.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”  Bo levers himself up from the sofa and makes his way to the door.  “I’ll let Vic’s pilot know we’ll be heading home in the morning.”

“Thanks, little brother,” Roman hugs Bo and slaps him on the back.  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us so far; you know I do.  Both of you.”

Hope hugs him.  “We’ll see you in the morning before we go?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Roman nods.  “I’m sure Doc will want to say goodbye.”

Hope squeezes his hand and nods.  “Sleep well.  As well as you can, given the circumstances.”

Roman nods and tucks the piece of paper he has palmed from Hope into his pocket.

Chapter 8 – Retour à la Maison

The first thing Marlena is aware of as she emerges from her alcohol-fogged sleep is the dryness of her mouth.  The second thing, which comes directly on the heels of the first, is the almighty pounding inside her head, like someone is pounding a jackhammer on the inside of her skull.

She tries to roll over and a wave of nausea washes over her and she moans.  The combination of the two actions intensifies the pain in her head, and that, in turn, triggers another wave of nausea.  

“Heeey,” Roman’s soft voice pierces the miasma of martini-remnants that cloud her consciousness.  “Take it easy baby.  Here, hold out your hand.”

She does as instructed and hears two small pops as he snaps the painkillers out of the blister pack.  He places them in her palm.  “Put them in your mouth and then you’ll have to help me help you sit up a bit.  Can you do that?”

She nods and immediately regrets the action.  “Yes,” she whispers before she lifts her hand to her mouth and then with Roman’s help she struggles into a semi-sitting position, all the while, ignoring the flaring pain in her head and the sickness roiling beneath the scarred skin of her stomach.

She feels the coolness of glass against her lips, and she opens her mouth as Roman tips up the glass.  The water both washes the pills down her throat and temporarily quenches the arid dryness of her tongue.  But all too quickly, it is gone.  

 “Oh God, I feel like death,” she groans.  

“I know you do, Doc.”  Roman’s fingers move easily across her forehead, stroking her hair, soothing her with his familiar, easy touch.  “And I’d love nothing more than to stay here looking after you all day.  But we have a plane to catch in a few hours so you’re going to need to try and get yourself up and moving.”

“Mmmmmph,” she thinks for a moment that she is going to be sick as she remembers Stefano’s messages from the night before.  Both his phone call and the DVD.  The result of which, is this godawful hangover.  

She can’t believe she was so stupid.  She had even told herself she couldn’t afford to get drunk.  And then what did she go and do?  It had been the loneliness and the fear and powerlessness she feels in the face of Stefano’s dominance that had done it.  That knowledge that he was listening to her and watching her every move.  And controlling her like a damn marionette, yanking on her strings whenever he feels like it.  Despite having Roman by her side, holding her, loving and supporting her, she has never felt more alone, more isolated.  She is caught in Stefano’s web, well and truly, and he is slowly drawing her in.  And there’s nothing she can do about it.

“What time is it?” she forces one eye open a crack and is grateful to find the curtains still drawn and the room in semi-darkness.

“A little after seven,” Roman tells her.  “But we need to be at Heathrow by ten and we’ll have London traffic to contend with.”

“Okay,” she inhales a deep breath, attempting to steel herself to get herself to the bathroom without the room spinning too badly.  “I can do this.”

“Of course you can, baby,” Roman brushes his lips against her forehead.  “You go ahead and get showered and I’ll start packing our stuff.”

~

 When she finally emerges from the bedroom, a little over forty minutes later, she feels at least human again.  Bo and Hope are in the room once again, sharing a final breakfast with Roman before they head back to Victor’s jet and the USA.

“Hi,” Marlena feels like she has lived an entire lifetime in the few hours since she has seen Bo and Hope and it has exhausted her beyond measure.  She doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed or ashamed of the scene last night.  She had been right.  About all of it.  But she doesn’t have the energy for another argument, not feeling like she does.

“Hi Marlena,” Bo holds up a triangle of toast liberally spread with marmalade.  “Wan’ some breakfast?”

“Maybe a coffee,” she declines his offer with a wavering smile. Her stomach still isn’t really up to the thought of food.

“C’mon Doc, you should have something,” Roman entreats her as he moves aside on the sofa to make space for her.  “Even if it’s just some dry toast.”

“How about some juice?” Hope asks gently.  “I always want orange juice when I’m feeling… a bit delicate.”

Marlena grimaces but nods her head, figuring that if she acquiesces now, then there should be less discussion of what actually happened last night.  What she’s interested in is what’s happening this morning.

“You saw the DVD.”  It’s a statement rather than a question.  If Roman knows they need to board a plane to Paris, then of course they have seen it.

“Yes, we watched it when we came back to the room.”  Hope tells her.  “Stefano made it pretty clear he doesn’t want Bo and I around to interfere any longer.”

“So, what are you going to do?”  Marlena takes a mouthful of the freshly squeezed orange juice and is grateful to note that it seems to calm her stomach and is actually quite delicious.

“We don’t seem to have much choice,” Hope shrugs.  “Stefano doesn’t want us with you, and I got the pretty clear message last night that you don’t want us following you around either.”

“So… you’re just going to give up and go home?” Marlena knows her brother and sister-in-law and if there’s one thing they are not, it is quitters.  She can’t believe they would give up so easily.  In fact, it’s not that she can’t believe it, it’s that she knows they won’t.  She knows them better than that.  Much better.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it giving up.”  Hope raises one eyebrow.  “We’ll still be keeping an eye on you, from afar.  We’ll still be working to try and locate Stefano.  But you said one thing last night that resonated with me.  Stefano has Carrie, but what’s to stop him taking any of the other kids?  If that thing has to be us, to stop him doing that, then we’ll go home.  If we can protect the kids and prevent Stefano gaining any further leverage on you then we’ll do it.”

“When we leave for the airport, Bo and Hope will be heading for Vic’s jet.”  Roman tells her, the sadness and weariness lying heavy on him.  “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I….” she isn’t sure what she wants.  No, that’s a lie.  She wants none of this to be happening.  She wants to be home, safe with her family.  She wants to never have heard the name Stefano DiMera.  If she could wish all this away, she would, in an instant.  But she can’t.  She is stuck in this nightmare.  They all are.  “It’s not what I want.  But it’s the way it has to be.  It’s the way Stefano has arranged this game of his.  I don’t want any of this Roman.  I’m just following the path he has set.  Because I have to.  For Carrie.”

“Yeah.”  He sighs.  “I can’t say I’m happy about it.  Not any of it.  But I’ll go along with it, for now.  I’ll trust you.”  He cocks his head on one side and looks at her, a question in his eyes.  “What choice do I have?”

“None.”  She shrugs.  “None of us have any choices right now.  None at all.”

~

It is half past eight when Roman and Marlena finally make it to the lobby of the Savoy and watch as porter wheels their bags to a waiting taxi.  In front of them, Bo and Hope are climbing into Victor’s waiting car.  Bo turns to wave at his brother before the Bentley swallows him up and then eases out of the forecourt of the venerable hotel.

“They’re really going home?” Marlena muses quietly.

“Sure.  Didn’t you believe them?” Roman says easily as he hands the bell-boy a ten-pound note.  

“Not really,” Marlena slips on her sunglasses.  She might be feeling marginally better, but the glare of the bright autumn day is still too much for her throbbing head to handle.  “It’s not like either of them to give up so easily.”

“Yeah, well.”  There is a hard edge to Roman’s voice that makes Marlena feel uneasy.  “I guess we’re all out of options here Doc.  You made that perfectly clear last night.”  He follows the bell-boy out to the waiting car and holds the door open for Marlena.  She studies him for a moment and then, with a small shake of her head, she climbs into the car.

They spend the next thirty minutes of the drive in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they watch the city edge by, a curious mix of historic and hyper-modern living cheek by jowl along the ancient waterway of the Thames.  Soon enough, they are in suburbia, where brick houses are crammed together in narrow streets, interspersed with small green spaces, parks or squares, lined with trees that are swiftly losing their bright autumn finery, reaching their naked branches up into the watery blue sky.

“So, what do you know about these Bachellier’s?” Roman asks finally, breaking the tense silence that lies between them.  “What connection did Grace have with them?  Why is Stefano sending you to Paris?”

“Do you really want to know?” Marlena slips off her sunglasses and turns to him with a concerned expression.  “Roman, do you really want to know all the sordid details of the things that Grace did?  Do you really want those images running riot through your head?”

“I can’t say I want to know, no.” He shakes his head.  “The thought of you with other men… you’re right, it’s not something I want to know all the intimate details of.  But I gotta know what to expect here, Doc.  I don’t want to be blindsided by something you’re keeping from me to protect me.  You know as well as I do that Stefano wants to cause me as much pain as possible.  You trying to protect me is going to backfire, you know it is.  Stefano will know and he will just find the most painful way of letting me know exactly what Grace did, with every one of the men she did it with.”  

Marlena says nothing for a moment, instead she rubs her fingers over the scuffed, brown upholstery of the seat.  Then she sighs, a deep and depleted sigh.  “You’re right,” she admits.  “Of course you’re right.  Stefano wants you with me for a reason and he’s not going to let me shield you from the things that will hurt you the most.  Why would he?”

“So?” Roman persists, his voice sticking in his throat.  “Bachellier.”

Marlena purses her lips, trying to figure out how to put this into as few words as possible.  As correct as Roman is, she doesn’t want to dwell on this.  She can’t deliberately cause Roman pain, any more than she can deliberately stop breathing.

“As Grace, I spent several months in Paris in 1988.” She tells him.  “Stefano introduced me to Claude Bachellier almost immediately.  He was in business with the brothers, but he had it on good authority that the business the brothers were really deeply embroiled in was dealing in arms, particularly to the Middle East.  If you recall, it was only a couple of years later that Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait which sparked the first Gulf War.  Although by then, obviously, Grace no longer existed, and I had been shipped off to San Christobal.”

“So DiMera wanted you to… what?  He wanted in on the arms deals?” Roman asks.

“No.” Marlena shakes her head.  “Stefano wasn’t interested in making money that way.  Yes, he’s evil, but his evil operates on a personal scale.  He likes to see people hurting.   Mass murder, particularly at a distance, is not his style.”

“So then, what?” Roman asks.

“Stefano’s gold is information.  Particularly information he can use as leverage, whether it be immediate,” she thinks again here of when he had used his knowledge of Belle’s paternity to drive a wedge through her family.  “Or often he collects knowledge and stores it away for the future.  An insurance policy, if you will.  If somebody denies him, or crosses him, he likes to have that information ready to use.”

“Use?” 

“To blackmail.  Or to destroy.  Whatever will give Stefano what he desires most at that moment.”  Marlena fiddles with the sunglasses in her lap and looks out of the window at the rapidly disappearing city.  She’s not entirely sure why she’s having to explain this to Roman.  He should know better than anyone how Stefano uses the truth to destroy his enemies.  The truth that he was Roman Brady had set the mercenary on a rampage that had almost destroyed her.  There’s no better example of the twisted way Stefano will entomb the truth, only to let it explode into the light of day like a zombie, destroying everything it touches.

“So, he set Grace to find out the truth about the Bachellier’s business dealings.” Roman follows the logic of her reasoning. 

“Yes, he wanted proof of the dealings.  Whatever I could find, I was to create copies and send them to Stefano.”

“These deals were… legal?”  Roman asks.

“No,” she shakes her head with a frown.  “They were very not legal.  If the evidence Grace collected were to emerge in public, it would put both the brothers in jail for a very long time.”

Roman exhales heavily through his nose.  Illegal arms deals.  High rolling French politicians with an awful lot to lose.  This already sounds a good deal more dangerous than running into some dead Englishman’s grief-stricken children.

“Did either of the brothers ever suspect what it was you were up to?” he asks tentatively.

“Mmmmm,” her lips purse.  “It was… complicated,” she says evasively.

“Complicated, how?” Roman isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to this question, but he has to ask it anyway.  If he’s to get any kind of advantage on Stefano he has to first understand what it is the old man aims to get out of this situation.  And if he’s going to stop Marlena doing something she will regret, he has to understand what she did back then.  Only if he understands the whole picture will he have any chance of guessing what Stefano’s next move, or demand, might be.

“Oh, Roman,” she sighs, wiping her hand over her face.  Her head is starting to pound again.  She digs in her bag for the bottle of water she had carried out of the hotel and unscrews the top of it.  “Do I really have to spell out the sordid details for you?  Do you really want to know?”  She takes a mouthful of the water and swallows, avoiding Roman’s eyes as she does so.

“We already talked about this, Doc.  You can’t protect me.  You may as well tell me now, before Stefano presents me with pictures or video.”  He remembers her telling him about the pictures of he and Diana that had been shown to her in the process of breaking her will and he knows Stefano will have the same stored away.  Marlena is right, Stefano uses the truth to twist and destroy.  He gets off on it and he doesn’t doubt the old man will use every last bit of deceptive cunning and glorified “truth” to drive a wedge between the two of them during this journey.  He just can’t let it get to him.  Easier said than done.

Marlena fiddles with the strap of her bag, still unable to look at him as she tells him the story in a flat monotone.

“Stefano introduced me to Claude,” she says.  “I was to become his consort.  Claude was vain but insecure.  Daniel was his younger brother and was more handsome, more debonair and more generally at ease with the French ruling class.  It doesn’t surprise me at all that he became a politician.  Claude and Daniel came from a decidedly working-class background and Claude had a real chip on his shoulder about that.  He wanted to be seen as wildly successful and well-thought of but in truth he blustered, and people put up with him because he had money and he was known to be ruthless in business… and of course there were the rumors about the shadier aspects of the brother’s business and the lengths he was prepared to go to in order to protect that side of things.”

“So, not the nicest of guys?” Roman presumes.

“Oh, he was initially a perfect gentleman where I was concerned.”  Marlena shrugs.  “I was his trophy.  I was a signal to the men in his business and social circles that he was as successful as he claimed to be.  He flaunted me.  But what he didn’t know, was that I was also sleeping with his brother.”

“But his brother knew you were sleeping with Claude?” Roman asks, managing to keep his voice even.  He notes she has given up the delineation between herself and Grace and is now just referring to her actions in the first person.  As hard as it is to hear, he almost prefers that.  It means she is starting to trust him with the truth.

“He thought it was funny.” Marlena grimaces.  “He is, at least he was then, one of those entitled men who thinks they can take anything that anyone else has and they have a right to it.  They don’t care, or even think about the impact of their actions on those around them.  They want something and they take it, damn anyone who gets in the way or gets hurt.  He’d been the Bachellier parent’s golden boy, I guess.  Claude had worked hard for everything, and Daniel had ridden on his coat-tails, leaving the work to his brother and picking up the paycheck at the end of the month.”

“They both sound charming,” Roman murmurs, his face taut.

“Certainly not people I would look up again if I had the choice,” Marlena agrees.

“But the thing is, because Daniel was basically entitled and lazy, he was also careless.  And he left things lying around.  Incriminating paperwork.  Bills of lading for shipping.  Invoices.  Most were codified of course, but anyone with half a brain could see what they were.  And there were a few that were quite explicit as to what was being bought and sold.”

“So, you copied them?” Roman asks.

“You know Stefano has always had access to the most up to date technology.  I had a tiny camera, smaller than a credit card and I took pictures of everything I found.  There was stuff at Claude’s for sure, but none of it would have been incriminating, had it not been for what I saw and copied at Daniels.”

“So, we come back to the question of whether they ever knew that you had discovered and copied those documents.” Roman re-visits his initial question.

“I don’t know whether Claude knew, but I think he suspected it when he found me at Daniel’s apartment one afternoon.  Daniel’s wife was in hospital, she had just had their first child and Daniel had gone to visit her.  I had told him I would wait for him to come back…” she doesn’t continue the sentence the way she had done with Daniel.  “Claude turned up and let himself in.  I was in the living room, wearing Daniel’s shirt and very little else and some of the paperwork was spread out on the coffee table in front of me.  I wasn’t actually reading anything when he entered the apartment, but it was reasonable for him to assume I had at least glanced at it.”

“What happened?” Roman asks.

“He was furious.”  Marlena says flatly.  “He hit me.”

“He what?”  Roman is horrified.  But then Stefano served Marlena up on a platter to a madman rapist, so he shouldn’t be surprised.  But if Stefano intends sending her into proximity with this man again, he has another thing coming.

“The damage wasn’t bad,” Marlena shrugged.  “A black eye, a fat lip.  But Grace told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him.  And I never saw him again.  I’d managed to send Stefano enough information by then.  I dressed and left the apartment while Claude was still ranting.  I called Stefano and told him what had happened.   His driver picked me up at a nearby café fifteen minutes later and within the day we’d left Paris.  It was the last I saw of either of them.”

“So, you walking back into either Bachellier’s life is unlikely to be greeted with great joy,” Roman muses.  “But the background article on Daniel reads like he and Claude are close.  From what you just described; Claude didn’t have a high opinion of his brother.”

“Oh no, he loved Daniel.  Claude was like his parents in that way.  Daniel was so utterly charming and likeable that one couldn’t help forgiving him his many, many flaws.  Claude, for the most part, tolerated Daniel’s fickleness and his lackadaisical approach to business and life.  Daniel charmed the clients, smoothed the way, he was the good cop and Claude would come in as the bad cop and turn the screws when needed.  Daniel had his skills and Claude used them to good effect.  He just lived with Daniel’s sense of entitlement and saw it as something to be borne rather than changed.”

“And this man is a politician now.”  It’s a statement of fact, rather than a question.

“Fickle, entitled and self-interested?”  Marlena raises an eyebrow.  “Doesn’t that describe more than a few politicians in Salem, let alone on the national stage?”

“Mmmmm,” Roman is non-committal.  None of this sounds like a situation he wants his wife to be walking into.  But then, what else does he expect?  The things she did for Stefano, by her own admission were variously illegal, cruel and lethal.  Any revisiting or redux of the events of ten years ago are going to be potentially dangerous and definitely unpleasant for both of them.  As well as for Stefano’s targets and enemies.  Marlena was right, this is going to come between them.  He can’t see how it won’t.  Because she’s not Marlena anymore, she’s this weird Marlena-Grace hybrid who is willing to do unconscionable things.  She is in an impossible situation, and he knows if Stefano put him in the same situation, he would feel exactly the same way.  He would do whatever it takes to get Carrie away from that madman.

Except doing everything it takes in this case is letting Marlena walk into the hands of the devil.  Not just watching her, but aiding and abetting her.  And he’s not sure he can do that.  Not even for Carrie.

There has to be another way.  

“So, what do you think Stefano is going to want you to do?” Roman asks.  “Any clues in any of the information he’s given you so far?”  Anything you’re not telling me, Doc?

“I don’t know for sure, but if I was a betting woman, I would say that Stefano wants to use the information I gathered for some reason.  And he wants me to be the one to deliver the news.”  She grimaces.  “Whatever it is, I’m sure the only person that will be enjoying it, will be Stefano.”

“You think he’ll want front row seats?  That he’s in Paris?” Roman’s voice betrays his interest in this line of questioning.  It’s something he’s been pondering.  If Stefano has been contacting Marlena, the likelihood is that he’s either got someone watching them, or that, at times, he is watching them himself.  He knows that Marlena has claimed that Stefano wouldn’t put himself at risk like that, but Roman’s not convinced.  He can’t imagine Stefano putting this elaborate plan together to test Marlena, to attempt to splinter her and draw Grace back out into the open, and him not being there to watch the drama play out.  That doesn’t seem like Stefano at all.

The old man will want to be there, watching how every detail plays out, seeing how Marlena reacts and tallying that up against what he would expect of Grace.  And he’ll be watching how the two of them interact, looking for the signs of fissures between them, waiting for the opportunity to slip in and wedge them wider.

No, the more he thinks about it, he’s sure Stefano is one step ahead of them, physically as well as mentally.  He is already in Paris, waiting for them to arrive and he has every step of the next few days mapped out, all of it in his clear and present view.

Marlena sighs.  Not so much because Roman has asked the question, it’s a logical one to ask after all.   But because she doesn’t know how to answer it.  Of course, Stefano will be there.  But to admit that to Roman is to possibly tip her hand.  As well, it will mean he is looking for Stefano around every corner, which could make him careless.  Still, perhaps a preoccupation with looking for signs of Stefano will mean he pays less attention to her.  She can only hope.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs easily, the gesture belying the tenseness in her back and shoulders.  “We’re staying in his apartment, so where would he stay?”

“He has his pick of Parisian hotels at his disposal,” Roman points out.

“It’s a possibility I suppose,” she is non-committal. 

“C’mon, Doc,” Roman almost laughs.  She knows as well as he does that Stefano will be there.  “Stefano’s not going to miss a minute of this.  He’s set this up to cause the maximum discomfort and pain to everyone involved.  All of this.  The scene at the Opera House last night.  You confronting Bachellier after what he did to you, and with information that will at the very least, ruin him and his brother, if not send them to jail.  You think the old man is not going to be around to watch that play out?  C’mon, you claim to know Stefano so well, you really think he’s going to miss that?”

“Okay, all right.”  She holds up her hands.  “He was probably skulking about in London, and yes, he will probably be in Paris.  But I’m not sure how that helps us, Roman.  He’s going to stay in the shadows, he won’t put himself at risk.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but at least knowing he’s there means we know one thing he doesn’t want us to know.”  Roman points out.

Doesn’t want you to know…  Marlena looks away out of the window.  She is done with this conversation.  Her head is pounding again, and the nausea has returned.  She doesn’t want to think about Claude Bachellier and his oversized hands or Daniel Bachellier and his oversized ego.  She especially doesn’t want to think about Stefano and what he might have in store for her next.

~

They touchdown in Paris several hours later and as they walk into the arrivals hall, a short, stocky man in some kind of uniform comes directly towards them.

“Dr. Evans,” his accent is thickly Parisian and becomes glottal as he bobs his head in greeting.  He completely ignores Roman as he addresses his welcome to Marlena.  “Mr. DiMera regrets he cannot be here to greet you himself, but he has asked me to drive you to the apartment in Saint Germain-des-Prés.  The housekeeper would like me to ask if you would be requiring ah … le repas.”

“Oui,” Marlena replies.  They’d served lunch on the flight, but she’d barely touched it.  Now, after another two doses of painkillers, she is starting to feel more human again and she is ravenous.  If this is the same housekeeper Stefano had all those years ago, Marlena remembers that she makes delicious food.  “Something light is fine.”

The driver nods and indicates with his hand that she should follow him.  She shoots a quick glance at Roman, who is glowering at the man.  She reaches out and takes his hand as a gesture of solidarity.  She is grateful to feel his fingers wrap around hers and the soft squeeze of his muscles as he responds to her unspoken offering.  She doesn’t know how long she can keep this up, simultaneously pushing him away while trying to keep him close.  She knows it’s not fair on him, but she doesn’t know what else to do.  She needs his strength.  She needs him, as much as she tries to deny it.

As the driver in front of them walks, his gait uneven due to legs that are clearly bowed, he takes out a chunky cell phone and presses several buttons before putting it to his ear.  His Parisian is too quick and his words too muffled for Marlena to understand much of it, but she is pretty sure he is talking to Stefano for at least some of the conversation.  

It takes another hour to navigate the Parisian city streets and the crazy traffic, particularly around the Arc de Triomphe, where it seems like an absolute miracle that they make it out alive, let alone intact.

Finally, the driver drops them outside the apartment building on Rue Bonaparte.

“I will bring your bags up once I have garaged the car.  The concierge is expecting you.  You remember the apartment number, yes?” he asks casually.  

“Yes.”  Marlena nods, looking up at the beautiful apartment building with its wrought iron balustrades and elegant shuttered windows.  It is typical of Stefano to have an apartment in one of the most desirable and expensive streets in Paris.  Not to mention one with a litany of famous literary connections.  

Beckoning Roman to follow her, she steps up to the door and enters the cool vaulted entranceway of the apartment building.  To the left-hand side of the entrance hall, a door opens, and a wizened old man shuffles out.  

“Ahhhh,” he takes her hand in his.  “Mademoiselle Grace, I was so happy to hear you were returning to us,” he gives a slightly hysterical giggle.  “It is an honor to see you again after so long.”  He plants a whiskery kiss on the back of her hand.  “Let me look at you.”  He takes a step back.  “Now, enlever ces lunettes and let me see your beautiful eyes.”

“Oh Clement, you incorrigible old flirt!” She can’t help the peal of laughter which falls from her lips as she takes off her glasses.

“Mon Dieu!” he exclaims in mock surprise.  “It cannot be!  You must have stepped out of a time machine ma beauté!  You look the same as you did ten years ago.  Vraiment!”

“No time machine,” Marlena smiles and Roman can see how genuine her affection for the old man is.  “But thank you, Clement, you are very kind.”

“No kindness, just honnêteté.” He beams and for a moment the pleasure and emotion in his eyes shines in a very real way and Roman understands what Marlena means to this old man.  

He is momentarily taken aback by the realization of the depth of feeling between these two.  He finds it hard to imagine anyone feeling any kind of affection for Grace, let alone genuine love.  But then, she had gotten under his skin, hadn’t she?  She had been a master of emotional manipulation.  But she also had an unexpected softness and vulnerability at times.  Maybe it isn’t so far-fetched to imagine that when she was in a place where she felt safe that facets of Marlena may have been revealed to those around her.

And he knows only too well how those facets can bring a person to love her for everything she is, every complex, soft, steel-strong, sharp and gentle part of her.  

“And you?” Clement swivels his head to look at Roman, as though just realizing he is there for the first time.

“Clement, this is my husband.” Marlena takes his hand in hers once again, as though claiming ownership of him.

“Mari?” Clement exclaims, turning back to Marlena, his shock evident.  “Ma chérie, you always told me you were not the marrying kind.  Est-ce que Stefano le sait?”

“Oh, oui.”  Marlena nods grimly.  “He knows.”

“Je suppose qu’il n’est pas content?”  The old man raises bushy grey eyebrows.  

“Non.”  She says nothing else.  She doesn’t need to.  Clement understands perfectly and he nods, his expression displaying his disquiet as his eyes flick to Roman again.  

“Now, Grace you must go upstairs,” Clement pats the back of her hand, which he has taken again in his, his papery skin dry and warm against hers.  “Marie is waiting for you.  She is as joyeux as I about your return.”

“All right.  But I’ll come back down and see you later.  I am sure you have much to fill me in on.”  She covers his wrinkled old hand with hers and leans forward to brush a kiss on either cheek in the French style.  The ancient old man blushes and gives a croaky laugh as he nods his assent.  

“Plus important encore, il y a beaucoup de choses à me dire.” He tells her, raising his eyebrows again to indicate that he expects an explanation, or any number of explanations, both about her absence and her return with an unexpected husband but without Stefano DiMera.

“Je vais tout expliquer. Plus tard.” Marlena promises him.  “But I need a glass of water and some of Marie’s exceptional food to revive me first.”

“Oui.”  Clement nods and leads her to the bottom of the stairs.  “You know the way.”  It is a statement, not a question and Marlena just squeezes his hand before she lets go and starts to climb.  Clement looks questioningly at Roman who just shrugs and follows her.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Roman murmurs when they are halfway up the first flight of stairs.  His tone is even but Marlena can hear the undertone of peevishness which threads through his comment.  Or maybe it’s fear that she hears, disguised in shades of irritation.

“I didn’t.”  She doesn’t turn around but keeps climbing.  “But for Grace to be useful to Stefano, for her to be able to gather information, she needed to have at least a working understanding of several European languages.  So, as part of my training, Stefano had me schooled in French, Italian, Spanish and German.  I also understand a smattering of Russian.  But French was the one that Grace really enjoyed and because this was Stefano’s base a lot of the time in Europe, she was able to develop some fluency in speaking it as well as understanding the native Parisians.”

“Handy.” Roman’s voice is drenched with sarcasm.  He knows it’s unfair.  None of this is Marlena’s fault, but he’s scared and the way she interchangeably refers to herself in the first person and then Grace in the third person is really unsettling him.  Not to mention seeing her here in Stefano’s territory, the place where she clearly spent so much time as Grace and where she seems to feel remarkably at home.

Marlena ignores his irritation, not even taking the time to turn and look at him.  She doesn’t have the time or energy to assuage his hurt feelings.  She has to stay alert at every turning for Stefano and his traps.

They have to climb three flights of stone stairs to reach Stefano’s apartment, but the door is opened even before they reach it.

“Grace, bienvenue à la maison ma chérie!”  The pink-faced woman at the door is a similar age to Marlena but she embraces her in a heavily maternal fashion, her grey-clad, shapeless body enveloping Marlena in an enthusiastic hug.  “Entrez, entrez!”

She waves both Marlena and Roman into the apartment and shuts the door behind them.  She seems unphased by Roman’s presence and he can only guess that the driver has appraised her of both his existence and his relationship to Marlena, unlike the ancient Clement downstairs.

“Let me look at you!” Marie holds Marlena at arm’s length and appraises her.  “Ah, you look well, although, as usual, too skinny.  You need some decent food, chérie!”

“Oh Marie, I am sure you will do your best to see to that.”  Marlena laughs again.  “And you haven’t changed a bit.  How are you?”

“Toujours mariés!” Marie rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.  “I have spent the past ten years trying to get rid of him, but still, he plagues me!”

“I told you, get rid of the television and he’ll follow!”  Marlena grasps Marie’s hand.  “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Marie.”

“Où êtes-vous allé?” Marie asks, serious now.  “Mr. DiMera would not say.  Et vous ramenez un mari?  Ç’est pourquoi?”

“Oh, it’s a terribly long story,” Marlena says evasively.  “And right now, I am famished.  Can we talk later?  I’ll tell you everything.  Just not now.”

She has no intention of telling Marie everything, or even much of anything, if she can help it.  And the truth is, she is ravenously hungry now that her hangover has subsided, so it seems like a timely excuse to avoid that conversation.

“Ah, oui oui biensur!” Marie nods, squeezing Marlena’s hand.  “It is almost ready, your dinner.  You know where your bedroom is, if you would like to wash up before you eat?”  

“Yes, please.”  Marlena nods.

“If you would like to change out of your travel clothes, there are new garments in the armoire.”  She looks at Roman now.  “I am afraid Mr. DiMera did not send on any clothes for your husband, however.”

“Well, there’s a surprise.” Roman says with an air of annoyance.

“Piotr should be up with your bags shortly.  I will make sure he brings them up to your room.”  She reaches up and cups Marlena’s face in the palm of her hand.  “It is wonderful to see you, ma Grace.  Vous avez été manqué.”

Marlena smiles and squeezes Marie’s other hand which still grips her hand.  “It’s good to be back,” she says simply and then she turns and makes her way up the stairs.  Roman flashes a forced smile at the housekeeper and then follows his wife.

The apartment is vast and full of what look like expensive French antiques.  The staircase is sweeping, the balustrades ornate constructions of wrought metal and carved marble.  The walls are covered with paintings that range from what looks like Renaissance to Impressionist period with any number of artistic styles between.  The furniture is all of French Regency style, and Roman guesses, probably genuine to the period.  Vases and other ornaments look genuinely old and probably each is worth a small fortune.  The overall impression is of ornate richness and sumptuousness that Stefano has clearly cultivated and displays quite ostentatiously how much he is worth and how cultured he believes he is.

Roman follows Marlena into the bedroom that has obviously been hers before and has been allocated to them now.  Given how many rooms are probably contained within this apartment, Roman wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it has been reserved for her, all this time, just waiting for ’Grace’s’ return.

“Do you want to shower first, or shall I?” Marlena asks, her voice unusually sharp, like she is wavering at the knife edge of losing her patience.  Or her temper.

“You go ahead,” Roman says gruffly.  He doesn’t add that there’s no point in him showering as he has no clean clothes to change into.  He figures that would probably be enough to send Marlena over the edge she’s obviously teetering on.

She nods and disappears through a doorway into what is obviously the bathroom.  Beyond the door he catches a glimpse of cream marble and gold.  Then she closes it and she, and the bathroom are lost from view.

Roman sighs and runs his hand through his hair.  Going to the armoire, he throws open the doors.  As he expected, there is a whole wardrobe of brand-new clothes here.  Expensive clothes, according to the labels.  Expensive fabrics, no doubt cut to drape his wife’s body exquisitely and display her to her best advantage.  She will undoubtedly look stunning in every piece of clothing Stefano has chosen for her, but they are not pieces she would have chosen for herself. At least not the Marlena that he knows.  

That he knew.

It’s all designed to widen the space between them, to remind Roman that he is not in control now; that Stefano calls the shots and it’s Stefano who dominates his wife.

He sighs and pulls out a butter yellow silk sheath dress.  At least he can pretend he has some influence with her still.  Even if he knows she’s probably just humoring him, he can hope that she still loves him enough to make him feel like he has some sway.  Some say.

He lays the dress on the navy-blue brocade bedspread that lays heavily on the elaborate four-poster bed.  He hears the splashing sound of Marlena stepping into the shower as he does so and quickly, he moves across the room towards the window.  Digging into an inside pocket of his jacket, he pulls out his cell phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds Bo’s name.

At DiMera’s apartment.  Rue Bonaparte.  M has filled me in on Bachellier.

After a moment, a message pings back and he opens it.

Just on way into Paris.  Will find hotel close by.  How is she?

Roman considers Marlena for a moment.  How is she?  How would he even know right now?  She’s that closed off to him, she’s a virtual stranger.  Yes, there are moments where she softens, when he senses she’s being open and honest with them, but if he is honest with himself, they are fleeting at best.  No, she’s playing a game, as much as Stefano is.  And playing games is not Marlena’s style.  But it is Grace’s.

She’s distant.  I don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling most of the time.  I feel like I’ve already lost her, Bo.

Again, the message silently pings back within seconds.

Hang in there, bro.  I know you’re scared.  We’re here though.  We’ll keep an eye on her and we’ll find DiMera.

Roman nods and taps another text into his phone.

Pretty sure he’s here somewhere.  Listening to us.  Watching us.

The phone vibrates with another message as he hears the water in the bathroom taper down to a stop.

ISA on the case.  If he’s here, we’ll find him.

Roman codes a final message into his phone, presses send and slides it back into his pocket.  Marlena seems to have brought the subterfuge of Bo and Hope’s return to Salem, he only hopes that Stefano has been similarly fooled.

A sharp rap sounds on the paneled door and Roman pulls it open.  The driver, Piotr, stands outside with their suitcases.  Roman ushers him in and thanks him tersely as the man deposits the bags next to the bed.  He has just left when Marlena re-enters the room, wrapped in a luxurious bathrobe, her hair falling like a curtain of burnished gold over the dark navy cotton.

“All yours,” she says, managing a tight smile.  “I’ll see you downstairs when you’re done.”

“Sure.”  

They’ve had times before in their marriage when things haven’t been easy between them, when they’ve disagreed and fought and been at odds.  But with the exception of the time she was Grace, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so far away from her.  Not even when he thought he was John Black and they had tried to move on without each other.

He opens his mouth to say something, but she has already turned away.  He briefly contemplates trying to physically reach her, to pull her into his arms, but he doesn’t even feel that he can do that right now.  In the past, they have always been able to bridge any gap between them through physical intimacy, but it feels like even that avenue is lost to him.

Wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm, he turns for the bathroom.

Chapter 9 –  Les Plis Ténébreux de la Vie

“You can give without loving, but you can never love without giving. The great acts of love are done by those who are habitually performing small acts of kindness. We pardon to the extent that we love. Love is knowing that even when you are alone, you will never be lonely again. And great happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved. Loved for ourselves.  And even loved in spite of ourselves.”

― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Twenty minutes later Roman is showered and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a button-down shirt as he makes his way downstairs.  He can hear the housekeeper bustling about the kitchen but there are no voices, so he assumes Marlena is not in there with her.  He moves down the long hallway, peering into each room as he passes it.  In one there is a dining table which has clearly been set for their meal, although the food has not yet been delivered and the room is empty aside from the place settings and the gratuitously large bunch of peonies and lilac which graces the middle of the table.

The room next to it is clearly a study with a luxurious padded leather chair sat behind a heavy mahogany desk and walls lined with books.  In the corner sits a small occasional table with a ornate marble chess-set in the middle of play.  Roman doesn’t care to study the move in play.  He is sure it will convey some deliberate message from Stefano, and he doesn’t want to give the old man even a moment of pleasure in thinking he has rattled Roman through his not-so-subtle power-plays.

He keeps on moving and when he reaches the doorway of the second to last room, he sees her.  She is standing, leaning against the frame of a double door that opens out onto one of the wrought iron balconies.  Beyond the rooftops, he can see the glitter of water on the Seine and in the far distance, perhaps, the spires of the sublimely stunning Notre Dame Cathedral.  

The sun is still high in the sky and Marlena is bathed in golden light, illuminating both her coiffed hair and the butter yellow dress she wears.  The dress Roman had picked out for her.  His heart jumps at the sight of her and he feels stupidly grateful that she has at least afforded him that one moment, that one suggestion.  It tells him that she still considers herself his, as much as Stefano might try and prize them apart, she is still giving him something to hold onto.  Whether she intends it consciously or not, she is telling him to keep hoping, to keep fighting for her.

He stands and watches her for a moment.  Despite the subtle message the dress sends, she cuts a heartbreakingly lonely figure, her arms folded around her, hands embracing her bare upper arms.  Slowly, he approaches her and when, finally she hears him, she surreptitiously wipes her cheeks and turns.

“Hey,” he says softly.  He wants to reach out to her and take her in his arms, but instead he just comes to her side and stands shoulder to shoulder, looking out over terracotta-tiled rooftops.  She says nothing and he can see the sheen of the tears she has rubbed from her cheeks.

“You look… amazing.  Beautiful.”  He wants to tell her she looks like an angel, that she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, as she is every time he sees her, but he settles for just a simple ‘beautiful’ instead.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him but he sees her lips twitch into a wavering smile.  He is not sure whether her lack of reply is because she has nothing to say in reply or whether it’s because she doesn’t trust herself to say anything.

He can tell she’s not angry anymore, and that’s a relief and a blessing but it has been replaced by a profound sadness that seems to emanate from her until it fills the room with a melancholic torpor.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” he turns to her now and lays his hand on her waist.  She won’t look at him, just shakes her head.  But he can see the tears glittering in her eyes and can feel the pain she is in, and he is desperate to help her.  He knows he can’t take her pain away, but he can lighten the load, if only she will let him.  “Marlena, please talk to me.”  He moves around in front of her, so that now she can’t avoid looking at him.  “Tell me what is going on.  I know you’re keeping things from me.  If you think you’re doing it to protect me, that pushing me away will hurt me less than anything else that might happen, you’re wrong.”

“That’s not it,” her voice is barely a whisper.

“Then what is it?” he asks.  “Doc, don’t shut me out.  Please.  The only way we can get through this, is together.”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head with an unutterably sad smile.

“Doc, listen, you’re the shrink here but I am wondering, would you advise your clients to shut out their closest support systems in times of crisis?”  He prizes one of her hands away from where it is clamped to her upper arm and wraps it in his own.  “Doesn’t sound to me like something that makes sense.  Does it to you?” 

He sees a fleeting expression of something flit across her face and then she looks behind her into the empty sitting room.  Seeming to make a decision, she withdraws her hand from his and moves sideways.  He thinks for a moment that she is going to turn and walk away from him but instead, she turns to push the heavy beveled glass doors closed and draws him further out onto the balcony where the sound of traffic is heavier and can mask their words.

“You may have forgotten,” her voice is brittle now, “I am not a practicing psychiatrist anymore.  And I’m not really qualified to give advice these days.  Not with the mess I’ve made of my life.”

“It’s not you that’s made a mess of your life,” Roman reminds her.

“Yes well, that’s the other thing, isn’t it?”  The pain is written all over her face now.  “How many of my clients have had to contend with the shadow of Stefano DiMera looming over their lives and attempting to control, if not every move, certainly many of the most significant ones?”

“Very few, I am sure,” he tries to comfort her.  “The havoc and chaos he’s wreaked in our lives, we can’t do anything about that, but we also don’t need to take responsibility for everything that’s gone wrong in our lives.  I repeat, it’s not you that’s made the mess, Doc.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks softly with a shake of her head.  “I’m not so sure anymore.  I’m not really sure about anything.”

“There’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of,” he takes her hands again trying to impress upon her the depth of his feeling.  “And that’s how completely I love you.”

“You don’t even know me.  Not anymore.”  She pulls away from him and wraps her arms around herself once again.  Like she’s drawing an invisible cape around herself, one that will protect her from his insight, from his view.  “I’m not the same woman I was, Roman.  I’m not the Marlena you fell in love with.  Not any longer.”

“I still love you.”  He tells her simply.  And it’s true.  He still loves her with every fiber of his being.  He loves her so much that sometimes he can’t breathe with the intensity of it.  He loves her so much that sometimes it hurts.  Like now.

“You didn’t even like Grace,” she aims the words like an arrow at him. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like her.” Roman tries to explain.  This seems to be a constant sticking point and the tension around it is increasing as her behavior becomes more Grace-like during this journey.  “Doc, she was simply in the way.  She wasn’t a fully rounded person; she was a shield.   She was a roadblock and I had to go through her to get to you.”

“No Roman, she was me.  She is me.  A large part of me, anyway.”

“Doc-”

“No, you have to understand this.  I am capable of terrible things, Roman.  I have killed and I would kill again to protect those that I love.”  She glares at him, daring him to argue with her.  He chooses to stay silent and let her have her say.  He doesn’t doubt her words and yet it makes him slightly nauseous to think of that potential possibility.  “And you saying that Grace was responsible, and I only did that because Stefano twisted her… me… it’s denying the truth about who I have become.”  She sighs, backing away from him so that she is at the wrought iron railings of the balcony, the soft breeze ruffling her golden hair.  “Yes, part of me is still the Marlena you fell in love with.  I love my family and my friends, and I want to help people.  But another part of me, a part that was locked away for so many years isn’t that woman.  That part of me is angry and dark, and yes, twisted.”  She sighs again and shrugs.  “Maybe Stefano did break me, but the reality is that part of me is still broken and probably always will be.  And if you only love the sweet, “good” Marlena part of me and you pretend the dark, Grace shadow side of me doesn’t exist then you’re not really accepting who I am now and you’re not loving all of me.””

Roman shakes his head.  He can’t believe she doubts him, even after all these years.  “Baby, I do get all that.  You seem to think I don’t, but I do.  I just don’t care.  I love you, all of you and I don’t care what you’ve done or might do.  I just love you and want to be with you.  I just want you to let me love you.”  He chews on his lower lip for a moment and runs his hand through his dark hair before continuing.  “The one thing I’m really having a problem with, Doc, if I’m honest, is you, turning your back on me now.  On us.  I’m trying to fight for us here and you just keep pushing me away.  I haven’t turned my back on you yet, Marlena, and I won’t no matter how hard you keep trying to push me away.”

Marlena gives a short, acerbic laugh and Roman cocks his head in confusion.

“You wouldn’t turn your back on me?” she demands bitterly.  “Come on, Roman.  We both know that’s an out and out lie.”

“I don’t understand,” his brow wrinkles in confusion.

“You have turned your back on me,” she reminds him angrily.  “Numerous times.  Stefano took us from each other, but you made it easy for him.  You abandoned me to Lamont when I returned and then when I was free of him, you decided Kristen DiMera was preferable to me.”  The expression on her face is pure scorn now. “And let’s not even bother talking about the good Princess.”

“Doc,” he is genuinely shocked at the vitriol in her tone, if not completely at the words she utters.  “You know I didn’t have any control over what Stefano did to us, or over what happened with Gina.  If I had-”

“And isn’t that exactly the point of this whole thing?” she demands.  “We didn’t have any control.  He did what he wanted with us.  And we don’t have any control now.  We will never have any control; as long as there is a breath in his body, we are at his mercy.  He is too powerful, and his reach is too long.”  Her hands are clenched now into white edged fists.  “He plagues my dreams, Roman, and I fear that even when he is finally in his grave, he will still reach us.  He will always have power over us, he will never leave us in peace.”

“Doc-” he starts but she holds up her hand and her eyes flash dangerously.

“No, Roman.  Don’t tell me that we can fight him together.” She shakes her head, her tone flat and lifeless.  “Those are hollow sentiments.  When Stefano wants something, he just reaches out and takes it.  You know that as well as I do.  We’ve never been able to stop him, and nothing has changed now.  Now the stakes are higher because he has Carrie.  Because he can take any of the other four or Will.  He has all the power, and we have none.  The sooner you accept that, the easier all this will be.”

She wipes the angry tears from the corner of her eyes and glares at him.

“So, we just give up, is that it?”  Roman is angry now too.  “We just walk away from each other and let him win?  Doc, I can’t believe you would ever think that’s an option.”

“We have before,” she reminds him dully.  “When we thought it was the best thing for each other.  For the people we loved.  Roman, we’ve spent half our lives trying to do what was best.  For each other, for the children.  And I’m trying to do what is best for you now.  Why can’t you accept that?”

She is crying now, openly. 

“Because I can’t do this without you, Doc.”  He steps forward and grasps her upper arms firmly.  His intense azure eyes meet hers and hold her gaze.  “Yes, we tried it apart and it never worked.  You were miserable.  I was miserable, Marlena.  We always found our way back together because that how it is supposed to be.  You and me, facing the world.  Facing Stefano together.  Whatever he throws at us.”  He sighs now, his thumbs stroking the skin of her arms.  “This isn’t about who has the power, who wins.  This is about facing it together.  However it ends.  You keep telling me I need to get it.  Well, how about you get this, baby.  There is no point to any of this without you.  Not for me.  If I stay safe, what does that matter if you aren’t beside me?”

“And the children?  What about the children?” she flicks at her tears with trembling fingers.  “What if what we do here means that they get hurt.  Or worse?”

“I love my children, but I love you just as much,” Roman winds his fingers into her hair.  “Bo and Hope, the rest of the family will look out for the children.  I am not walking away from you, not even for the children.  Do you understand me?”

Marlena stares at him miserably and he fixes her with his unflinchingly blue eyes.

“Doc, you’ve always been my moral compass.  My rock-”

“I can’t be that for you anymore,” she snaps at him in a rush of words.  “I don’t even know who I am now, let alone what is right.  All I have is questions, and when I try to find answers, I just discover more questions.  So, I can’t.  I can’t be what you need me to be.  Not now.”

“Doc,” he lets out a sad laugh and places his fingers against her lips.  “Just listen to me for once.  I was going to say, maybe now it’s time I was yours.  Your rock.  Your anchor.  If you need someone to tell you which way is up, then I am here.  Baby, you can’t do this on your own any more than I can.” He twists his fingers deeper into her tresses and pulls her closer to him.  “Doc, I don’t care.  I don’t care that you’re part Marlena, part Grace.  If you were part Mata Hari, I wouldn’t care.  I love you.  I am going to stick with you.  Through thick and thin.  Do you understand me?”

“I don’t believe you,” she whispers, her voice thready.

“Doc,” they are almost nose to nose now, and he can feel her warm breath against his lips.  “Have I really hurt you and let you down that much that you can’t believe that I’ll stick around?  That you think this will be too hard for me, that I’ll turn around and walk away.  Baby,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across hers so that her breath catches in her throat.  “I don’t care who you think you are, who you actually end up being, or what you do.  I don’t care about any of it.  I’m here.  Whether you want me to be or not.  I have your back, Marlena.  I will have your back through it all.  I will fight for you, look after you and protect you.  If I can, because you’re right, Stefano does hold all the cards.  I know the ending of this may not be a happy one.  But as long as I’m with you and fighting for us, then I can live, or die, by that knowledge and be happy.”

Marlena chokes back a sob, unable to say anything and he continues.

“And you need to know, if I have to, I won’t just fight for you; if I have to, I will fight you.” He searches her face, fixing his eyes intently on hers so that she cannot escape the import of his words.  “I will try and stop you doing those things that you don’t want to do.  Those things you know are wrong.  I’ll be your moral compass through this.”

“But, Carrie…” she pleads with what little strength and wavering certainty in her own path that she can muster.

“I told you.  I love Carrie, but I love you just as much.  And I am not going to sacrifice you for my daughter.  I will not let you sink under the weight of this to save my child.  Carrie wouldn’t want that, and I don’t want it either.”

“Carrie is just as much mine as she is yours,” Marlena can feel her resistance melting away as she physically lets herself sink into his embrace.  “This isn’t just your choice, Roman.”

“I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for Carrie,” Roman reiterates firmly as he raises his other hand to her face.  Gently he wipes the tears from her cheeks with his crooked forefinger and then he lays his hand against her cheek in such a gentle and intimate gesture as they haven’t exchanged since this whole nightmare with Carrie started.   “Do you understand, Doc?  I am not turning my back on you.  I am never turning my back on you, however much you try to convince me that I should go, I am going to stay and fight for you and with you and I will never walk away from you.  Not again.  Not ever again.”

He draws his thumb softly across her cheek and she lets out something that is halfway between a sob and a hiccough.  Roman gives a sad laugh and dips his lips in to capture hers. 

Any tension that she had been holding onto drains from her as she sinks into the kiss and his embrace, simply giving herself over to the heightened and glorious feeling of his mouth on hers.  Of his warmth enveloping her, of his scent and the hard strength of his body against hers.  She moans softly as be breaks off the kiss and then he is looking her directly in the eye again.

“Tell me you don’t love me, Marlena.”  He challenges her.  “I still won’t walk away, but if that’s where we are then I need to know now.”

“Of course I love you,” she curls her arms around his torso.  She can’t stop herself.  She can say the words she needs to say but she can’t stop her body reacting to his closeness.  It’s like breathing, an automatic reflex.  “Roman, I will always love you.  But I’m honestly afraid.  I’m afraid we’re going to end up hating each other.  That you’re going to end up hating what I become.”  She sighs, dipping her head so that he can’t hold her eyes with his any longer.  “That I’m going to hate you for trying to stop me from trying to save Carrie.  For trying to make amends for what I did as Grace.”

“You don’t need to make amends,” he tells her as he slips his finger under her chin and lifts her head again.  So that she can’t avoid his gaze. His truth.  “Not to me, not to the kids.  Like you said, Stefano controls all this.  He’s controlled us for too many years.  But I’m damned if I’m just going to turn belly up and hand you over to him on a silver platter, Doc.  He doesn’t control the choices we make.  He can use our love for Carrie and fear for her and the other children to try and control us.  But we’re still in control of the choices we make in response.  Just remember that.  And,” he kisses her gently, her nose, her cheeks, her lips.  “I won’t ever hate you.  I can’t hate you.  I can’t imagine a world in which God would let that happen.  You’re stuck with me, Doc,” he murmurs as he nuzzles the side of her face and whispers his lips against her earlobe.  “The sooner you accept that, the better.  For both of us.”  

He pulls her tight against him then and kisses her hard.  His mouth insistent against hers, his tongue demanding.  His arms, his hands holding her, exploring her, guiding her until all she can feel is him, all around her.  She is overcome with him, with the closeness of him, with the strength and the scent and the way he completely possesses her, every sense drowning in him.

She’s completely unaware of anything else until he pulls away, and she sees he is looking in bemusement at the doorway.  The balcony door which is now open and is where Marie stands, her face red with embarrassment.

“Your dinner…” she trails off, unable to look either of them in the eye.

“Merci Marie,” Marlena is less embarrassed than Marie, but she is still caught off-kilter by the housekeeper’s appearance.  No matter how much rapport they have, Marie still works for Stefano DiMera and will be bound to report back to him anything that she feels he may want to know.  This definitely qualifies as something that Stefano will want to know.  And yet… she finds herself oddly happy to defy Stefano in this instance.  Being so close to Roman, feeling the way he always makes her feel… so alive and yet so at peace.  Stronger, more resilient, more sure of herself than she ever feels when she is alone.  It makes her question herself and her surety that she must toe Stefano’s line every inch of the way.  Yes, he has Carrie, but he needs her.  He needs to keep her safe and well to assure Marlena’s compliance. 

Anyway, it is done now.  Marie has seen them, and she will report back to Stefano.  It is just a matter of time.

Marlena’s lips twitch into a tiny smile and she kisses Roman again, firmly and deliberately before she takes his hand and draws him back into the apartment, her heart beating rapidly, her breathing heavy.

They eat their dinner in near silence, neither of them willing to give a surely listening Stefano any kind of insight into their thoughts or the conversation that has just taken place.  But their hands are not still.  Under the table, Roman’s fingers roam continuously, finding Marlena’s thigh, brushing the rich buttery satin and sliding underneath.  Her fingers find his, waylaying his progress with a gentle fumble, a twining of digits and a smile full of promise as she picks at the smoked salmon with her fork.

And then he is back again, his fingers sliding up the inside of her thigh and she is catching her breath, trying not to moan with the liquid sensations he is stirring up inside her.

Stop! She mouths at him.  She wants him so badly she is almost breathless with it, with the heat of his mouth on hers, the memory of his touch seared into her skin.  It feels like forever since he touched her like that, and maybe it is.  However long it is, it’s been too long.  Her body is alive and trembling with the need of him and suddenly her appetite is gone.  Or at the very least, she is hungry for something else.

She drops her fork with a clang on her plate and with a smile that leaves Roman in no doubt as to her intentions, she seizes the hand he has withdrawn on her say-so and replaces it beneath her skirt.  

Now it is Roman that struggles to control himself.  The sharp intake of breath and the exhale that verges on a sigh are involuntary as he encounters the soft, warm flesh of her upper thigh and then there is lace and he is stroking her and her eyes are closed and she is pushing against his insistent fingers.

And then, almost in unison, they pull apart and push their chairs from the table.  He is two steps behind her as her heels click swiftly on the parquet flooring.  

Then they are in the bedroom, and she is flicking off her heels and he is pushing up her dress and pushing her on the bed and she is fumbling at his pants and then they are… they are…

Falling.  Falling. Falling….

Afterwards, they lie in each other’s arms, a ridiculously luxuriant Egyptian cotton sheet draped across their entwined limbs.  Roman kisses her softly, brushing her skin with his lips and his fingers, committing every sweep of her, ever plane and every curve to memory.  The curl of her lashes against her skin, the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the line of her collarbone.  He doesn’t know when they will do this again, so he has to make the most of this moment.  To burn it into his memory, to hold him through the cold journey ahead.

Marlena smiles and hums lightly as he touches her, his fingers drawing imaginary lines down her arms, over her breasts.  He is worshipping her, silently and deliberately and she knows why.  It’s his insurance policy against the future.  He will remember this day and he will make sure she remembers it.  He will remind her again and again how good they are together, and he will use this afternoon, this lovemaking, this communion, as evidence.  

And he is right to.  When everything else is wrong, they, the way they turn lovemaking into an artform, are right.  Their connection, in each other’s arms, is beyond words, beyond the physical.  There is something almost spiritual about the way they fit together, the feelings they elicit in each other.  There is something almost holy in the way they become something bigger than themselves, a whole more and greater than the two individuals that make them up.

She reaches up and flickers her fingers across his face in return.  Tracing the lines, both familiar and new.  Drawing his lips, the line of his jaw, his Adam’s apple with the softest of touches.

I love you, she tells him silently.  It’s always been you.  It always will be.

I love you too, he tells her in return, taking her hand and placing it flat on his chest, over his beating heart.  You are my heart.  My everything.

She kisses him then and for the first time in a long time, she believes.  Believes that maybe there is a way out of this mess.  That she could have the happy ending she longs for.  If she just trusts him.  If only….

She stops thinking again as Roman pulls her on top of him.

This time their lovemaking is slow and deliberate.  The enforced silence only serves to heighten the intensity of what they feel as they touch, taste and move against one another.  Their love is translated into something physical and yet something beyond physical.  All the stress, the antagonism and the acrimony that has existed between them dissolves in their touch and their pure joy in being together.

And when, eventually, they are done, they can only lie in each other’s arms and just smile at each other, content to just be.

But all too soon their bubble of tranquility is popped by a knock on the door.  

Marlena sighs.  She had known this would be the inevitable outcome.  

She climbs out of the enormous four-poster bed and pulls on the white toweling robe she had thrown over the back of a chair after her shower.

“Doc,” Roman starts but she holds up her hand to silence him.  She will deal with this.  She has to.  Stefano will be furious and there is no point in exacerbating the situation.

She piles her hair into a loose bun on the top of her head before she opens the door. Standing in the hallway is a smartly dressed but slightly thuggish middle-aged man.

“Dr. Evans.”  He bows his head slightly by way of greeting.  “My name is Johnson.  I work for Mr. DiMera.”  His clipped accent is English, but not the rounded upper-class vowel sounds that the likes of Shane Donovan employs. If she had to guess, she would say he comes from the North of England, somewhere like Newcastle.

“We haven’t met before.”  It’s a statement more than a question.  She doesn’t remember this man and he has greeted her with the correct appellation, not as Grace like Marie and Clement have.

“No, I have come into Mr. DiMera’s employ in the past few years.” Johnson’s smile is disarming but there is a coldness behind it that Marlena does not miss.

“And you are at my door, because?” she doesn’t see the point in belaboring the pleasantries.  Best to get this over and done with. 

“Mr. DiMera would like to speak with you,” he smiles again and this time she can clearly see the calculated gleam in his eyes.  He knows Stefano is furious and he is amused.  This is entertainment to him.

She suppresses a shudder, and she covers her discomfort with a smile of her own.  “I would imagine he does.”  She raises her eyebrows in a clear indication that she neither cares or is perturbed by Stefano’s interest in her recent actions.  “So, tell me Mr. Johnson.  Is this conversation to take place in person?”

“It’s just Johnson,” he corrects her.  “And no, Mr. DiMera asked me to take you to the study.  He will contact you there.”

“You’re not taking her anywhere, damnit!” Roman strides across the room and pulls the door wide open so he can eyeball the intruder.

“Roman!” Marlena turns quickly and puts her hands on his hard, warm chest.  “Please, let me handle this.”

“Mr. DiMera was extremely clear.  He wants to speak to the good doctor alone.”  Johnson smirks at Roman.  

“Please?” Marlena touches his cheek with her fingers.  “Trust me.  I need to handle this my way.”

Roman sighs.  He’s not going to win this argument.  And she’s right.  Stefano is not going to be happy with the way this afternoon has unfolded.  Marlena knows how to handle the old man.  The Grace in her knows how to handle him.  

“Okay.” he steps back holding his hands up in the air.  “I don’t like it, but okay.”

“Thanks,” she leans forward to kiss him softly and then turns back to Johnson who is unabashedly watching the whole exchange with ill-concealed amusement.

“You don’t have to escort me to the study,” she tells him curtly.  “I know where it is.”

“I’m under strict instructions,” Johnson informs her.

“I’ll just bet you are,” she murmurs under her breath as she follows him.

When they reach the study, Johnson shows her into the empty study and then closes the door behind her, leaving her alone in the elegant room.  She pulls the robe closer around her cooling body and looks around the room.  The walls are lined with books, many in French and Italian.  She pulls out a copy of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo and flicks through it.  It is a first edition; worth a fortune she imagines.  She looks at a couple more books and then spins around the room, taking in the desk, the winged leather chair behind it and the graceful, fragile orchid that curves over the phone and the crystal paperweight.

On a table next to the door, a large arrangement of late season dahlias cavorts with hydrangeas and peonies.

“Where are you, Stefano?” she murmurs carelessly.

“Waiting for you to sit down, Marlena.”  His disembodied voice makes her jump and for several long seconds, her heart bangs wildly in her chest.

“I… I didn’t know you were…” she trails off.  Listening?  Well, she had guessed that.  Present?  On the line?

“Please, take a seat.  I grow tired of waiting.” There is an iciness to his voice that makes her shiver.  He is definitely not happy.

She does as he commands, dropping into a dark blue, low-backed armchair and curling her bare feet up under her.  She pulls the tartan cushion out from behind her and hugs it to her, as though it will serve as some kind of shield.  She chews on her lip as she waits for him to unleash his anger.

“Do you know why I had Johnson bring you here to speak with me?” Stefano asks evenly.

She takes a deep breath.  Playing dumb will only enrage him.  He knows she knows he has been listening to them.  He can’t help himself.  Even when he had realized exactly what was happening between them, he would have continued to listen.  To torture himself.  Because he is so desperate to control her, to control both of them.  

“I can only imagine it has something to do with what just happened between my husband and me.  In the bedroom.  In what should be a private space.”  She tries to equal him in iciness.  She can’t let him know how rattled she feels right now.

 “Marrrlena.”  He rolls the r in her name for an exceptionally long time.  “To say I am disappointed is a vast understatement.  I thought you understood my terms in this undertaking of ours.”

“In this game of blackmail you mean,” she retorts.  “Let’s not prevaricate here, Stefano.  This isn’t an undertaking.  Or a challenge.  This is you playing with me, leading me into your inevitable trap.”

“Call it what you will,” Stefano ignores her dissent.  “I have invited you into my home.  And within hours, you have abused my hospitality.”

“Hospitality?”  she utters a short, sarcastic laugh.  “You make it sound like I had a choice in the matter.  Like I wanted to be here.”

“I do not care what it is you want!” Stefano’s voice roars tinnily from the speaker on the desk.  “What you should want is to ensure the safety of your daughter.”

 “That is the only reason I am here, Stefano.”  She squeezes the cushion to her middle, her mouth compressed into a tight line as she waits for his reply.  

“Then *why* do you insist on taunting me, Marlena.  On *infuriating* me?  You know how I feel about that *idiot* John Black and your relationship with him.  To know that you choose to be with him… in *my* house…”  She can hear the barely concealed rage beneath his controlled tone.  She can only imagine how angry he is.  How he has cursed and snarled and thrown objects before he has reigned himself in enough to finally contact her.

“His name is Roman Brady, as you well know,” Her voice is calm and cold.  She will not let his anger phase her.  She still has the conversation with Roman echoing in her head.  And it gives her strength even as she sits, vulnerable, in the outpouring of Stefano’s displeasure.  “And while I know how you feel about him, conversely, you know how I feel about him.  You have tried for two decades to keep us apart Stefano.  I’m sorry if you didn’t like what you heard, but maybe you shouldn’t be listening if you’re not prepared to hear things you don’t like.”

“And maybe you should take more care and think about the health and safety of young Caroline and her unborn child,” Stefano snarls.  

Marlena takes a breath, a hitch catching in her throat.  Truth be told, despite Roman’s reassurances, she is still terrified for Carrie.  For all her children.  They are her life and if Stefano hurts them, if they are harmed because of her actions, she does not know how she will survive it.  But if she capitulates to Stefano without even a hint of a fight, she’ll be sealing her fate.  If she has even the slightest chance of escaping the future he has in store for her, she needs to stand up to him now.

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt Carrie,” her voice is firm and even, as she calls his bluff. She sounds nonchalant, even to her own ears.  “She’s your leverage, your insurance policy.  If you were to hurt her, why would I continue to do your bidding?”

She expects another invective from Stefano, but instead there is silence, followed by amused laughter.  

And then, with his amusement threading through his words, “You do not think I will hurt her?   Is that right, Marlena?” she can imagine him smiling, that infuriatingly smug smile of his, his malevolent eyes twinkling.  “Do you even *know* me?”

She bites her lower lip again and pulls the robe close around her.  She does know him.  She knows him only too well.

“I know you love your children, Stefano. I know that you respect that I love mine.  I know that you will use that love to manipulate and control me.”  She pauses, considering what she does know about Stefano and what she thinks he would do if she utterly refused to comply with his demands.  Taking a deep breath, she uncurls herself, placing her feet on the floor.  Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she pushes herself out of the chair and goes to the sideboard where there is a crystal jug filled with water.  She picks it up with shaking hands and sloshes some into a crystal tumbler.  Then she takes a mouthful, the cool water washing over her dry tongue.

“I know that if I don’t do what you ask, you will carry out your threats without compunction.  You will take my children from me one by one.”  She turns around and looks at the desk, almost as if he is sat there.  “But Stefano, I *am* doing what you ask.  I am following your instructions.  You never said I couldn’t be with Roman.  In fact, you were the one that insisted that he come with me.”

“Marlena, you and I both know that keeping your distance from Roman Brady was implicit in this entire venture.  I shouldn’t have to spell it out to you.”  He sighs.  “You are *not* a stupid woman.”

“No.  I’m not.” Marlena shakes her head.  Turning, she pours more water into her glass and then carries back to the armchair and sits back down.  “But Stefano, you’re asking the impossible.  For me to stay away from Roman when you insist he stays in such close proximity to me.”

“It had better not *be* impossible, Marlena.”

Remembering the conversation with Roman earlier, she takes strength from his words.  He had told her he wouldn’t let her sacrifice herself for Carrie.  She believes him, and she also believes, or at least she hopes, Stefano won’t hurt Carrie unless he feels he has no other option.  Gathering her courage, she challenges him again.

“And what will you do if I ignore you, Stefano?” she asks.  “Like I said, Carrie is your leverage.  Hurting her isn’t going to get you what you want.  It isn’t going to gain my compliance.”  She steels her jaw as she considers her next words carefully.  She isn’t sure she believes what she is about to say, but she’s going to say it anyway.  “Stefano.  You’re better than that.  You have any number of ways to get what you want.  You wouldn’t really hurt an innocent young woman, especially one who is pregnant.  I know you’re angry but stop and think.  You need Carrie.  You hurt her and you have nothing to hold over me.”

Again, Stefano laughs and the sound of his laughter echoing through the speakers on the desk sends a chill through her.

“Mostrale.”  He snaps.  And then.  “Indeed, Marlena.  As you say, I have other ways of ensuring you *comply* with my wishes.”  He laughs and then exhales with a long sigh.  “Really.  I say you are not stupid.  But sometimes I think you have spent too much time with that dunderhead of a husband of yours and some of his stupidity has rubbed off on you.  Do you really think that, when you are in *my* house, you and John are beyond my reach?”

Marlena physically jumps as she feels cool metal press against the back of her neck, and it only takes a split second for her to realize that it is the barrel of a gun.  Where she had felt only desire earlier in the afternoon, now she feels the prickling of terror.

“Do not move.” A gruff voice sounds behind her, but it is not Johnson’s northern English accent.  This is some kind of Eastern European accent.

“Mia cara, this is Mikhail Kushnirenko.  He is a man with even less patience than I.  And as you have just discovered, he is a silent assassin.”   

Her stomach turns to water as she feels the barrel of the gun slide down one side of her neck and along her shoulder.  It moves again, back up to her jaw where it lingers.  He moves around the side of the chair, looming over her.  With his free hand, he fingers a loose strand of her hair, and she feels as though she can barely breathe.

“As you see, I do not need to threaten to hurt your daughter.  There is someone far closer, who I have far less use for.”

“Your husband will never see me coming.” Kushnirenko pulls the gun back and crouches beside the chair.  She chooses not to look directly at him, instead she keeps her eyes trained firmly ahead.  But still, she can tell that the silver barrel is still aimed at her as he reaches out and flicks back one corner of the robe, revealing the golden skin of her thigh.  She inhales sharply frozen, in fear for a long moment.  Then recovering her wits, she tugs the robe back into place and slaps her hand over it as she turns and glares at him.

“Get away from me!” she spits out.  “Stefano, tell your *thug* to leave me alone.”

“Mikhail, lasciola!”

Kushnirenko sighs and stands, backing away from her chair.  “È sexy ma non divertente.”

“Non ti pago per la tua opinione.” Stefano reminds him.  “Marlena, I suggest you do not give Mikhail any excuse to be alone with you.  He is used to taking what he wants.  If anything were to happen to John…”

“You’re a *pig*,” she is shaking now, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“You were the one that pointed out that I had ways of making you submit to my instruction.  I am just reminding you that is a fact, and you shouldn’t forget it.  My reach is long, Marlena.  But in this case, it doesn’t need to be long.

I have no use for Roman Brady.  Beyond ensuring that you follow the path I set out for you, he is nothing but a nuisance.”  Stefano’s voice is hard and angry now.  There is no humor, no charm.  This is the real Stefano, the evil bastard that lurks under the manicured, charismatic exterior.  And he terrifies her.  

“Let us be frank here, Marlena.  I have no use for *you*, if it comes to that.  It is *Grace* that I want.  And if you defy me, you will give me the very excuse I need to try and bring her back.”  There is a bang, and she finds herself jumping again.  It is a moment before she realizes that it’s coming from the speaker, and she surmises that he was slamming his palm onto a desk or a table.  “If you defy me again, I will *destroy* you, do you understand?  I will take your family from you, one by one.  Starting with *Roman Brady*.”  She can hear the sneer in his voice as he says the name.  “You will watch him die and you will know that it was your fault.  Because you could not control yourself.  Because you are *weak*.  And then I will move on to your children and grandchildren.  Eric. Samantha. Isabella. William.  Brady.  Young Caroline and her baby.  And then I will go after your parents.  And the Brady’s.  I will brrrreak you, Marlena.  And if, even then, when you are broken, Grace does not return, only *then* will I leave you alone.  Alone, without anyone you love.  And you will know that it is *your fault* that they are all dead.  Your *fault* because you would not do what I asked you to do.  Is that how you want to live out your days?  Mmmm?”

“No.”  Her voice is barely audible as she answers him.

“What was that?  I could not hear you.” Stefano taunts her.

“No, it’s not what I want.” She flicks a glance at Kushnirenko who is smirking.  “Stefano, I’ll do what you ask.  *Please.*  Don’t hurt Roman.”  Her fists curl into balls.  “Just… send him home, and then you won’t need to worry.”

“Ah, no.”  Stefano’s voice is still icy but also amused in equal measures now.  “No, keeping him close means I can keep tabs on him.  Mikhail will be staying close to ensure that you fulfill your instructions, Marlena.  Do you understand?  And I want Roman to see what it is that you become.  I want him to see the lengths that you will go to.  For *me*.  The things you will do, because *I* tell you to do them.”

“He will know that I am only doing them to protect him and the children,” she tells him desperately.  “Even if I tell him *nothing* of this, he knows me and he will know that I am not doing those things of my own volition.”

“Ha!” Stefano gives a malevolent chuckle.  “You will not tell him anything that has transpired in this room.  Or indeed anything about any of the conversations we have in the future.  You will tell him only those things I allow or instruct you to tell him.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”  Her agreement comes out as little more than a sob.

“There will be no physical contact between the two of you.” Stefano reiterates his terms.  “If you… become intimate… I will give Mikhail instructions to kill Roman.  Do you understand that also?”

“I understand.” Marlena grits her teeth, refusing to give Stefano and his thug the pleasure of seeing her break down in tears.  That can wait until later.

“Good.  Then we can move onto your assignment here.”

“My….” she is momentarily thrown until she realizes that he is talking about what he has brought her to Paris to do.  She exhales, uncurling her hands and flexing her aching fingers.  “What is it you want me to do, Stefano.”

“Tomorrow morning, I would like you to pay a visit to Claude Bachellier.”

“And say what?  Do what?” she asks.

“Monsieur Bachellier has reneged on an agreement, and I want you to deliver an ultimatum for me.”

“What kind of agreement?” Marlena asks warily.

“That is of no consequence,” Stefano tells her.  “The fact is, that he has, and my patience has worn thin.  You will tell him that I know of his dealings in the Middle East.    You will take him a copy of the evidence and suggest strongly that he hands himself into the police.”

“And if he refuses?” Marlena asks.  She knows Claude and he will not take kindly to such a suggestion.  It will have to be backed up with some kind of threat.  Something that is worse than the prospect of going to prison.   

“You will take the evidence to the press.  You will also go public with your affair with Daniel.  The scandal will destroy him.  It will destroy them both.  If Claude goes to the police, he may be able to cut a deal that will spare Daniel.  But if he does not, I, and you, will make sure Daniel loses his freedom and his family.” 

“Stefano, you can’t expect me to go public…. what about my family?” she demands.  

“Then you had better hope that you can persuade Claude that it is in his best interests to turn himself into the Gendarmerie, hadn’t you, mia cara?”  She can hear the amusement filtering through Stefano’s voice.  The idea that he can punish her at the same time as he punishes Claude and Daniel will be highly entertaining to him, she knows.

“And if Claude wants to make good on your deal?” Marlena asks, but she already knows the answer.  Once Stefano has lost his patience and decided on a course of revenge, there is very little swaying him from that path.

“The deal is off the table.  I have been extremely tolerant with Claude, and he has been afforded more chances than he deserves.  I should have ended my association with him after he… after what he did to Grace.”

“Yes, you should have,” Marlena can’t help herself.  “He’s disgusting.  But Stefano, Daniel has a family.  They have done nothing wrong, and they will be destroyed by this.”

“That will be Claude’s choice.  Sacrifice himself and try and salvage his brother’s reputation, political and personal life.  Or he can run and leave his brother to the mercy of the French gendarmerie and the press.” His tone turns frigid again. “Daniel’s family mean nothing to me.  If they are collateral damage, then so be it.  Claude should have considered that before he crossed me.”

“Do you understand your instructions, Marlena?”  Stefano asks softly.  “Do you understand what I require of you.”

“I understand,” she replies flatly. “You want me to destroy their lives.”

“You said yourself that Claude is disgusting.  Daniel is no better.  *He* betrayed his wife.  Grace did not hold him at gunpoint.”

“That’s not the point, Stefano.”  She sighs.  This is futile.  The more distress she shows, the more pleasure Stefano will get from this game of his.  “How long do you want me to give him?  To go to the police, I mean.”

“He will have forty-eight hours from the time you present the ultimatum.  If, by the end of that time, he has not presented himself to the police, you will go to Veronique Bachellier and inform her of husband’s infidelity.”  There is a tapping through the speaker and then the clink of ice in a glass.  “I have a contact ready and waiting at Le Parisien for the information and I will provide him both with the evidence of the Bachellier’s business dealings, as well as proof of Daniel’s faithlessness.  And I will do it with *pleasure*.  The journalist will come looking for confirmation from you, as Victoria Deveraux, and you will give it to him.”

“All right.”  She nods, her voice devoid of expression.  Truth be told, she feels hollow inside. Stefano has her right where he wants her, and she has nowhere to run.  Nowhere to hide.  And no way to fight back.  “Tomorrow morning.”

“You can go now, Marlena.” Stefano tells her.  “But do not forget anything that I have said here today.  And do not forget, John is not to know anything that has passed between you and I.”

“Nothing?”  Marlena asks.

“He may know that I have asked you to go and see Claude tomorrow.  In fact, I suggest he accompanies you on your visit.  You may need some protection and he may be interested to see the kind of men you were involved with when you were Grace.”

“So, I can tell him that you want me to go to Claude’s but not what you want me to say to Claude?” she clarifies wearily.

“You are correct.” Stefano chuckles evilly. “Mikhail, please escort Dr. Evans back up to her room.”    

“I can make my own way,” Marlena says angrily.  She doesn’t want to be in Kushnirenko’s presence any longer than absolutely necessary.  She doesn’t wait for Stefano’s answer, just drops the cushion to the floor and pushes herself out of the armchair.  She doesn’t look at Kushnirenko but pulls the robe tight across her as she hurries to the door.  However, he reaches it before she does and planting his foot against the bottom of it, he holds it closed with a sadistic smile and a speculative gleam in his eye.

“Let me out!” she blazes angrily.  “Open the door and let me out.”

He grins lazily and uses the barrel of his gun to brush the hair away from her ear.  Then he leans over and whispers, his breath hot against her skin.  “I’ll be watching you, sexy.  I’ll be waiting for you to make a mistake.”

With that, he removes his foot and opens the door, but only a fraction.  Desperate to be out from under his lascivious gaze, she forces it open enough to squeeze through the gap and without looking back, she runs for the stairs.

“Doc!”  Roman follows her.  He’s been lurking near the study, waiting for her.  Johnson is also present.  He has obviously been guarding the door to make sure Roman could not intrude on the conversation between her and Stefano.

She ignores both of them and flies up the stairs seeking a space to be alone with the consuming dread that is flooding her.  “Hey Doc!”  Roman is following her up the staircase and he pulls on her arm as he catches up with her.

“Don’t!”  She wrenches her arm away and continues up to the bedroom.

“Wait!”  Roman follows her.  “Marlena, wait!  *Talk* to me.”

“No!” she reaches the bedroom and turns in the doorway, her face pale and haunted.  “No talking.  No *nothing*, Roman.”

He makes to argue but she slams the door in his face.  By the time he has opened it, she has disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

“Doc!” Roman shouts through the door.  “Marlena, let me in.  Don’t let him do this to us!”  When she doesn’t answer, he slams the mahogany with the flat of his palm several times in frustration.  “Doc!  Please!”

In the bathroom, Marlena turns on the shower and then sinks to the floor, shaking.  

She ignores the banging on the door and Roman’s shouted pleas.  Instead, she pulls a towel from the railing and presses it to her face.  Only then does she allow the tears to fall and the helpless sobbing to engulf her.

Her earlier optimism has been utterly shattered.  There is no way out of this.  Not for her.  The best she can hope for is to protect Roman and her children.  To give them the freedom that she has lost.  By handing herself to Stefano.  The man she loathes most in the world.

Wedging herself into the corner beside the claw-footed bath, she lets the water cover the sounds of her misery.

When she finally emerges, a full hour later, she is pale but composed.  She has showered, letting the scalding hot water wash all traces of Roman’s touch from her body.  The smell of him on her skin only serves to taunt her as she realizes she will probably never feel him moving against her again.  The reminder of what she has lost in the space of a blissful afternoon is too much to bear, so she has scrubbed herself until her skin is pink and raw.

Roman sits on the bed and watches her as she towels her hair dry.

“Can we talk?” he asks her, eventually, noting that she has not met his eyes once since she entered the bedroom.

“No.” she shakes her head, opening the armoire, her back to him.

“Doc.  I thought… we got somewhere this afternoon.  We had an understanding.  You opened up to me.  And now…”

“I said *no*, Roman.”  She pulls a grey marl sweater from the armoire and pairs it with a pair of figure-hugging black jeans.  

“I can’t accept that, Marlena.”  He rises from the bed and goes to her.  Putting his hand on her shoulder, he turns her around to face him.  “What did that old bastard say to you?”  He studies her face, and he sees it in her eyes.  She is terrified.  DiMera has scared the life out of her, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.  “He got to you, didn’t he?  What did he do?  Threaten the kids?  Threaten me?”  

“*Don’t*!”  The colour rises in her cheeks, and she pulls away from him, backing up against the armoire.  “Don’t *touch* me.  Don’t ask me to tell you anything.  What was said… does not concern you.”

“Like *hell* it doesn’t!” Roman yells.  “You walk out of this room my *wife*, and you run back with your walls back up and a mile thick.  It damn well concerns me!”

“I told you, this afternoon,” she points at him, her finger crooked, the way it always is when she’s angry.  “I will do whatever I have to do to protect my family.  This is not up for discussion.  What Stefano said to me is irrelevant.  It changes nothing because I was always going to do whatever it takes.  What you think about that is neither here nor there.”

“No, that’s not how we left it this afternoon.” Roman argues.

“Yes.  It is.”  Marlena ducks out from behind him and moving across the room, she throws the wet towel on the bed.  “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.  Let me be clear now.  Whatever you think, say or plan to do, I am keeping our children safe.  Whatever that takes.”

With that, she disappears back into the bathroom, and he is left alone, once again.

Roman follows Marlena as she strides down the sidewalk.  She has told him nothing except that she is going to see Claude Bachellier.  She has been withdrawn and uncommunicative since the previous evening.  

When Stefano had summoned her, Roman had followed her down to the study but he had been prevented from entering by Stefano’s minion.  The man who went by the name of Johnson stood to attention in front of the door, legs apart and arms crossed with his Sig Sauer firmly resting against his bicep.  

Roman had taken a seat on the stairs and had listened to the rising and falling cadence of the voices in the study.  He couldn’t tell if Stefano was in there with Marlena, but he doubted the old man would be that brazen.  No, he expected that Stefano would be communicating with Marlena via some electronic device, phone or videophone most likely.  And God only knows what he had said to her.  

When she had exited, Roman had glimpsed a quick impression of a heavy-set man by the door.  It had been little more than an impression, but the expression on the man’s face had left Roman even more uneasy than he already was with the situation he found himself in.  And Marlena’s subsequent reaction and demeanour had solidified that unease into a deeply abiding fear and a depth of anger at Stefano, and his manipulations, that had been previously untapped.

When Marlena had finally fallen into an uneasy sleep, he had watched her for a while and he had then made his way quietly onto the balcony where he had texted Bo,

The old man has done a real number on her, Bo.  This afternoon I thought I was winning her around.  But now she won’t talk to me.  Damn, she won’t even look at me.

Despite the early hour of the morning, he had received an immediate reply from his younger brother.  

Bro, remember he knows her weaknesses.  That old bastard knows exactly how to control her.  He always has done.

He had sighed and replied.

Bo, she’s terrified.  I’ve never seen her like this.  It’s like all the fight has gone out of her.

The next reply had taken a lot longer to return to his phone.

Roman, it’s Hope.  Don’t keep expecting her to fight Stefano.  She’s scared and she probably feels alone in this.  Let her do what she needs to do.  Fighting her will only drive her further towards Stefano.  Just be with her.  We’re in contact with agents here and things are underway.  We’re here if you need anything.

He had growled and sent an angry text back.

I need to get her out of here.  Out of this situation.  Can you do that?

You know we can’t.  Not while he has Carrie, it’s too risky.  

Bo here again.  Roman, you need to be cool man.  For Marlena.

Roman had to smile at that.  Bo, never one for an excess of words, had made his point as succinctly as possibly.  Play it cool.  Your wife is going through hell, you need to be the cool head here, the voice of reason.  And when he’s frustrated beyond reason, Bo can often provide it for him.  As he has this time.

Okay.  I know you’re right.  I’ll be patient.  I’ll be cool.

(At least, I’ll try.)  

After the conversation he had spent a good ten minutes considering the glittering cityscape in front of him, the waters of the Seine carving a black swathe through the well-lit streets of central Paris.  But the chill in the October air had finally driven him back into the bedroom where he had sat beside the bed and watched Marlena flail fitfully in her sleep, the tension clear on her beautiful face.

Neither of them had slept well and Roman had woken early and slipped out of the apartment just after dawn.  A quick walk to the local Alimentation Générale had netted him a copy of Le Figaro and a package from behind the counter.  Back in Stefano’s apartment, he had unwrapped the package in the bathroom to reveal his Smith and Wesson which he had tucked into an ankle holster before taking the paper downstairs.  In between the pages he had found a letter from Bo detailing their location and activities underway to locate Stefano and provide cover for, and monitoring of, himself and Marlena.

When Marlena had joined him for breakfast shortly after, the conversation in the morning had been stilted and mono syllabic.  Their biggest exchange had been when she had informed him that she was going to pay a call on Claude Bachellier.  She’d made several false starts at the conversation before finally spitting out the bare bones of her plans.  She was going to walk up to the Bachellier apartment where she had been informed he would be this morning.  

“I assume this you are doing this under Stefano’s instructions.” Roman had asked tersely.  “May I ask why he wants you to visit a man that beat you the last time you saw him?”

“No, you may not,” she had replied as she had zipped up a pair of soft leather ankle boots.  “But that is the reason I am telling you.  The only reason.”  She had looked up at him then, her face pale.  “If you want to come with me, I would appreciate the back-up.”

“You know you have it Doc,” his voice had softened then.  She was clearly nervous about this task, and he could hardly blame her, just on the little information he knew about Bachellier and their past together.  And he can’t imagine that what Stefano has in store for her is going to be at all appreciated by the Frenchman.  He knows that, as Grace, she could (can) take care of herself but she’s not all Grace anymore.  She doesn’t have the killer instinct that Grace had.  

“I don’t want you in there, when I talk to him.”  That was unequivocal and not entirely unexpected.

“How am I supposed to stop him doing anything to you if I’m not in there with you?” he’d asked.

“If he knows you’re outside the door, he won’t try anything.”  He had raised his eyebrows and she had shrugged wearily.  “Probably won’t try anything,” she had amended.

He had agreed, more to stave off an argument than because he actually intended to honour her request and that had been the end of the conversation and almost the last word she has said to him all morning.  And now here they are, walking down Rue Guynemer beside the Le Jardin du Luxembourg where Claude Bachellier apparently has an apartment overlooking the palace and gardens.  

He feels the tension from her as she approaches the apartment building and gives her name as Victoria Devereaux to the concierge.  She is evidently expected, as they are immediately ushered in and are escorted in an elevator to the penthouse apartment.

The door is opened immediately, and they are ushered in by a butler of sorts who almost immediate vanishes the moment they enter the small sitting room.  Mere moments later, an attractive young woman brings a tray of coffee into the room and places it on a white glass-topped sideboard, before also vanishing.

Roman watches Marlena carefully as she waits for Bachellier.  She is tense and alert, seeming almost not to notice the sleekly modern surroundings.  This apartment is a world apart from Stefano’s extravagant and overt display of wealth and power.  This is understated but no less a deliberate exhibition of this man’s status and power.

“Surpris tu montrerais ton visage ici encore.”  Bachellier enters the room, his thuggish face devoid of any kind of pleasure or good humour.

“What, after you tried to shatter my cheekbone last time I saw you?” Marlena raises her eyebrows.  “Trust me, this is not a social call.  I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.”

“Qui est-ce?” Bachellier nods in Roman’s direction. “Votre protection?  N’est-il pas un peu vieux pour ça?  Ma cherie.”  The endearment is meant as anything but, dripping with scorn as it is.

“Ç’est mon mari. Si vous me touchez, vous le regretterez.”  Marlena’s tone is sweet and light but there is no missing the threat she issues.  “Roman,” she turns to him now, “could you wait outside while I talk to Claude, please?”

He stares at her for a long moment.  He doesn’t want to leave this room.  Doesn’t want to leave her alone with this animal.  But he remembers Hope’s words from last night.  Just let her do what she needs to do.  Marlena is more terrified of Stefano than she is of this man, and he knows she is close to breaking point.  He has told her he will support her and that he has her back.  She needs to know she can trust him.  The only way to prove that to her is to do what she asks, as much as it pains him. 

He holds her eyes for a long moment and then nods, letting her know that he is not happy about it.  “I’ll be right outside the door,” he tells her, as much for Bachellier’s benefit as for hers.

He steps outside the sitting room, into the clean, minimalist entranceway and closes the door behind him.  He looks at a chair on the other side of the room and eschews the comfort of the seat, opting instead to stay right next to the door.  He needs to be right there, in case Marlena needs him.  For any reason.

Inside the room, Marlena takes a deep breath.

“Marié? Pauvre bâtard. Sait-il qu’il est marié à une salope? As-tu déjà baisé son frère?”  Claude Bachellier sneers at her.

Marlena’s cheeks colour, thinking of the interlude with Bo on the boat where Grace had almost succeeded in seducing her brother-in-law.

“Ha!” Claude grins malevolently.  “Je vois que tu as.”

“I am not here to discuss my personal life,” Marlena replies icily.  She crosses her arms in front of her and shakes the hair from her eyes.  “I’m here to deliver a message from Stefano DiMera.”

“Of course,” Bachellier sighs.  “You always were DiMera’s whore, first and foremost.  I suppose you were fucking him also, while you were fucking me… and Daniel.”

“Stefano wants me to remind you that you made a deal.” Marlena ignores his insults.  She can’t let him rattle her.  If he provokes her and she reacts, be it verbally or physically, it will give him the reason he needs to attack her.  She knows men like him, she knows how they justify their anger and misogyny and abuse.  And she refuses to give him that justification. 

“You have reneged on that deal.  Stefano is not happy about that.  He has given you ample opportunities to live up to your end of the bargain.  But you have not.”

“And he thinks you’re going to get me to hand over fifty million euro?” Claude laughs, clearly amused by the thought.  “He always did put too much faith in you.  You’re good, ma cherie, but you’re not *that* good.” 

“No.”  Marlena walks around the end of the sofa that separates them and takes her time in pouring herself a coffee.  She knows she looks good in her figure-hugging jeans, dark grey fitted sweater and boots.  And she knows that Claude can’t help his physical reaction to her.  She can see it in his eyes.  It’s part of the reason he’s being so vile to her; he’s still attracted to her, and he hates her for it, as well as what has happened between them in the past.

“Stefano has lost patience with you, I am afraid.”  She lifts the porcelain coffee cup and takes a mouthful of the coffee.  She gives Claude a frankly appraising look as she swallows the coffee and then continues.  “Paying him what he is owed is no longer enough to satisfy him.  It’s gone well beyond that.”

“So, what?”  Bachellier shrugs.  “DiMera is a toothless old man.  His power ran out a long time ago.  Stop wasting my time Victoria and tell me what it is you came for.”

The corner of her mouth curls into a smile.  Despite herself, she’s almost enjoying this.  Claude deserves it.  Daniel’s family doesn’t, but Claude is a nasty, belligerent brute of a man and he does.  

“The day you found me at Daniel’s, he had been careless, Claude.  He’d left a number of documents in piles on the table.  And some of those documents evidenced dealings that you’d had in the Middle East.  Dealings which involved the illegal sales of weapons to groups that were less than desirable.  Weapons which were subsequently used in the Gulf War and probably by Al Qaeda.  Stefano knew you were engaging in such activities and that was why I was set up with you.  To bring him the evidence.”  She laughs at the glowering expression on his face.  “That afternoon, I found what I was looking for.  While Daniel was at the hospital, I was able to take copies of that evidence.  And when I left that day, I took those copies to Stefano.”

“You’re lying.” It is Claude’s turn to redden now. 

“You know I’m not.”  She takes another mouthful of the coffee.  “You must have known deep down that I had ulterior motives.  Why else would I have been with you?  Why would Stefano have introduced me to you, but to gather evidence that he could use against you.”  She knows she shouldn’t insult him like that, but she can’t help herself.  His arrogance was always unattractive, and the years have not been kind to him.

“If that were true, why hasn’t he used it before now?” Claude demands.  He is furious but he is still looking to prove her claim a lie.  “He has had ten years to use anything he had against me.  Why wait until now?”

“You stiffed him $50 million euro,” she shrugs.  “That rather speaks for itself.”

“You’re lying.”  He shakes his head, repeating his denial, as if the repetition will make it true.

“I’m not.”  She moves across to the bureau where she had dropped a plastic wallet of documents when she had walked in.  She walks across to where Claude stands and hands him the wallet.  “See for yourself.  That’s not everything, but it’s a good sample.”

Claude tears open the wallet and pulls out the papers, flicking through them with shaking hands.  Then, his face contorted with rage, he flings them on the white leather sofa where they scatter, several of them falling on the ground.  “You *bitch*,” he hisses.  “You fucking bitch.”

“Quite.”  She replies calmly.  It’s astonishing how calm she feels, actually.  Her heart is beating slightly faster than normal but even in the face of Bachellier’s ire, she feels far more in control than she did last night.  This, she can handle.  Stefano is another matter altogether.

“So, now you believe me, do you want to know what Stefano wants from you?” she asks sweetly.

Bachellier says nothing, but a growl emanates from deep in his chest.

“He wants you to take these documents to the police and hand yourself in.  He wants you to confess to your company’s illegal trade in arms and take your punishment.  If you don’t, then I will pass these documents, and others that clearly implicate your brother to both the police and to the press.”  She lets that sink in for a moment before she continues.  “I will also make sure the press knows that Daniel cheated on his wife.  While she was pregnant.  While she was *having* his child.”

“He has nothing-”

“OH, he has *everything* to do with this,” she shakes her head and points at him.  “Your brother might not have been at every meeting.  He might not have been privy to *every* detail.  But he knew exactly what was going on.  He signed the paperwork.  The only hope you have of keeping him out of this is to take control of what the police see.  Daniel may escape relatively unscathed, he may not.  That is not my concern.  But if you don’t do as Stefano… suggests,” she takes the last mouthful of coffee and puts the cup back down on the sideboard, “then Stefano will make sure *everyone* knows what a lying, cheating piece of shit your golden brother is.  And I will go public with the details of our affair as confirmation.”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Bachellier’s eyes narrowed.  “Destroying our lives?  It’s a big joke to you.”

“Honestly?” she shrugs.  “Not really.  Just like you, I don’t have an option.”  She breathes deeply.  “Believe me, it could be worse.”

“Worse?”  Claude roars furiously.  “You expect me to give up everything to protect my brother.  Everything I have.  Gone.  Vous connasse!”

“It’s your choice.”  She shrugs.  “You can run.  You can take what you need now and disappear.  You could tell Daniel to do the same.  You might outrun the law.  I don’t know.”  She sighs.  Suddenly she is exhausted, and she wants to be anywhere but here.  For a moment, this had been mildly enjoyable.  Seeing the man that beat her, bested.  Being the one to do it, even.  But the reality is that there are no winners here.  Not even Stefano.  He will not get his money and Claude will lose his fortune and his freedom.  And yes, he probably deserves it.  But she doesn’t want to be the one to mete out this justice.  

“Claude, you and Daniel did these things.  I can’t use something against you that you didn’t do.  You made the deals.  You knew they were illegal, and that thousands of people would die horrible, painful deaths so you could be even more filthy rich than you already were.”  She shakes her head, sadly.  “Daniel chose to cheat on Veronique, because he could.  I wasn’t the first and I guarantee I wasn’t the last.  And you chose to renege on your deal with Stefano.  Even when he gave you chance after chance to make things right, you thought you were better than him, more powerful than him.  You chose not to believe that he could make you pay.  That was your mistake.  Your *last* mistake.”

“Oh no.”  He shakes his head.  “This is *not* over.  I will not bow down to DiMera.  To *you*!”  He sneers again and flexes his fist before smothering it with his other hand.  Turning on his heel, he crosses the room in several strides and turns the key in the door.  The door that Roman stands behind.

Marlena’s nerves are suddenly on high alert.  She has already assessed the room and knows there are two other doors.  It is probably safe to assume the door that Bachellier entered through is already locked.  That leaves the door that the maid entered and exited through.  But it is on the other side of the room.  And Bachellier is closer to it than she is.

“Claude, hurting me is not going to make this go away,” she holds up her hands.  “It’s just going to make it worse.”

“Is it?” he laughs mercilessly.  “If you are dead, salope, there will be no-one to corroborate DiMera’s claims.”

“He has the documents,” Marlena reminds him, stifling her anxiety the best she can.  “He has all the documents.”

“Forgeries!” Claude spits out angrily.  “You took copies only.  The originals are long gone.  DiMera will not be able to prove their provenance.  Your pretty face might be enough to convince the press, but without you?  Il ne pourra rien prouver.”

“Claude-” Figuring she won’t get any better chance, she makes a break for the door, but he catches her before she is a third of the way across the room and he yanks her arm savagely, sending her flying.  Her head slams into the wall and before she can shake off the effects of the blow, he has her in his grasp again.  

One strong hand grapples with her wrist, forcing her arm up behind her back.  She cries out in pain as he slams her back against the wall and pins her there with his forearm, his weight against her.

“You want to talk about last mistakes?” his face contorts in disgust, his breath hot and fetid against her mouth.  “Your last mistake was coming here, sale pute!”

She can hear banging on the door and Roman’s muffled shouts as Bachellier’s free hand circles her throat and he starts to squeeze.

She struggles against his heavy weight as he puts all of his effort in trying to strangle her.  Her right shoulder shrieks in pain as she swings backwards and forwards, trying to get purchase and free her left arm.  Her lungs feel as though they are about to explode as she struggles for the breath that won’t come.  And then her hand is free, and she forces it up between the two of them, the heel of her palm connecting with his chin.  It’s not a hard blow but she puts all of her strength into the carry-through and she succeeds in forcing his head far enough back that he has to let go of her throat and he staggers back just enough for his balance to be compromised for just a moment.

Gasping for breath, Marlena takes the opportunity to pull her hand back and then push forward again, sending Claude Bachellier sprawling backwards over the end of the sofa, shattering the glass and steel end table as he does so.  She takes a split second to decide which door to head for, the possibly unlocked one the maid had disappeared through or the definitely locked one with Roman on the other side.

She opts for the locked door, but that moment’s indecision is enough for Claude to regain his wits and he scrambles after her, catching her ankle with his outstretched hand and pulling her feet out from under her.  She lets out a terrified scream as she hits the sideboard on the way down, her jaw smashing against the hard wood.  

Everything is black for a frighteningly long moment and then the world comes into focus.  She is face down against the white tiled floor and she can feel Claude bearing down on her.  She frantically tries to scrabble away from him, but he is on her before she can get purchase on the floor which is already slippery with her blood.  Somewhere in the distance, she can hear Roman frantically shouting her name and the thumps of his body hitting the door.

Claude flips her over so that she is on her back and with a vindictive smile, he straddles her body, pinning her arms against her sides with his knees.

“Je vais profiter de ça.”  His laugh makes her skin crawl as he wraps his hands around her throat again.  “Even if I end up in jail, I will have the pleasure of remembering this moment.  Of taking your life.”

“Pl-” she struggles weakly.  Her head is a cacophony of pain.  She can’t breathe, she can’t speak.  She can barely think.  

Is this how it ends then?

Maybe it is best, she thinks hazily.  If she is no longer here to torment, will Stefano realise he has lost?  Will he leave her family free to live their lives?

If this is how it ends…

She wishes she could say she has no regrets, but she has a thousand.  All the lost time.  All the love she has still to give.  Her children, her grandchildren, growing up without her.  Roman.

Roman….

A tear slips from the corner of her eye as the relentless pressure on her throat starts to suck the consciousness from her.  She closes her eyes.  She doesn’t want to die seeing Claude Bachellier’s malignant face.  She wants to die thinking about Roman.

How he had looked on their wedding day.  Both of them.  How he had looked that night on the pier when she had returned to him after four long years.  How his eyes had shone with tears and his hand was shaking as he had reached out to touch her, barely believing his eyes.

Roman….

A gentle smile curves her lips as the darkness overtakes her and she slips into unconsciousness.

~

Outside the sitting room, Roman is utterly frantic.  

He had heard the first thump, tried the door and realised that it was locked.  A few seconds of banging against it told him everything he needed to know.  Bachellier had locked it.  On purpose.  The fear that had already flared up inside his gut was blossoming into full-blown panic by the time he heard the smashing of glass, followed shortly after by Marlena’s agonised scream.  

He had screamed her name then, over and over as he had brought the full force of his body weight against the door several times more.  But the door is solidly impenetrable and there is not even the slightest movement to hint at it potentially giving way if he continues.  

He pauses, breathing heavily and hears the muffled sounds of Bachellier’s voice and laughter.  The sound chills him to the core.  There is no sound from Marlena.

The silence suddenly brings him clarity and he can’t believe he’s been so stupid.  Bending over, he retrieves his pistol from the holster strapped to his lower leg.  Taking careful aim, he shoots out the lock and then almost in the same smooth movement, kicks the door open.

Bachellier is astride Marlena’s prone body, his hands wrapped around her throat.  With a roar, Roman throws himself at the man, slamming heavily into his stocky torso and rolling him off Marlena and up against the white sofa.  

Looming over him, Roman takes a handful of Bachellier’s shirt and punches him hard several times, letting all the anger, fear and frustration of the last few days wash over him.  Then he pulls the gun out of the waistband of his jeans and points it squarely in the Frenchman’s face.  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”

Crying out, Bachellier holds up his hands and cowers back against the sofa.  “Please!  I beg you.”  He starts to sob incoherently and Roman makes a noise of disgust as he throws the gun to one side.  But for good measure, he hits Bachellier one more time, slightly more satisfied as the man slumps back against the couch unconscious. 

Shaking the pain from his fingers, he slides over to Marlena, wincing as he sees the bruising down the side of her face and the blood oozing from a jagged cut under her ear.  

“C’mon baby,” he presses shaking fingers under her jaw and lets out a grateful sob as he locates an erratic pulse.

“Please!”  He gathers her into his arms and then looks around.  Aside from Bachellier, the room is empty.  “Anyone, please!  Call an ambulance.  She needs an ambulance!”  He looks down and ineffectually brushes the hair from her eyes.  This terror is all too familiar.  He cannot lose her now.  

“C’mon baby, stay with me,” he mumbles into her tangled hair.  And then looking up, “HELP!  Someone.  ANYONE.”

And then there is a woman in the doorway.  The maid from earlier.  She is pale, looks terrified.

“You!” Roman lets out a strangled cry.  “Please.  An ambulance.  She needs a doctor.”

The woman nods and then turns and vanishes.  Roman takes Marlena’s hand and rubs his hand over the back of her fingers.  “Doc.  C’mon baby.  Wake up.  Please wake up.”  He hears Bachellier stirring and looks up, his eyes wild with fury.

Bachellier stares back and then staggers to his feet.  The gun is just out of Roman’s reach, but Bachellier doesn’t seem to be aware it is there.  Instead, he heads for the splintered door.

“You’d better hope the police get to you first Bachellier,” Roman shouts at him as he exits the room.  “If I see your face again, I *will* kill you and I will make it painful.”  He hears the crash of the front door of the apartment, and he pulls Marlena closer to him.  “The ambulance is coming Doc; you’re going to be fine.  You’re going to be fine; I promise.”

Marlena comes to slowly, the inside of her head pounding like a jackhammer on concrete.  The outside of her head hurts too.  Even the slightest movement sends shooting pains down the left side of her face, radiating into her neck, shoulder and back.  And then there is her throat.

She groans and the babble of voices around her fades away.

“Hey.  Heeeey…” Roman’s voice is gentle, and she feels his hand envelop hers.  She cracks her eyes open a little.  They are in Bachellier’s appartment, but she is on some kind of stretcher and Roman is on one side of her.  On the other side, a woman in what appears to be a paramedic’s uniform is unwrapping something which appears to be a dressing.  Seeing that Marlena is awake, she smiles.

“Dr Evans, comment vous sentez-vous?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Marlena’s voice is hoarse, and she winces in pain.   

“You are a very lucky lady,” the paramedic tells her.  “I don’t think there’s any serious damage but let’s get you to the hospital and get some x-rays done, just to be sure.”

“No.” Her throat feels like it’s lined with gravel and her voice matches.  She shakes her head and moans.  “No hospital.”

“Doc,” Roman leans over her.  “Baby, you need to let the doctors check you over.”

“No, I’m fine.  I just… please.  Let’s go back to the appartment.”

“Dr Evans?”  A male voice comes from over her shoulder.  “Capitaine Marchande.  We need to take a statement from you.”  He comes into view, and she realises belatedly that he is a policeman.  It is a moment before she realises there are several more police in the room.  Two of them are picking over the papers on the floor and several more are milling around the sideboard which has smears of her blood on the corner.

“No.”  She says again but this time she doesn’t shake her head.  “I don’t want to press charges.  I just want to go.”

“Marlena, he almost killed you!” Roman is clearly shocked.  “You have to-”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she tells him angrily although her voice is little more than a strangled whisper.  “It’s done.  It’s over.  I did what I came here to do.  Now I want to go.”  

Claude had tried to kill her, that is true.  But pressing charges means police interviews and questions and explanations about why she was here and then, potentially, court appearances.  She can’t afford any of that.  And, she reasons, now the police have the papers, he’s going to end up facing the inside of a jail cell for a very long time anyway.  Any sentence he is handed for attempted murder will likely be served concurrently with his punishment for his (what the state will consider) more serious crimes of arms trafficking.

No, she’s not engaging with this.  

“Dr. Evans, I realize this has been a terrible shock,” the capitane tries the sympathy angle.  “But you cannot let this man get away with what he has done to you.  He may do it to another woman, one who may not be so lucky.”

“I can’t make a statement,” Marlena says carefully.  Her throat feels like it’s full of razorblades and her head is pounding so badly she can barely think.  “I don’t remember anything.  I don’t remember what happened.”

“Doc?”  Roman looks disbelieving and he shakes his head.

“Ahhhh, can you at least tell me why you came here today?  And if you know anything about these papers?” Marchande casts a careless hand towards the papers that lay scattered across the floor.

“No, I can’t.” Marlena croaks.  “And I don’t.”

“Dr. Evans, if you have memory loss, you should be seen by a doctor,” the paramedic looks highly worried.  “You need to come to the hospital.”

“I need to go back to my appartment,” Marlena argues.  Just then, a movement catches her eye, and she sees Johnson who has just stepped through the door.  Internally, she breathes a sigh of both dismay and relief.  Stefano knows what has happened which means, as she has suspected, he has listening devices embedded in her clothing or her accessories.  And he has sent Johnson to retrieve her.  He doesn’t want her talking to the police as much as she doesn’t want to be speaking to them.  She’s not sure if that makes her feel better or worse.

“Johnson.”  She says his name deliberately, to divert attention from herself.  It will buy her a little time to formulate a plan, should she need one.

“Dr. Evans,” he nods his head.  “Mr. DiMera was concerned at how long you had been gone.  He sent me to check on you.  May I ask what has happened here?”

“DiMera?” Marchande appears suddenly pale.  “Stefano DiMera?”

“My employer,” Johnson says shortly.  “Dr. Evans here is a guest at his appartment.  As I said, he knew she was planning to visit Claude Bachellier and was concerned at the length of her absence.”

“Well now you’ve seen her, you can tell your boss that Bachellier almost killed her and he’s responsible!” Roman yells furiously.

Marlena notices the capitane take a step backwards, almost like he is scared of Johnson, and she surmises that it’s really Johnson’s boss that he’s scared of.  Stefano owns the police here, like he does in many of the cities he frequents, and Marchande obviously knows better than to get any more involved in this situation than he already is.

The paramedic, however, doesn’t seem to be party to the same knowledge the gendarme does.

“Dr. Evans has been assaulted, almost strangled and has a possible head injury.  She needs medical attention.  She needs to be checked out at the hospital.”

“Mr. DiMera will have a doctor come to the appartment to see to Dr. Evans,” Johnson tells her dismissively.  “She will be taken care of; you don’t need to worry.”

“She needs x-rays.  Possibly a CT scan,” the paramedic argues.  She turns to Marlena, her eyes glittering with concern.  “You’re a doctor,” she says imploringly.  “You know you need to be checked out.  Please.  You need to come to the hospital.”

“No.” Marlena demurs.  “He’s right.  Stefano will have a doctor come check me over.  If the doctor is concerned, he will order the tests.  In the meantime, I want to be where I’m comfortable, and that is not in a hospital.”

“Sweetheart!?” Roman shakes his head in frustration and no small amount of fear.  “This is madness.  You’d be dead if I hadn’t got into the room when I did.  You need to be in hospital.  I’m not arguing about this.”

“Neither am I,” she groans as she pushes herself upright into a sitting position.  “It’s my body and my health.  I am not consenting to go to hospital.” She looks directly at Johnson.  “Is the car downstairs?”

“Yes,” Johnson nods.  “Are you okay to walk?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”  She swings her legs off the stretcher and a wave of dizziness and nausea sweeps over her.  

Oh, that’s not a good sign.

For a moment she starts to reconsider her decision to stay away from the hospital but as the dizziness recedes, she steels her nerve and pushes herself off the gurney into a standing position.  Johnson steps forward to steady her but Roman pushes him away.

“Stay away from my wife,” he growls possessively, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Roman,” she says warningly but the effort of standing and uttering a single word is enough to sap her energy and she finds herself sagging against him.

“Okay, I realize I’m not going to win this one,” he sighs.  He too has noticed the retreat of the gendarmes and has come to the same conclusion as Marlena.  The female paramedic is the lone voice of sanity here but she’s not going to make a dent in Marlena’s resolve, that is clear.  “But you’re in no fit state to walk.  You can barely stand upright, honey.  At least let me carry you down to the car.” 

Marlena knows Stefano won’t be happy about this, but she knows he’ll be less happy if she ends up in hospital being quizzed by doctors and police.  And she doesn’t have the strength to arbitrate a dispute between her husband and Stefano’s henchman.  So, she does the only thing she can.  

“Mmmm,” she murmurs her assent with a small nod of her head, but her murmur turns into a moan of pain as she does.  Roman sweeps her into his arms and she wraps hers around his neck.

“I really am not comfortable with this,” the paramedic crosses her arms.  “Mr. Brady, your wife needs to be in hospital.”

Roman sighs heavily, turning to the paramedic, his expression grim. “I know she does.  But. you’ve never tried making my wife do something she doesn’t want to do.  And this situation is complicated.”  The frown doesn’t shift from her face, if anything, it intensifies.  “Look, I promise I will make sure she gets medical treatment.  I’m not going to risk her health.”

“We need to go,” Johnson says gruffly.  “The doctor will be waiting for us when we get there.”

Marlena’s head continues to swim as they exit the appartment and ride the elevator down.  it seems to take forever before they reach the ground, but then they are at the car and Roman is helping her into the back seat.  He climbs in behind her and although she tries to slide away from him, he captures her in his arms and pulls her back against him.  

She closes her eyes and swallows as the dizziness closes in again and alarmingly, the blackness that follows it seems to swallow her up until there is nothing left but swimming through the smothering inkiness and the pounding that accompanies it.

When she comes to again, she is in Grace’s bedroom in Stefano’s appartment, lying on the bed with a blanket spread over her.  Beside her, all too familiar medical equipment blinks and beeps.  A saline IV drip on a stand is attached to a cannula in her hand.   Everything hurts now, not just her head and her throat.  It’s an effort just to open her eyes and look around the room but when she does, she finds that it is empty.  It is a moment before she realizes she can hear voices coming from outside the bedroom.  In particular, Roman’s voice, which is raised in anger.  It is followed by Johnson’s voice and then a third, female voice joins in.  She can’t hear what they are saying but she can only imagine the depth of Roman’s rage at this development.  That Stefano has put her in such a position.  That she was only minutes away from being murdered.

She emits a silent sob.  Maybe it would have been better if Claude had succeeded.  Maybe death would be better than the fate Stefano has in store for her.  Maybe death might have released her family from the threat that currently lingers above them all.

But, instead, here she is.  Still caught in Stefano’s web.  Wounded and vulnerable.  Backed into a corner.

How does she come out fighting from here?

“Ah, you’re awake, good.”  The female voice belongs to a woman in her forties, wearing the white coat that indicates she has a medical role.  Marlena notes Roman and Johnson following her into the room.  “I’m Dr. Vieux.  How are you feeling?”

“Pretty awful,” Marlena tells her.  

“I can only imagine.” Dr. Vieux nods sympathetically.  “Looks like you took quite the beating.  The good news is, I don’t believe you’ve sustained any serious damage.  I’ve prescribed some painkillers, but I think you should be feeling a lot better by the morning.”

Marlena is thrown by her characterisation of attempted murder as a beating but in a perverse way she is comforted by the woman’s matter-of-factness.  “No hospital?” she whispers.

“I don’t think it’s required,” the doctor shakes her head, her auburn bob bouncing as she does so.  “You’ve had a nasty blow to your jaw, but there’s no real indication of major trauma to your skull.  To reassure your husband though, I am going to stay here for the next twenty-four hours and do regular obs.  If your condition deteriorates at all, I will have transport to hospital on standby.”

“Good.”  Marlena breathes a sigh of relief.  She doesn’t want a stay in hospital if she can avoid it.  But she’s glad they’re giving Roman some reassurance.  He’s worried enough about her, without this.  And the last thing she needs is him hovering over her like a concerned mother hen.  Right now, all she wants is silence and solitude.  “Can I…. I just want to sleep.”

“Of course,” Vieux nods.  “You’re not going to feel much like swallowing anything today, so I’ll give you some painkillers and a sedative through the IV.  Sleep is the best thing for you now.  I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

“Doc,” Roman steps forward.

“That includes you, Mr. Brady,” the woman raises her manicured eyebrows as she turns around to look at Roman.  “Especially you.”

“I’ll be right here sweetheart,” Roman ignores her.  “I’m, not going anywhere.”

“Roman…”  Marlena closes her eyes, unable to bear the concern and pain written all over his face.  He had saved her life and now she’s pushing him away.  Again.  “I need some space.  Please.  Find somewhere else to be… to sleep.”

“Marlena?”  She can hear the anguish in his voice, and it breaks her heart, but she can’t take his loving concern right now.  All she wants right now is the welcome oblivion of that sedative and to forget about everything for just a few hours.

She turns her head away from him and she hears him utter her name again, this time, laced with frustration and disbelief.  And then there is the sound of a scuffle and Roman lets out a growl that betrays the depth of his torment.  

“Out.”  Vieux’s voice is firm.  “Both of you!”  And then, after a moment, “They’re gone.”  Marlena feels pressure on the cannula in her hand as the doctor injects the sedative into the IV line.  And within moments, her head is swimming again, albeit more pleasantly and welcome than before.

When she wakes late the next morning, she finds Roman sitting beside the bed.

“Heyyyy,” he carefully brushes away the hair from her eyes.  “Hey sleeping beauty.  How are you feeling?”

Marlena takes a brief inventory of her numerous aches and pains.  Her jaw is still throbbing, her throat still feels like it’s lined with sandpaper but thankfully the banging in her head has receded to a mere dull ache.  In fact, almost everything aches, but nothing feels particularly agonising.

“Better,” she croaks.  “Not ready to run a marathon, but better than yesterday.”

“Good,” Roman nods.  “How did you sleep?”

“Okay.”  It’s not particularly true.  Her drugged sleep had been variously interrupted by Dr. Vieux doing her observations, the pain flaring up as the painkillers ran low, and by nightmares that had been both strange and startling.  In particular, she had dreamed of killing Claude Bachellier with such vividness that she had woken in the middle of the night to wonder if she had actually committed such an act.  It had taken her a moment to orient herself and it was only the vicissitude of the pain returning to full force that reminded her of where she was and that she was in no fit state to even leave the appartment let alone track down and murder a violent thug like Claude Bachellier.  So, she is still tired.  But to explain that to Roman is to open the door to an intimacy that she cannot afford.  Arm’s length is as close as she can allow him for now.  For ever.

“Listen Doc,” Roman’s expression grows sombre.  “I need to tell you something.”  He reaches out to cover her hand with his and she realises this is not good news.

“What?!”  Her heartbeat quickens as fear suffuses her.  She mentally tries to scan everything she has done in the last twenty-four hours, anything that might have contravened Stefano’s orders or demands.  Letting Roman carry her to the car, might that have enraged him enough that he would take it out on her children?  “Roman, the children?  Has something happened to one of the children?”    

“No, no,” Roman shakes his head and squeezes her hand.  “The children are just fine.”  He reaches out and his fingers hover over the dressing that covers the wound on her jaw.  “No, it’s…. Bachellier.  They… the police called earlier.  They fished his body out of the Seine this morning.  They’re calling it suicide.”

Marlena stares at him.  Claude Bachellier is dead?  In her dream, she had shot him, and he had toppled off… what?  A bridge?  Into inky, black water.

“He’s dead?”  She has to say the words for it to be real.  “Claude’s dead?”

“Yes,” Roman nods.  “But baby, I don’t want you blaming yourself for this.  If he killed himself, that’s on him.”

“Killed himself?” She is struggling to understand what Roman is saying.  Claude killed himself?

“That’s what they’re saying sweetheart,” Roman says gently.  “They think he threw himself off one of the bridges.”

“He wasn’t… no-one shot him?” she looks at him, the confusion registering in her eyes.

“No baby, no-one shot him.  He drowned.”  Roman strokes the hair from her face gently.  “What makes you think someone shot him?  Do you think maybe DiMera had something to do with his death?”  

“I don’t…” she shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  I just…  I wasn’t expecting that.  That’s all.  I wasn’t expecting…  I didn’t think Claude would be the kind of person to give up like that.  He… he was a scrapper.” She looks rueful.  “He never let anyone get the better of him, if he could help it.”

“But Stefano did get the better of him, didn’t he?” Roman points out gently.  “There was no way out for Bachellier.  He knew he faced jail time.  He knew he’d probably take his brother down with him.”  He shrugs.  He can’t personally say he’s sorry Bachellier is dead.  Not after he almost killed Marlena.  If he’d ever seen him again, he would probably have been sorely tempted to end the man’s life himself.  “Maybe this was preferable to him.  Maybe he thought he could protect his brother if he took the fall.”

“Mmmmm,” Marlena is thoughtful.  

“You think Stefano is involved.” Roman states it as a fact.

“What?”  She is confused for a moment and then she realises what he is saying.  “Oh, no.  I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  At least… he wanted Claude to suffer.  His death would be too quick and easy for Stefano.  You know what he’s like…” As she says it, she realises that this is exactly what she shouldn’t be doing.  Discussing Stefano with Roman.  Opening up to him, sharing her thoughts and opinions.  It’s too dangerous, letting Roman see the chink of an open door.

“Thank you for telling me.”  Her tone becomes dry and crisp.  “But now, I think I need some space… to deal with this.”

“Space?”  Roman looks hurt.  “Deal with what?  The bastard almost killed you, Doc!”

“I know he did,” she says icily.  “You don’t need to remind me of that fact.  But he’s dead because I went there.  Because I delivered Stefano’s ultimatum.  I almost died and Claude is dead.  I have a lot to think about.”

“Let me help you, Doc,” Roman pleads.  “You don’t need to take this all on your own shoulders.  Let me help.  Lean on me.”

“Roman,” she sighs exasperatedly.  “Please, respect my decision.  I will deal with this the best way I see fit.  I understand you want to help, but right now you are not helping.  I need you to go.  Now.”

“Doc.”  His shoulders sag.  He doesn’t even know how to reach her right now.  He doesn’t know how to fight this detachment and indifference from her.  He doesn’t even know if it’s real or if she’s affecting it to try and push him away.  There are moments when he sees Grace so clearly it scares him.  But then there are moments when she softens, and he sees and touches and feels Marlena and nothing but Marlena.  And then, there are moments like this, where she’s neither… or both.  And he doesn’t know what to do with that.  He doesn’t know how to handle her.  “Okay.  I’ll be back to check on you later.”

She says nothing, just turns away from him.  

He watches her back for a moment and then turns to leave the bedroom.  

He doesn’t see the tears that silently spill down her cheeks as he softly closes the door behind him.

~

“Roman.”  Hope stands as Roman makes his way into the darkest corner of the small street café.  

“Hey, Hope.  Bo,” Roman hugs his brother and sister-in-law and immediately feels calmer.

“Bro.”  Bo slaps his palm against Roman’s and pulls him into another hug.  “How you doing?”

“Been better,” Roman flags down a passing waiter.  “Bonjour.  Une pression, s’il vous plait.”

“You weren’t followed?” Hope asks cautiously.

“I lost the tail two blocks from Stefano’s appartment,” Roman tells her as he runs his fingers through his hair wearily.  “I think we’re good.”

“How’s Marlena?” Bo asks the question that has been on his mind since he and Hope had seen Roman carry his sister-in-law from Bachellier’s building the preceding morning.  “What the hell happened, Roman?”

“Marlena is… well, she’s as fine as can be expected given Bachellier almost killed her.”  Roman nods at the waiter as he drops a napkin on the table and places a pint of beer in front of him.  Roman takes a large mouthful of the beer and swallows it.   “He locked me out of the room and then attacked her.  Almost strangled her to death.”

“Jesus!”  Hope covers his hand with her own.  “Roman.  Thank god you managed to stop him in time.”

“Thank god you got my gun to me,” Roman tells her.  “If I hadn’t had that gun, Marlena would be dead now.”

The three of them are silent for a long moment.

“Why did he attack her, did she say?” Bo asks.  

“I’ve barely been allowed near her.  And when I have… she doesn’t want to talk about it.”  Roman stares into the amber liquid in his glass.  “Stefano made sure she didn’t go to hospital, of course.  And when the cops heard his name, they all backed off like we were poison.”  He compresses his lips and lifts the glass as though about to make a toast.  “Safe to say, DiMera holds plenty of sway in Paris, as he does back home.”  He drains the glass of half its contents before he slams it back down on the table.

“Dammit, I have never felt more helpless or hopeless than I do right now.  Marlena is like a stranger.  She won’t talk to me.  She’ll barely even let me touch her.”  He rubs his forehead with his fingers and thumb.  

“You’re staying in Stefano’s home.  She has to be aware at every turn that he is watching and listening to every move she makes.  If you’re right and he’s threatened the kids or you then she’s in an impossible position.” Hope reminds him.  “She’s pushing you away to protect you.  You have to know that.  You have to remember it.  She’s doing it because she loves you.”

“I know,” he sighs.  “I just wish she wasn’t so damn convincing when she does it.  It hurts.  I just want to help her, to support her.”

“If you’re hurting, so is she,” Hope says gently.  “She has to see what this is doing to you, and she has to deal with that.  It can’t be easy for her.  I still think you just need to go along with it.  Let her do what she needs to do to keep you and the children safe.  Meanwhile, we’ll be here, doing what we can to find Stefano before any of this gets any worse.”

Roman lets out a small growl as he leans back in his chair and regards his companions.

“Any luck yet?  Do the ISA have any leads?” Roman slides his finger up and down, wiping away the condensation which has beaded on the outside of the glass.  “I don’t know how much more Marlena can take.  I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Nothing definite yet, bro.”  Bo shakes his head.  “There was a possible sighting in London and one in Rhodes.  But nothing confirmed.”

“No.”  Roman shakes his head.  “The old man is here.  I know it.”

“You really think he’d risk being so close?  He has to know the ISA will be looking for him,” Bo asks, taking a mouthful of his own beer.

“I don’t think he can be anywhere else,” Roman drains the rest of his glass and beckons the waiter for a refill.  “Une autre s’il vous plait.”  He watches the waiter’s retreating back and then turns back to Bo and Hope.  “He’s planned every step of this out.  He’s doing everything he can to come between us and you’d better believe he’s going to be around to see this play out.  He’s watching our every move; I would lay money on it.”

“What do you think his endgame is?” Hope asks.  “He’s not doing all this just for the sake of it.”

“He wants Grace back,” Roman replies with certainty.  “I’ve been thinking about this and it’s the only thing that makes sense.  He’s taking Marlena on a tour of Grace’s history, bringing her face to face with the things she did.  He’s slowly isolating her and forcing her into situations where she’s going to hurt people and cause pain.  Because Grace revelled in that.  Hurting people.  But Marlena, that’s going to destroy her, bit by bit.  He’s trying to break her in the hopes that Grace will take back over, she’ll be what’s left when Marlena closes down.”

“And what happens if Grace does come back?” Hope asks. 

“What happens if she doesn’t?” Roman asks, genuinely frightened by either prospect.  “Hope, if Grace is his endgame and she’s not there when he finally gets his hands on Marlena, what then?  If he’s that obsessed with getting Grace back that he’s going to these lengths… what’s he going to do if he discovers she’s just not coming back whatever he does?”

“I guess we can assume that where-ever this journey leads, it will be some kind of trap that Marlena is going to walk into.  Whether willingly or not.” Hope muses.  “So, we need to make sure that whether she’s Grace or not, we’ve got some handle on what that trap is and how we get both her and Carrie out of there without any harm to either of them.”

“Easiest way to do that is find Stefano before it gets to that point,” Bo points out.

“Since when has finding Stefano ever been easy?” Hope exhales a deep breath and takes a swig from her bottle of beer.  “Damn him.  *Damn* him.”

“Did you… did you see Bachellier leave the appartment yesterday?” Roman asks, suddenly changing the subject as he thinks of Marlena’s confusion earlier on.  “Was there any attempt to follow him?”

“Corby tried to follow him, but he lost him in a tourist crowd down by the Seine,” Bo sighs.  “Sorry about that, man.  I assume Marlena knows he’s dead?”

“I told her this morning,” Roman remembers Marlena’s slightly off-key reaction.  “The strange thing was that she asked if he’d been shot.  Like she thought someone must have killed him.”  His brow furrows.  “She couldn’t accept that he’d killed himself.  But then she didn’t think Stefano would have had him killed.  She said Stefano had wanted him to suffer and she didn’t think that would have changed because of what he’d done to her.”

“Sounds like Stefano,” Bo shrugs.  “Roman, she’s just had a hell of a shock.  And we’ve already talked about how messed up she must be with the way Stefano is manipulating her.  Don’t expect anything she does right now to make sense.”

“Bo’s right,” Hope gives Roman a rueful smile before she squeezes his hand again.  “Listen, you should be getting back before someone starts asking where you are.  We’ll ask the ISA to put more focus on the idea that Stefano might be local.  You never know what they might turn up.  In the meantime, hang in there.  We’re here for you.  I know that it’s tough trying to support Marlena when she won’t share with you.  But we’re here to support you.  Whatever you need, okay?”

Chapter 12 – Le Noir est la Nuit

The room is dark when she opens her eyes.  Night has fallen during the long stretches of heavily medicated sleep, and she feels groggy and disoriented.  She thinks she was dreaming again but she can’t be sure.  She can only reach for the edges of the dream, the hazy images that rapidly fracture and scatter even as she tries to grab for them.  

She is so busy trying to recollect her sleep time wanderings that it is a moment before she realises there is a blackness hovering over her that shouldn’t be there.  A looming shape of darkness that is resolving into a human form.

She gasps and scrambles away from the shape to the far side of the bed.  She ends up in a half-sitting position, her heart feeling as though it is jumping almost out of her chest.

“Get away from me!” she rasps.

The shape emits a lazy guffaw, and she realises with horror that it is Kushnirenko who has let herself into her room.

“What the hell do you think are you doing in here?” she demands with a bravery she does not really feel.  “Get out of my room!”

“Mr. DiMera wants to speak to you.”  Kushnirenko pulls the covers off her.  “Now.  I suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”  

Marlena swallows as Kushnirenko leers at her, his eyes raking over the revealing nightgown she wears and lingering on the cleavage exposed by the generously low-cut champagne coloured satin.

“My r- My robe please.  It’s on the back of the door,” she tells him.  

“Get it yourself,” he sneers.  

Marlena sets her jaw, her teeth firmly clenched together to stop them chattering.  She can’t help the soft moan of pain as she slides off the bed and stands.  She hasn’t taken any sedatives or painkillers for some time now.  The last ones she took have worn off and she can feel every bruise as she moves.  She tries to give Kushnirenko a wide berth as she rounds the end of the bed and heads for the door.  But he moves to intercept her, and she finds herself backed up against the wall once again.

And suddenly she is back in Bachellier’s appartment again and her arm is twisted painfully behind her back and Claude’s hands are around her throat.

Your last mistake was coming here, sale pute!

“Please.”  She squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head.  “Don’t.  Please don’t”

And then she feels his hand sliding down the slippery fabric of her nightgown and his hardness is pushing into her thigh and despite her terror and repulsion, she is furious.  And from somewhere she finds an enormous burst of strength and she pushes him away from her.

“If you touch me again,” she hisses with an intensity so fierce that Kushnirenko actually takes a further step back, “I will make you regret it!”  She steps to the side and pulls her robe from the door.  But she doesn’t put it on just yet.  Instead, she holds Kushnirenko’s gaze, letting all the anger she feels about the situation she finds herself in register in her expression and body language.  “I’ve taken down bigger and scarier men than you.  Stefano will confirm it.  So, I’m warning you, you stay away from me if you know what is good for you.”

With that, she pulls the robe on and wraps it around herself.  She turns her back on the man and opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

Kushnirenko raises his eyebrows at her back, indicating he has suddenly found a modicum of grudging respect for her, and then he follows her.

She can only assume it is the small hours of the morning as she makes her way to the study.  The appartment has the expansive muffled silence that only occurs in the middle of the night when everyone is abed and even the traffic outside has slowed to a trickle.

Inside the study, Kushnirenko tells her to sit in the same chair she had inhabited two days previously when Stefano had set this latest atrocity in motion.  He nods as she sits in the chair, her back straight and tense.  He leaves the room, but before he closes the door behind him, he makes sure that she understands he is standing directly on the other side of it, barring her exit and forbidding any entry from anyone who might be disposed to help her, should she need it.

“My dear Marlena.”  Stefano’s voice comes from behind her, and it takes her a moment before she realises that his voice is not coming from some kind of speaker.  Before she realises, he is actually in the room with her.

Her heart races again as she leaps out of the chair and spins around to face him.  “Stefano!”  A wave of dizziness overcomes her, and she has to steady herself against the ornately carved side of the heavy mahogany desk.

“Please, sit.”  He waves a hand at the chair she has just vacated.

“I’d rather not,” she replies stiffly.  To sit gives him the advantage.  Gives him even more power than he has already taken.  She will not hand any more to him.  She will retain what dignity and strength she can, despite the situation and despite her injuries.

“Suit yourself,” Stefano says darkly.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she says defiantly, the anger sparking off her in waves.  She knows she’s risking Stefano’s wrath by standing up to him, but she’s sick to death of feeling so afraid and powerless.  “And while we’re on the subject, you need to tell your goon outside to keep his filthy hands off me or I won’t be responsible for what I do to them.  And him.”

“Ha!”  Stefano chuckles easily, his dark eyes sparkling in the hushed lighting.  “I am pleased to see you have found some backbone at last, Marlena.  I was starting to worry that it had departed with my darling Grace.” 

“What do you want, Stefano?” she demands, ignoring his observation.  Let him wonder at her sudden flare of anger.  She is done with cowering before him.  If that means she has to find every last shred of Grace still lurking within her and piece them back together into some kind of armour that helps her withstand his psychological torture of her, then she’ll damn well do it. 

Grace served her well in the past and its obviously Grace he is looking to draw out now.  Well, if it’s Grace he wants…  who is she to deny him?

“It’s the middle of the night. Let’s get this… whatever it is, over with, shall we?!”

“Marlena,” Stefano smiles as he steps towards her but his smile fades as he sees the extent of the bruising on her face and neck.  “Dio santo!”  He reaches out and touches his fingers to the side of her jaw.  “Mia cara, what did he do to you?”

With a sharp intake of breath, more from the proximity of the man she hates more than anyone in the world than any kind of physical pain, Marlena takes a step back.  “You know exactly what he did to me, Stefano.  You know very well.  He almost killed me.  If it hadn’t been for Roman, I would be in the morgue right now.”  Her eyes narrow at his reaction which is one of mild surprise.

“Don’t pretend any of this is a surprise to you.  Johnson’s been reporting back to you, as has the good Dr. Vieux.  You sent me there, Stefano.  You knew he hadn’t changed.”  She gives him a bitter smile.   “You knew the risks, or you wouldn’t have suggested Roman accompany me.  But you sent me there anyway.  So don’t give me this fake surprise and regret bullshit.  Don’t pretend you care.”

“Ahhh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Marlena.”  Stefano shakes his head.  “I care very much.  Why else would I go to all this trouble?”

“Because you’re sick and twisted and you get some kind of perverse pleasure out of hurting me.  Or seeing me get hurt,” Marlena screws up her fist tightly so that her nails bite into the palm of her hand.  The pain reminds her that she must not cry in front of Stefano.  That she must stay strong.  She must stay angry.

“Oh no,” Stefano looks genuinely surprised now.  “No.  You really do misunderstand me, Marlena.”  He takes a step towards her and reaches out for her hand.  He encloses it in his own pudgy, oversized hand.  “I do not want to hurt you.  I want to make you happy.”

“You do?” Marlena doesn’t believe that for a moment.  He has never wanted her to be happy.  He has only ever wanted to take her happiness away.  She pulls her hand out of his grasp and buries it in the folds of her satin robe.  “Then let me go.  Let Carrie go.  Let us all go home and be happy.  Leave us alone.  Just leave me alone.”

“No.”  He shakes his head again, his expression growing hard.  “That is not an option.  I love you, Marlena.  I will have you by my side.  We will be happy, together.”

“You don’t love me,” she laughs at the irony.  That he would claim to love her and yet send her to stand in front of a monster like Claude Bachellier and threaten to destroy his life.  That he would say he loves her and yet torment her and manipulate her the way he does.  That he would think he loves her and yet use her love for her family to control and terrorize her.  “You just want to best me.  You want to own me because you’ve never yet been able to.  You don’t love me, I’m just a challenge you haven’t yet been able to overcome.  Because I refuse you, again and again.  Even when I was Grace, I didn’t want you and you want me to want you, so badly, it drives you crazy.”

“Yes,” Stefano growls.  “I want you.  And I want you to love me.  Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes.” she replies simply.  “I will never, ever love you, Stefano.  Ever!”  The vehemence that comes from her, fills the entire room, leaving no room for doubt as to her certainty.

“Never is a very long time, my Queen,” Stefano cocks one eyebrow. 

“You told me three days ago you had no use for me,” Marlena reminds him.  “Unless I become Grace again.  What happened?”

“As you so eloquently put it, Bachellier almost killed you.  That and seeing you, in person, tonight,” he shrugs, “you are right.  I find you an exquisite challenge, mia regina.  You fascinate me in a way no other woman ever has.  Or ever could.  However much I try to forget you, you are in here,” he bangs his fist to his chest.  “I must have you.  Why do you not accept that?”

“Because real love is not about having or owning,” Marlena cries angrily.  “Real love is reciprocal.  It’s selfless.  It’s caring enough about the other person’s happiness that you will do whatever it takes to make them happy.  Even if it means letting them go.  Letting them be with someone else.”

“No!”  Stefano’s expression hardens again.  “No, Marlena.  You are wrong.  I love you and I will have you.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!”  Marlena raises her eyes heavenward.  She doesn’t even know why she persists in having this conversation with Stefano over and over again.  He hasn’t listened to her all the other times, what makes this time any different?

“Listen, is there anything else you wanted?” she asks wearily.  “I’m sore and I’m tired.”

Stefano is silent for a long moment, regarding her.

“Well?” she demands.

“I am sorry,” he says finally.  “You are right, I should have known Bachellier was dangerous.  I was angry with you and that made me careless.  I… regret that you were hurt.”

“Stefano, he almost killed me,” she repeats angrily.  “He smashed my head against a wall, sent me flying into a sideboard and then almost strangled the life out of me.  And you regret that I was hurt?”  His chagrined expression gives her pause for a moment but then she asks the question which has been nagging at her all day.  “Did you have anything to do with his ending up in the Seine?”

“Me?”  Stefano raises an eyebrow and then shakes his head with a grimace.  “No, I had much more… inventive ways in mind to ensure Claude suffered for what he did to you.  His death was entirely his own doing.  He believed, I suppose, that by taking his own life, he would escape the punishment that fate had in store for him.  And his brother.”

She stares at Stefano for a long moment, trying to understand exactly what it is he is saying.  Her brows crease and then she looks away.  Turning, she walks to the window and looks out across the sparkling lights of old Paris. 

“Death is an escape?” she asks.  “You believe that?”

“Non.”  His rich baritone is full of malevolent seriousness.  “Death does not excuse anyone.  You would do well to remember that, my dear.  Claude leaves Daniel behind to face the full consequences of his brother’s actions.  If he thought he was saving his brother from me by removing himself from the canvas, he was sorely mistaken.  I will have my revenge.”

Marlena turns her head to look at him again.

“I would do well….?” she asks curiously.

“In case you ever felt… tempted to follow Claude’s example,” he says softly.  “Do not think it would save your family.”

Marlena’s cheeks redden at Stefano’s implication.  

“I would never….” she says angrily.  But she knows the truth is that when Bachellier’s hands had been around her throat, she had almost welcomed the blackness.  Had she fought with every ounce of strength in her?  She’s not at all sure she had.  She had certainly thought, if just even for a moment that death might be preferable to this torment that Stefano has visited on her.  And she had definitely considered that her death might release her family from the threat that they are living under.

But to deliberately set out to kill herself?  She wouldn’t even consider… would she?

“Good.”  Stefano replies softly.  “I know you are unhappy, Marlena.  I know you do not believe I love you.  I ask you to give me the opportunity to prove that love to you.  You need to understand, it is the only way you can secure the safety of your family.  I know you want to keep them safe.  The only way to do that is comply with my wishes.”

Marlena’s eyes fill and she shakes her head, the tears spilling onto her cheeks.  He is a psychopath.

“I want you to pay a visit to Veronique Bachellier, when you are sufficiently healed,” he tells her.  “I want you to make it clear to her that her husband was your lover.”

“Why?” she whispers.  “Why punish her?”

“Claude thought he could protect his brother through sacrificing his own life.  He was wrong.  After your visit to Mrs. Bachellier, the police will receive the full weight of evidence against the brothers and they will have to bring the full weight of the law to bear on the remaining, living Bachellier.  He will lose everything.” 

“You don’t have to do this, Stefano.”  Marlena flicks at her face with her fingers, obliterating all evidence of her momentary weakness.  “Claude is dead.  Daniel was only ever an accessory.”

“Daniel is a weak and feckless fool who has only ever been interested in his own pleasure,” Stefano says hotly.  “He took what he wanted from you and showed no concern when you disappeared after Claude found you at his appartment.  Yet you defend him?”

“I don’t like hurting people,” Marlena rebukes him.  “He didn’t renege on this deal, that was all Claude.  So why punish him?”

“Because you need to understand that there is no escape.” Stefano tells her darkly.  “Because if I let Claude’s death be the end of it, you may fallaciously believe that a similar fate befalling you might protect your family from my wrath.  I want you to understand that such an end would not be forthcoming.”

“I understand.”  The defeat is evident in her voice.  “You don’t need to destroy Daniel’s family for me to believe you.”

“Maybe,” Stefano shrugs.  “But someone has to pay for Claude’s betrayal.  So, you will do as I ask and go and see Veronique.  You will inform her that her husband not only betrayed her, but also his country.    It will be up to her what she does with that information.  However,” he gives her a small, sympathetic smile, “I will spare you the ignominy of your part in Bachellier’s infidelity becoming public knowledge.”

“That is so kind of you.” Marlena turns back to the window.  She can’t even fantasize about throwing herself out if it now.  “Are we done now?”

“No,” Stefano’s tone hardens again.  “There is one more thing.”

“What now?”  She is exhausted now.  This encounter has sapped what little strength she has managed to muster over the past day or so.

“Hope and Bo Brady.  I made it clear they were not welcome on this leg of your journey.”

“Bo and Hope…?”  Marlena turns back to him, confused.  “They went back home.  From London.  When we came here….  Didn’t they?”

Suddenly she is not so sure.  

“They are here, in Paris.  Your husband met with them in a café this afternoon.”  Stefano crosses the room to stand beside her.  He looks out over the sleeping city, lights glittering in defiance of the darkness that lurks between them.  His arm snakes around her shoulders, his hand clasping her upper arm so hard that she knows he will leave imprints of his fingers in her cool flesh.

“Marlena, I warn and warn you.  But still, you defy me.”  His voice is warm and easy, but she can hear the vicious anger beneath the false geniality.

“I didn’t know they were here,” Marlena’s voice is steady; indeed, it is steely.  “Roman… lied to me.”

“Indeed?”  Stefano lets out a soft chuckle.  “Well, it would not be the first time, no?”

Marlena says nothing.  But she can’t help but think of the morning that this whole nightmare began.  When Stefano had informed her that John had been with Hope during the time he was missing.  That John Black had been the father of the baby Hope carried.

Stefano removes his hand from her arm and lightly strokes her hair.  “Then it is entirely John’s fault that I have had to take steps to remind you of how your family remains wholly within my power.”

Marlena’s heart skips a beat, and she whirls around to face him, her face betraying her rising panic.  “What do you mean?” she demands, a tremor shading her voice.  “What do you mean, take steps?”

“Your young grandson, William,” Stefano smiles.  “He is, at this very moment, on an aeroplane.  On his way to join his aunt Caroline.”

“No!”  Marlena shakes her head desperately and she feels her knees give way as her head swims.  Stefano catches her and pulls her to him, his hands tightly gripping her upper arms.  

“YES.” His white teeth gleam and his obsidian eyes glitter with the reflection of the city behind her.   “Tell Hope and Bo that as long as they to go back to Salem and stay there, William will be safe with his aunt.  If they do not…” he shrugs diffidently.  “I only need one insurance policy, Marlena.”

“He’s just a baby, Stefano.”  She is outraged, but somehow not surprised.  “You can’t hurt a baby!?”

“Are you sure about that?” he raises one thick eyebrow, his face deadly serious.  “Are you willing to risk William’s life on that assumption?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she tells him, the fury in her voice barely contained before she pushes herself away from him.  “One day.  Not today, no.  But one day soon, I will kill you, Stefano.”

Stefano smirks cruelly.  “You said that when we last met in a jail cell in New Orleans.  And yet, here I am.”  He leans forward and plants a warm kiss on her cheek before he presses his cheek to hers and whispers in her ear.  “I choose to believe you will give yourself to me before you kill me, Marlena.  Because, before all else, I believe you will do anything to keep your family safe.”  He cups her face in his dry, warm hand and draws her fingers down her cheek.  “So, do as I ask, eh?”

“I will never willingly give myself to you,” she hisses.  “You’re a monster.  I could never feel anything for you but repulsion.”

“We shall see,” Stefano smirks again.  “You can go now, Marlena.  Once you have been to see Veronique, I will be back in touch.  I will give you your next instructions.  Sogni d’oro, mia regina.”

She pauses for a long moment, trying to find something else to say.  Some threat that will sound realistic.  Something that might move him.  Shake him to the core, as he has shaken her.  But there is nothing, no threat she can make that will sound credible.  Not while he has her children and her grandchildren within his grasp.

Instead, she turns quietly and walks to the door.

Opening it, she turns and looks back at him.  “I hope, when you finally are put out of your misery, you burn in hell for everything you have done to me,” she says simply, and then she is gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

Stefano stares at the door for a long while with an expression of contemplation.  Then slowly, a smile spreads across his face and he lets out a long, low laugh.

“Ah, Grace,” he muses.  “You are in there, aren’t you, mia cara?  And let us see how you manifest, now that she has something to hold Roman Brady accountable for.”

~

As soon as she reaches the privacy of her room, she snatches up the phone receiver and dials Sami’s number.

Please, please, please…

It’s a silent prayer, and a hopeless one, she knows.  Stefano doesn’t lie.  He doesn’t need to.

“Sami!” she doesn’t even wait for Sami to greet her.  “Where is Will?  Please, tell me he’s there with you.  Please baby.”

Sami lets out a long, anguished wail and Marlena joins in with a moan of her own.

“No.  No!”

“He’s gone, Mom.”  Sami sobs and anything further she says dissolves into incoherent weeping.

“Marlena,” Kayla’s voice comes over the line.  “Marlena, Will’s gone.  Sami left him with the sitter this afternoon and when she came back, the woman was unconscious, and Will was gone.  We think Stefano might have him.”

“He does.” Marlena confirms, her voice low and emotionless.  “Kay, put Sami back on please.”

“Sure.”  She hears murmuring in the background and then Sami’s muffled crying.

“Listen Sami, I am going to get Will back.  I promise you baby, I will get Will back.”  She means it with every fibre of her being.  She will do anything to bring Carrie and Will back safely to their families.  Anything.  “I won’t let anything happen to him.  I promise you that.  Okay?”

“Okay.” Sami hiccups gently through her sobbing.  “Mom?”

“Yes baby?”

“I miss you,” she says plaintively.  “Please come home safely.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” Marlena feels her heart twist tightly in her chest.  She can’t promise what she can’t deliver.  She will get Will home safely to Sami.  She can do that much.  “I have to go now Sami.  I’ll call you again when I can, okay?”

“Okay.  Mo-”

Marlena hangs up before Sami can ask any more questions.  She doesn’t want to lie to her daughter if she doesn’t have to.  She doesn’t want to make promises she can’t keep.

Ignoring the pounding of her head and the aching of her bruises and wrenched shoulder and wrist, she lies down on her side and looks out of the window at the black night sky.  Black.  Like the space in her heart where hope should linger.  Like her future.  

Black like the anger which is clouding and staining her soul.

Blackness.

Bleakness.

Emptiness.

Chapter 13 – La Reprise des Hostilités

“Doc!”  Roman swings into her room expecting to find her still in bed, but instead, she is standing by the window, fully dressed.  And dressed to kill, apparently.  She is wearing figure-hugging black pants, knee-high boots and a black off-the-shoulder lace top that hugs every curve.

She turns to stare at him, her gaze icy and he realises that she already knows.

“This is your fault,” she says without preamble.  “Yours and Bo’s and Hope’s.”

“You know.”  He stops at the bed, the covers smooth and unrumpled.  How long has she been awake?  “How did you-?”

“That’s not important,” she points at him.  “What the hell did you think you were doing, Roman?  Stefano made it clear Bo and Hope were to go home.  Not follow us here.”

“We didn’t think he’d know.  We thought-”

“No.  You didn’t,” Marlena’s voice is still raspy, but she yells at him, nonetheless.  “You didn’t think.  None of you thought.  You just assumed, like you always do.  You all kid yourselves you can outsmart him.  That you can stay one step ahead of him.  When in reality, he knows every move you make before you even think of it.  He’s too clever for you.  You think you can pull the wool over his eyes?  You’re no match for him.  None of you come even close!”

“Marlena!”  Roman knows he should be growing used to these outbursts, to this attitude from her but he still finds it shocking.  And it hurts him that she has such little faith in him.

“What!?”  She stalks across the room and comes to face him.  She has covered what she can of the bruises with makeup and she has done an amazing job.  You’d hardly know to look at her that she had almost died three days earlier.  “Roman, he has Will now.  He has him and he has Carrie.  But why does he need to keep two hostages?  One is enough to ensure I toe the line.  So why take Will?”

Roman has no answer for her.

“Because he knows Bo and Hope are here.  He knows you met with them yesterday afternoon.”  At Roman’s shocked expression, she can’t help but laugh.  “Yes, he knows.  I told you, you aren’t as clever as you think you are.  So, he took Will to make a point.  And if Bo and Hope do what they should have done in the first place and go back to Salem and stay there, then Will will be safe.”  She takes a deep breath.  “For the time-being, anyway.”

“Time-being?”  Roman shakes his head.  “Doc, he wouldn’t hurt Will, he’s just a kid.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Marlena glares at Roman angrily.  And then she finds herself echoing Stefano’s question.  “Are you willing to wager Will’s life on that assumption?”

Roman holds her gaze for a long moment.  He wants to argue with her, to tell her she’s wrong, but he knows everything she is saying is right.  This is his fault.  She has every reason to be furious with him.  But then…

“C’mon Doc.  I get that you’re angry, baby, and you have every right to be.  But if Hope and Bo hadn’t followed us, I wouldn’t have had my gun at Bachellier’s the other morning.”  He bunches his hand into a fist as he thinks how close he had come to losing her.  “I wouldn’t have been able to get into that room in time to save you, sweetheart.”

“At least Will would have been safe,” she says quietly.

“Baby, you can’t mean that!” Roman is genuinely shocked and reaches out to take her hands in his.  “Please Marlena.  Don’t give up.  You have to keep fighting.”

“I’m not giving up.” Her tone and her expression are both icy as she pulls her hands away from his.  “I will never give up.  But I’m doing this my way, Roman.  And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of the way.”

She turns and strides to the doorway, her slender frame impossibly imposing with all the fury and intent that she bears.  When she reaches it, she turns back to him.  “Call Bo now.  They must be gone by the end of the day.  And Roman, if anything happens to Will… or Carrie… I will never forgive you.  Any of you.  But especially you.”

With that, she is gone, and he hears her footsteps on the stairs as she descends to the lower floor of the appartment.

Sighing, he takes out his phone and pulls up Bo’s number.

“Hey bro,” Bo greets him on the first ring, “you talked to Marlena yet?”

“Yeah,” Roman sighs.  “She already knew.  Stefano got there first.  She’s saying he’s the one that took Will.”

“Well, I think we all knew that,” Bo responds.

“She’s saying it’s because Stefano knows you’re here in Paris.  That I met with you yesterday.  He’s taken Will in reprisal.  And if you don’t head back to Salem by the end of the day….”  Roman sits heavily on the bed as the implications of what he is saying sink in.  His grandson’s life is in danger, and he is to blame.  Marlena blames him.  Stefano is driving that thin end of wedge ever deeper between them and the gulf between them is widening swiftly.  

And now Bo and Hope will be forced to leave them.  It is only now that he realizes how much he’s been relying on the pair of them to keep him sane and strong.  Strong for Marlena.  Strong enough to stand against her.  When he despairs, he knows at least that Bo and Hope are nearby, a voice of reason to light the darkness that fills his soul.  Now he is to be deprived even of that.

“Roman, are you sure about that?”  Bo asks, his tone suddenly taut.  “Stefano told her that?”

“She didn’t specify precisely that it was Stefano, but she knew I’d met with you.  She’s been talking to the old man; I don’t doubt that for an instant.”  

He realises that since they’ve been here in Paris, she hasn’t even bothered to hide it.  Stefano had tipped his hand the afternoon they had spent together in bed.  He had summonsed her, and she had gone.  She had gone, warm and tousled and with the imprint of his touch on her skin.  And she had come back icy and angry and angular.  And she has emotionally closed down on him completely.  She’s not… Grace, exactly.  At least Grace reacted.  Grace had chinks in her armour.  This Marlena, she won’t even let him close enough to see the armour, let alone see the weaknesses in it.

“Oh man.  This isn’t good.”  Roman can hear Bo shaking his head.

“No.”  Roman exhales heavily.  “You have to go, Bo.  I can’t risk Will’s life and safety.  I thought we were careful, and yet Stefano knows you followed us here.  It’s too risky to try and fool him again.”

“Of course, Roman.”  Bo soothes the fears that Roman had harboured that he might try and argue that they could fool Stefano if only they took another tack.  But Roman knows that Marlena is right.  They are on Stefano’s chess board here and he is the only one with a full overview of all the pieces and where they are placed.  Trying to outsmart him in this endeavour is futile.  “I’ll call Vic as soon as I’m done and get him to send the jet back.”

“Might not be soon enough little brother,” Roman sighs.  “Marlena said you have to be gone by the end of the day.  See if Vic knows anyone who can give you a quick ride out of here.  Or get a commercial flight if you have to.  I can’t risk Will’s….  Geez, Bo, Doc is already furious enough at us.  At me.”

“Roman, you know we did what we thought was right.” Bo says softly.  “She can’t blame you for this.  You can’ t blame yourself.”

“Can’t I?”  Roman asks miserably.  “Every terrible thing Stefano has done to her is because I brought the poisonous old snake into her life.  She would have been better off if she’d never met me.”

“Thinking like that isn’t going to get you anywhere, man.” Bo tells him.  “You guys have a once in a lifetime kind of love.  That’s why Stefano hates you so much.  Because he can never touch what you have.  It started with you, sure, but it’s all about Marlena now.  It has been, ever since he took her, back in ‘87.  For God’s sake, don’t blame yourself for this.  Put the blame where it belongs.  On Stefano.  *He* is the one that’s obsessed with Marlena.  He’s the one that has taken Carrie and Will.  He’s the architect of all this misery and pain.  You’re just unwilling victims in his endless schemes and machinations.”

“Yeah.”  Roman remains unconvinced but he doesn’t have the energy to argue with Bo.  “But you’re wrong on one point Bo.  She can blame me, and she does.  She told me as much.”

“She’s angry.  She’s lashing out.  She knows deep down that we were only trying to help.  And thank God we were here.  If you hadn’t had your gun the other day…”

“I pointed that out,” Roman tells his brother dully.  “Didn’t seem to make much of an impression on her.  She was still more worried about Will.  Said at least if she’d been killed Will would be safe.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line and then a deep exhalation from Bo.  “Awww man,” he says and Roman knows that’s all he can say.  What reply is there to that?  The depth of despair Marlena must be feeling to say those words.  He knows how much she loves their children, and he knows she would gladly lay down her life for any of them.  But to hear the regret in her voice, to know that on some level she might have welcomed death had it claimed her.  That she sees no other outcome to this other than to think death might provide some kind of welcome oblivion.

“Listen, we’ll continue working on it back home,” Bo tells him.  “We’ll do what we can from a distance, and we’ll keep in contact with you.”

“For as long as Stefano allows it,” Roman says glumly.

“Hang on in there, buddy.”  Bo can’t offer much more reassurance than that.  “There’s no guarantee this is going to end up the way Marlena thinks it is.  I know it seems like Stefano holds all the cards now.  But all we need is one break.  One small slip-up which means we can find him, head him off at the pass.  You gotta keep fighting Roman.  You gotta keep hoping.” 

~

It’s another two days before Marlena feels recovered enough to venture out of the house with the purpose of confronting Veronique Bachellier.  She has barely said more than a couple of sentences to Roman since she had told him that Stefano had taken Will in retribution for Bo and Hope not following his instructions.  Her anger has not abated any, and every time she encounters him in the cavernous hallways and rooms of the appartment, she feels an irrational wave of fury engulf her.  He has tried a number of times to talk to her, to explain, to apologise but she has been deaf to it all.  She can’t forgive him.  She can’t afford to forgive him.  

She is angry at him for Will’s abduction to be sure but more than that, holding onto her anger gives her a useful excuse to keep him at arms distance.  To turn away from him when he so desperately wants to draw her closer.  

She has been torn before.  When Lamont returned, purporting to be Roman.  When she had to choose her marriage to the fake Roman over her love for “John Black”.  When she had to pretend she had no feelings for him even though every time she saw him, her heart quickened, and her stomach flipped.  When she would touch him softly, but just for a moment too long.  When she would hold his gaze for just a fraction longer than she should.  When she would lie in bed at night beside a sleeping Lamont and remember the smell of him and the feel of his touch.

This is different but no less painful.  In fact, it’s more.  Because this time she knows his life is at stake.  The only way she can protect him, protect his very life is to shatter him.  To take a hammer to his love for her.  To push him away and convince him that his life must go forward without her.  There will be no rediscovery this time.  There will be no desperate lovemaking, no giving in to long-subsumed passion.  She can’t afford any weakness.

And so, she wears her anger like a shield.  She glares at him and turns away from him and she will not speak.  And he is white and drawn and miserable, and it breaks her heart, but she can’t let him know that.  Can’t let him see her heart.  Not this time.

So, she dresses quietly this morning, pulling on tight dark grey jeans and a cream silk blouse which falls in loose folds around her neck and decolletage.  She zips up knee-high boots with a killer heel and piles her hair into a loose chignon before applying make-up to partially cover the bruising on her face and throat.  She doesn’t want to completely cover it; she wants Veronique to know what her brother-in-law did.  

She doesn’t want Claude Bachellier to receive an ounce more sympathy and grief than he is due.  He would have killed her if he’d had much more time and she’s not sorry he’s dead.  At least now he won’t be able to hurt anyone else the way he hurt her.

When she is finished, she fastens diamond earrings to her earlobes and pulls on a black leather jacket which she zips up to her bust.  She gives herself a once-over in the mirror and approves of what she sees.  Then she goes down to the kitchen.

“Marie, can you please call Piotr, I need to go out,” she pours herself a glass of water as Marie bustles in from the dining room where she is putting away the breakfast dishes.  

“Oui,” she smiles cheerily.  “But are you sure you should be going out so soon?  Can it not wait for another few days?  You still need to heal, chérie.”  She lifts her hand to Marlena’s chin and turns her head left and right, inspecting the bruising and the healing cut on her jaw. “Oh, ma chérie, ça a toujours l’air très douloureux.” 

“It’s fine.  I’m fine.”  She captures Marie’s hand in her and squeezes it reassuringly.  The older woman has fluttered around Marlena like an absurd mother hen the past few days, but Marlena can’t be annoyed at her concern and care.  She was clearly shocked by what had happened to Marlena, and she had been frightened that Marlena would not recover from Bachellier’s attack.  

When she had regained consciousness, Marie had been in the room as often as the doctor had allowed, bringing her ice and drinks and soup and magazines, whatever she could think of to help aid Marlena’s recovery.  And Marlena can understand why Marie would try and dissuade her from going out again so soon.  She loves the housekeeper for her affection and her concern but that said, she needs to get this visit over and done with.  She has tarried too long.  Every day that Stefano has Carrie and Will and she does nothing, there is the danger that he will grow bored and throw a further challenge at her with the threat of hurting one or both of them.

“I need to go out, Marie.  It’s on Stefano’s instruction.  I can’t avoid it any longer, I’m afraid.”

“Oui.”  Marie’s face falls.  She is not a stupid woman, and she understands the true nature of Stefano and his interest in Grace.  She also knows that Grace dare not cross him.  The men that roam the appartment at such seemingly random times tells her such.

Truth be told, she sees the way Roman Brady looks at Grace and the profound sadness and pain in his eyes and she sees the torment that Grace suffers and her heart breaks for both of them.  But like Grace, she dare not cross Mr. DiMera.  He is too powerful, and she is just a housekeeper.  So, all she can do is care for the woman in her charge the best she can and hope that she finds a way to defy Stefano DiMera and find her way back to the husband that loves her so much.

“I will call Piotr.  Can I tell him where you are going?”

“The 8th Arrondisment.”

Marie nods and picks up the phone.

“Where are you going?”  She jumps at the sound of Roman’s voice right behind her and she has to grasp at the kitchen island as she feels the warmth of him behind her, his breath against her ear.  

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she replies curtly, refusing to turn and look at him.  If she does, she’s afraid he’ll see the pain in her eyes, see the need.  So instead, she watches Marie pick up the phone.

“You told me I didn’t need to worry about not being in the room when you spoke to Bachellier,” he reminds her, his voice soft but steely.  “I think I’ll be the judge of what I need to worry about.”

“Roman,” the intake of breath is sharper than she would like when his hand lands on her shoulder, his thumb sliding down the back of her neck.  She bats his touch away and then turns around to glare at him.  She knows not going to win this one and she needs to reserve her strength for the battles she really needs to fight.  “Look.  I can’t stop you worrying.  I probably can’t stop you following me.  So, do whatever you want.  Just don’t expect me to share chapter and verse with you on what my plans are.  Because I am not going to.”

“You can’t?” Roman raises his eyebrows.  “Or you won’t?”

“I won’t,” she replies defiantly.  “We’ve discussed this before.  I don’t want you here.  I want you to go home and look after Eric, Sami and Belle while I find Carrie and Will.”

“And I told you, Marlena; I’m not leaving you alone and at the mercy of Stefano DiMera.”  Roman frowns.  He is tired, the furrows around his eyes are deepening as the days pass.  He’s not sleeping any more than she is.  “You can fight me all you want Marlena, but I am not going anywhere.  Except wherever it is you’re going.  Because however angry at me you are, I love you.  And I will not give up on you.  On us.  Ever.”   

“Piotr will be downstairs in five minutes,” Marie interrupts them, and it gives Marlena the space she needs to turn away from Roman and resolutely ignore his words and the maelstrom of emotions and physical reactions they evoke.

~

It takes a little over twenty minutes for Piotr to drive them the short distance from Rue Bonaparte to the Avenue Montaigne on the other side of the river.  Once she has exited the car, Marlena takes a moment to check herself, straighten her jacket and take a deep breath before she makes her way to the building that houses Daniel and Veronique Bachellier’s appartment.

She gives her real name to the concierge and waits while he calls up to the Bachellier residence.  She doesn’t know how much Daniel and Veronique know about the hours before Claude’s suicide but nonetheless, she suspects Veronique will refuse to see Victoria Deveraux on principle.  Stefano has given her details on the couple’s movements, and she knows that Veronique is usually home on a Thursday morning, while Daniel can most often be found in the political environs that house his office.

Indeed, Veronique is home, and she responds to the request to see her on personal business with an invitation to go up to the appartment.  Marlena continues to ignore Roman as he follows her into the luxurious elevator.  It is panelled in warm chestnut with an oval mirror gilded with gold affixed to the rear wall.  As the doors slide closed, the mirror reflects the ornate 

“Doc, you don’t have to do this.” Roman says softly as she presses the button that will carry them to the third floor.  “What has this woman done to deserve any of this?  If the police find evidence of Daniel’s collusion in the arms deals, she’ll find out then.  Sweetheart, you don’t have to be involved in this.”

Marlena leans silently against the back of the elevator.  She’s not going to explain or argue.  There’s no point.  Roman is right, this is punishing an innocent bystander.  Stefano is using her to twist the knife, just because he can.  Just because he wants to prove a point.  To the world.  To anyone that might defy him.  But particularly to her.

You can’t escape my revenge.  Not even your death will stop me punishing you and those you love.

She shakes her head silently and looks straight forward, studying the beautifully embossed golden doors that have enclosed them in this box.  

And then the doors are smoothly sliding open, and she is stepping out, her heeled black boots clicking on the parquet floor as she steps up to the white door the panels outlined in florid swirls, gilded with gold.  She raps sharply with her knuckles and folds her arms to wait.  

After a moment, there comes the click of the lock, and the door swings open to reveal a beautiful woman in her late thirties.  Her sleek and gleaming chestnut hair has been cut into a chic long bob and she wears a pale lemon silk blouse tucked into wide-leg black pants.  A grey sweater is slung casually around her shoulders.  

She purses her full red lips when she sees Marlena’s face and Marlena knows immediately that Veronique recognises her, even though the moment passes fleetingly.

“Yes?” she asks casually, her fluent English accented heavily by her native French.  “Can I help you?”

“Oh, come now, Veronique,” Marlena smiles but her eyes are deadly serious.  “Don’t pretend you don’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry,” the French woman shrugs casually.  “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Let’s not play games.”  Marlena sighs and then purses her own lips.  “All right, if that’s the way you want to play it… ten years ago.  You were pregnant with your first child.  Stefano DiMera introduced me to your brother-in-law, Claude.  You knew me as Victoria Deveraux.”

Veronique blinks and looks skyward as though she is trying to dredge up a long forgotten and somewhat distasteful memory.

“Ah,” she nods slowly.  “Now you mention it, I did think maybe you looked familiar.”  She sighs exaggeratedly.  “It was a difficult time.  I have tried to put much of it out of my mind, you understand.”

“Mmmmm,” Marlena’s expression clearly delivers the impression that she doesn’t believe a word of the story Veronique is spinning.  “Can I come in?”

“It, ah, it is not really a convenient time right now.”  Veronique prevaricates.  “Perhaps you could come back another day.”

“Oh no,” Marlena steps forward, inserting her foot into the doorway before Veronique can close the door in her face.  “No.  We’re doing this now, Veronique.  We can either do it inside, or we can do it on the doorstep here and your neighbours can hear all about what your husband did all those years ago.”

“Still as arrogant as ever, I see,” Veronique narrows her eyes, but she does as Marlena demands and opens the door to the appartment wider so that Marlena and Roman can enter.  “You travel with a bodyguard now?” she asks haughtily.  “Doesn’t look like he’s been doing his job very well.”  She flicks elegantly manicured red fingernails in the direction of Marlena’s bruised face.

“He’s my husband,” Marlena says easily.  “And this was courtesy of your brother-in-law.”

“My condolences,” Veronique nods in Roman’s direction.  “For being married to her I mean.”

Roman says nothing, just stands by the door and watches his wife as she walks into the space where Veronique and her husband live.  He doesn’t know if this is where it happened.  Where Claude had found her that afternoon.  Where he had hit her.  Beaten her because she had been fucking his brother.  In his wife’s bed.  

The fact that she barely gives the room a second glance makes him think it is.  And the thought twists like a knife in his gut.  That mere metres away from where he stands, his wife had made love to another man, while he’d thought her dead.

Veronique crosses the large, airy sitting room to where the large French doors let in the watery late morning sunshine that has finally burned through the clouds.  Picking up a packet of cigarettes, she lights one and inhales deeply.

“Am I supposed to be sympathetic?” she finally asks Marlena; her accented voice is husky and yet it cannot disguise the iciness that seeps through her words.  “Claude was a pig.  He was always a pig.  You knew that when you were with him.  And yet….”  

“I knew.”  Marlena nodded.  “But then you and I both know; it wasn’t exactly a love match.”

“You were arm candy to him.  What was he to you?” Veronique asks curiously.  “I never could work that out.”

“He was a mark, so to speak,” Marlena moves over to the ornate fireplace which extends at least a foot out into the room.  She picks up a framed family portrait, the boys in three-piece suits, looking so much like their father.  “Your boys are beautiful.”

“A mark?”  Veronique frowns, purposefully ignoring Marlena’s compliment.  

“Stefano introduced me to Claude with the purpose of obtaining something from him.” Marlena is purposefully vague with her reply.  

“That’s why you disappeared so suddenly?” Veronique takes another drag on her cigarette, her red lips staining the filter as she removes it from her mouth.  “All those years ago.  You just disappeared.  Daniel tried to find out what had happened, but Claude would not tell him anything.  You took what you came for and you left.”

“Mmmmm.  That and,” Marlena waves airily at her face.  “Let’s just say, this isn’t the first time Claude has decided his fists were the answer.”

“So.  It was you then.”  Veronique muses.  “The other day.  The police said someone… a woman… had been with him before he… killed himself.  But they wouldn’t tell us who.  They wouldn’t give us any details.”

“There is a reason for that.”  Marlena’s face is an impassive mask.  Roman knows how good she is at controlling her emotions.  Her work as a psychiatrist means she is practiced at not showing any kind of emotion, particularly anything that might be construed as negative.  But he knows her so well, he can almost always tell what she’s feeling at any given moment.  

But not now.  Right now, she is a mystery to him.  He has no idea what she is thinking or feeling.  And that scares him.

“Stefano and Claude did some business earlier on this year,” Marlena moves along the mantelpiece and fingers what looks to be a white and green Lalique vase.  “But Claude didn’t follow through.  He didn’t stick to his end of the bargain.”  She looks up at Veronique, her eyes glittering.  “Claude might be a pig, but Stefano is evil.  If you cross him, he will make you pay.  And he sent me to extract payment.”

“I don’t understand.”  Veronique blows out a thin stream of smoke and crosses her arm in front of her, the fingers holding the cigarette waving in the air.  “What kind of deal?  What payment?”

“I don’t know the details of the deal,” Marlena shrugs.  “But Stefano sent me to deliver his ultimatum.  Because it was the information that I collected ten years ago that gave him the leverage that he needed to get Claude to do what he wanted.”

“To kill himself?” Veronique asks incredulously.

“No, that wasn’t the… that wasn’t what Stefano was demanding.”  Marlena sighs turning away from the fireplace and facing Veronique directly.  Pulling the zip of her leather jacket down, she shrugs out of it and throws it on the cream and gold armchair.   “Listen.  All those years ago, Claude and your husband were involved in some illegal arms trading in the middle east.  And when I say involved, I mean, they were dealing in arms.  Selling them to the Iranians.”

“Non!”  Veronique looks genuinely shocked and upset.  “Ce n’est pas possible!”

“It is possible.  C’est arrivé.”  Marlena frowns.  “Daniel was stupid enough to leave the evidence on your living room table.  Right here.”  She waves a hand at the low Louis XV style coffee table.  “Well, here or here abouts.”

Veronique says nothing, just looks at the table and then back up at Marlena.

“Stefano’s ultimatum was that Claude should go to the authorities and confess to his illegal dealings.  If he didn’t, Stefano would make sure that the documentation, which also implicated Daniel was shared with both the gendarmerie and with the press.  In addition…”  she pauses and she hears Roman’s sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t Doc,” he begs quietly.  “Don’t do it.  For the love of…”

“In addition,” she repeats her words, drowning out the end of Roman’s plea.  “If Claude didn’t turn himself, Stefano would reveal to the press that Daniel Bachellier had taken a lover while his wife was heavily pregnant with their first child.   And I would, of course, confirm the story, when asked.”

“You are lying,” Veronique’s face is deathly pale, her lips blood red against her white skin.

“No,” Marlena shakes her head.  “The night you almost died trying to give birth to your son?  When they couldn’t reach Daniel?  I was with him.  We were through there,” she nods at the far doorway.  “Fucking.  In your bed.”  

Roman groans and the sound wrenches at her but she continues.  Stefano wants her to make this hurt and she has no love for Veronique.  The woman had treated her like something she had wiped off her shoe ten years ago.  She takes no pleasure in hurting her but neither does it tear her up inside.

“He unplugged the phones.  Locked the door.  He was insatiable, but then you hadn’t fucked him for months, or so he told me.”

“I was pregnant.  It was a high-risk pregnancy.” Veronique says faintly.

“I didn’t care what the reason was.” Marlena shrugs.  “When the hospital eventually reached him, you were still unconscious and in intensive care.  He saw the baby and then came straight home and told me that we had at least another twenty-four hours together before he would be expected to spend time with you.  It was…” a smile flits across her lips, “a very intense twenty-four hours.”

“Vous mentir putain!” Veronique spits.  “I don’t believe you.  Daniel would never!”

Marlena lets out an amused chuckle.  “If you really think that you don’t know your husband at all.  If anyone is a whore here, it’s Daniel.  Honesty and fidelity are not exactly his strong suits.”

“Why?”  Veronique whispers as she sinks down onto a champagne-coloured linen sofa.  “Why are you doing this to us?  Why now?!”

“Because Stefano is making me,” Marlena says honestly.  “Veronique, I don’t take any pleasure from this.”

“Liar!” her eyes sparkle with tears of betrayal and fury.  “You twist the knife, and you enjoy it.”

“I really don’t.” Marlena says flatly.  “But you should know what kind of man you are married to.  I doubt he has changed.  He has always put himself first, you know he has.  You and the children come a distant second.  He used me, but I used him to get what I needed.”  She shrugs, looking around the white, airy room.  “Maybe you do too.  Maybe it suits you to turn a blind eye to the reality of the man he is.”

“Victoria?”

The three of them turn as one to find the source of the exclamation and find Daniel Bachellier standing in the doorway of the appartment.  Marlena raises her eyebrows.  Stefano’s intelligence was that Daniel doesn’t usually come home until late on a Thursday.  So, either Stefano was lying (possible) or he has deliberately ensured that Daniel would find his way home during the day to find her here.  To witness her throwing a brick through the window of his marriage.

Judging by Veronique’s confused and anguished expression, it is more likely to be the latter.

For his part, Roman’s heart is pounding as he is confronted by the visage of the man that bedded his wife in this very appartment.  

“Victoria!” Daniel crosses the room in long strides and catches up her hands in his.  “Where did you go?  You…”  His eyes flick to the side and Marlena knows he is reminding himself that Veronique is present.

“It’s been so long.  I was worried.  Why did you just disappear?”  He clicks his fingers and Marlena takes the opportunity to remove herself from his grip.  When she doesn’t answer him, he looks at her more quizzically, really taking her in this time.  And this time, he can’t miss the bruises on her throat or the poorly covered ones on her face.

“Mon dieu,” he says in a low, shocked voice.  “What happened to you?”

“Your brother happened,” Marlena replies tonelessly.  “He happened all those years ago too.  That was why I left.”

“So, it was you he was with the other day?”  Daniel asks, confused.  “The woman, the police wouldn’t tell us details.”

“It was me,” Marlena confirms.

“But why…?”  Daniel lifts a hand to her chin and turns her head a little so he can see her injuries in the full light.  Roman watches him carefully.  He knows that look.  The man has feelings for Marlena.  Or for Grace or Victoria or whatever she called herself back then.  Daniel Bachellier might be a womaniser as Marlena claims, but he’d fallen for this particular woman.  Unsurprising really.  Roman himself had once told her that she had a way of getting under a man’s skin.  Of ruining him for other women.

“Victoria, why did he do this to you?”  Daniel looks pained.

Marlena sighs.  She didn’t come here to have this conversation with Daniel.  In fact, his mere proximity is making her more than uncomfortable.  She had done her best not to remember the time spent with him.  In this appartment.  In his marriage bed.

Daniel had been a skilled and inventive lover.  He had spent that weekend, the weekend that Veronique was giving birth to his son, making love to her and it had been entertaining and highly pleasurable.  He was aroused by control and bondage and she had struggled at first to submit to him.  She had fought him when he had attempted to bind her but in the end, he had overpowered her and she’d had no choice.  In the beginning, she couldn’t say it had been entirely consensual on her part, but she’d had a job to do and eventually it had been a conscious decision to give herself over to the pleasure he elicited in her.  In the end, she’d not been able to get enough of him.  Which is why she had continued to wait in the appartment after she’d obtained the evidence of the deals that Stefano was looking for.  Which is when Claude had found her.

“Your wife can fill you in.  I’m done here.”  She turns to go, but Daniel grabs her upper arms.

“Non!  You cannot walk out on me again!”

“Get your hands off of her!” Roman growls, stepping forward out of the shadows.  Daniel turns to him in shock, as though he had not even been aware that there had been a fourth person in the room.

“Who is this?” Daniel asks, confused.

“I’m her husband,” Roman snarls.  “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let her go and you’ll step away from her now.  Your animal of a brother almost killed her the other day.”

“Roman!”  Marlena’s heart is thumping but she takes the opportunity to wrest herself from Daniel’s hands and takes a step backwards.  Her face flames red as she looks at Roman and then at Daniel.

“Your husband?”  Daniel looks back at Marlena.  He looks almost hurt.

“My husband.” Marlena confirms Roman’s claim.  “Roman has always… when I was here, with you, I was married but Roman thought…” she sighs.  “It’s very complicated.  Daniel, please don’t make me do this.  Veronique knows everything.  I came here to tell her.  You have some decisions to make and you need to make them quickly.  Just let me go and Veronique will tell you.”

“Oh no I will not.” Veronique leans forward and pulls a cigarette packet from a drawer in the table.  She lights a cigarette and blows out a thin stream of smoke as she glares at Marlena.  Her voice is high and brittle as she speaks, each word like a sliver of ice being hurled towards them.  “I will not do your dirty work for you.  You tell my husband what you told me.  You tell him how you used him.  How it was your job to fuck him while I almost bled to death birthing our child.  Tell him how you stole from him and how you are now going to use that to destroy him.”

Daniel looks at his wife as though he has only just realised she is in the room.  And then he looks at Roman.

“You had better tell me what is going on,” he says in a cold, strained voice.  “I receive a call at my office saying it is urgent that I go home immediately.  And you are here.  My brother is dead and I find you have been with him and now,” he looks at Veronique again, “now, this.  Please explain, Victoria.”

Marlena takes a deep breath.  She could just turn and walk out of here.  Ultimately, she doesn’t believe Daniel would stop her.  But if he tried, Roman would probably take the opportunity to pummel Daniel into submission.  And Veronique may make good on her threats not to fill Daniel in.  Marlena doesn’t know how long he has until the police arrive.  And really, she shouldn’t care, but she does.  She has put him in this position, the least she can do is let him know what is about to happen.  What he does with that information is his business.

“Veronique is right,” she sighs.  “When Stefano DiMera introduced me to Claude, it was with one purpose.  To obtain evidence that the two of you were engaging in illegal arms trading to the Middle East.  But Claude was less trusting, more careful, than you.  He made sure there was nothing to find.  So, Stefano told me to seduce you.  In the hopes that you would be… less careful with the evidence.  And Daniel, you were.  That weekend, when you finally went to the hospital the first time, I took the opportunity to make copies of all the paperwork I could find that was related to your arms deals.  And there was a lot of it.”

“You were…” his words are faint.  “You told me you loved me.  You were lying.”  It is an accusation, not a question.  “Why didn’t you just leave then?  When I came back that first time, you were… you were waiting for me.”

“I was,” she replies simply.  “I was…” she flicks a look at Roman.  “It was a good weekend, Daniel.  Yes, I lied.  I told you I loved you because it was what you wanted to hear.  Because I wanted you to trust me.  But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying myself.  Just because it was a job, that didn’t make it an unenjoyable one.”

“Putain!” Veronique spits, stubbing her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray and immediately reaching for another one.  “Tu n’es qu’une putain!” 

“Yes,” Marlena says steadily.  “That’s not really the point though.  The point is that Stefano collected the information and held onto it, until he needed it.”

“Needed it?”  Daniel is still confused.

“The reason I was with Claude the other day is because Stefano was calling in his debts.  He sent me to give Claude an ultimatum.  To turn himself into the police or Stefano would make sure the police and the press gain access to all of the evidence, including that which incriminates you.  And I was also to reveal your infidelity to the press.  Claude decided to avail himself of a third option.”  Her hand rises to her throat.  “He decided that killing me was preferable to spending time in a prison cell for illegal arms trade.  But when Roman stopped him, he obviously decided his own death was preferable to forty years behind bars.”

“But why?” Daniel takes two steps back and falls into a chair.  Veronique casually tosses him the packet of cigarettes and gets up to pour herself a vodka.  Daniel stares at the cigarettes like he has no idea what they are and then looks up at Marlena.  “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know the details, but Claude was involved some kind of deal with Stefano, and he didn’t keep his end of the deal.  He double-crossed Stefano.”  She frowns.  “You don’t do that to Stefano DiMera.  He will rain down as much misery and pain as he can on those who betray him.  He gave Claude the opportunity to take the brunt of the punishment.  But Claude took what Stefano regards as the coward’s way out.  He takes his revenge seriously and each act of retribution is designed to send a message to anyone who might be watching and taking notice.  If you try and escape, the punishment will be magnified.  If you do somehow escape, the punishment will be visited on those you love.”  She sighs.  “I’m sorry Daniel.  The police already have hold of the few documents I took to Claude’s.  Stefano will be ensuring they have the rest of them, if they haven’t already.  If you…  you should take Veronique and your children and leave the country as quickly as you can.  Go somewhere where there is no extradition treaty with France.”

“Oh, non.”  Veronique shakes her head.  “I am not leaving my home. Ce n’est pas ma cupidité ou ma bite qui a conduit à cela.”

“And if I was to leave, who would pay for ta maison?”  Daniel demands of her.

“Quand mon père découvre quelle piqûre dégoûtante tu as été …” Veronique shrugs.

“Ahhh, that’s right, cours vers ton papa, comme tu le fais toujours …” Daniel sneers at her.  

Veronique pours herself another vodka with a shaking hand and swallows it in two gulps.  Then, without warning, she swings around and launches it in Marlena’s direction.  It is only Roman’s rapid reaction, pulling Marlena backwards into him that saves her from being hit in the head.  The crystal tumbler hits the fireplace and explodes and Marlena flinches noticeably.

“I think we should go,” Roman says icily.

“Wait.”  Daniel stands, ignoring the shattered crystal that crunches under his feet as he walks towards Marlena and Roman.  “I want to know…” he searches her face.  “Why?  I understand why DiMera would seek this kind of vengeance.  And why he would use you to visit it on Claude.  On me.  But I don’t understand…”  his face crumples into a sea of pain.  “Why did you?  What are you getting out of this?  What is he paying you that makes visiting this pain on us worth it?”

“She hates me,” Veronique spits, “she always has.”

Marlena ignores Veronique’s words.  Instead, she holds Daniel’s grey eyes steadily.  “There are some things that are worse than prison,” she tells him.  “And there are some prospects that are worse than death.”  She looks over at Veronique.  “You would both do well to remember that.  I presume you love your children?”

Veronique’s expression is stony, but Marlena can tell by the fear in Daniel’s eyes that her point has hit home.

“I need to go now,” she says softly.  “You need to talk to your wife, and you need to make some decisions.”  She turns towards the door.  “And Daniel,” she looks back at him, over her shoulder, “I’m truly sorry.  About everything.  If I could change the past, I would.  But I can’t … and…. we are both in a no-win situation.  I wish you well.”

And then, as quickly as she can, she is brushing past Roman, retreating from the appartment and the shreds of the lives she has torn apart.

She struggles to control her breathing once she is in the elevator car.  She stands, with her back to Roman, her hands on the brass rail that runs around the centre of the ornate box.  She leans her head against the dark wood panelling and closes her eyes.  She concentrates on the sensation of the breath as it enters through her nose and then as it leaves.  Her chest is tight, and she feels panicky, but she can’t let Roman see how rattled she is.  If he sees her weakness, sees that all this is an act, then she is lost.  She will have lost the little distance she has managed to open between them, and he will shatter her defences with a single word.  Like he has done so many times before.

No, she has to maintain this distance.  This illusion of detachment.  Of callousness.  She has to make him think that she is more Grace than Marlena.  That she is not someone he can love any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she steels herself and turns around to find him eyeing her curiously.

“What?” she demands.

“Just wondering what’s going on in your head,” Roman says, his voice heavy with confusion and melancholy.  “In all the years I have known you, I have never known you to be deliberately cruel like you were to that woman.”

“She’s no angel,” Marlena snaps back.  “Veronique always treated me like something she’d wiped off her shoe.  She’s a spoilt, vain, condescending snob.  Why should I care how she feels?”

“Because that’s what you do, Doc,” he says softly.  “You care about people.  Even when they aren’t nice people.  You certainly don’t set out to purposely hurt them.”

“The old Marlena, maybe.  As I keep telling you, I’m not her any longer.”  She shrugs with deliberate insouciance.  “Stefano sent me to do a job.  He didn’t want me to break the news gently.  That wasn’t the point.”

“And what was the point?  The point of you going there?” Roman demands.  “Why did it have to be you?”

“Because he’s sending a message.  Several messages.  To Veronique.  To Daniel.  To you.  To me.  No-one can escape his reach, Roman.  He controls the shape of our lives.”  His touch is like poison, she wants to say, once you are in his sights, you are doomed.  But she doesn’t.  Instead, she tells him what he doesn’t want to hear.  The words that will hurt him more than any other.  “He wants you to know what I did all those years ago.  That I was a whore for him.  That I had sex with men like Daniel because he – because Stefano told me to.  Because I would have done just about anything to please him.”

“You didn’t just sleep with that man,” Roman accuses, ignoring her obvious implications.  “He has feelings for you.”   

“And so, what if he did?”  The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open onto the opulent lobby.  She steps out of it and leaves a palm trembling in her wake as she strides through the echoing space.  “Roman, it was ten years ago.  He was a mark.  Now, he’s Stefano’s target and because of Daniel’s feelings, he’s using me as the weapon.  I’m not going to tear myself up over that.  He made his bed.  He got involved in illegal arms deals with appallingly awful people.  He cheated on his wife.  I didn’t make him do those things.  If he’s going to have to pay the price for them now, I have little sympathy.”

She pushes open the door and steps into the frigid autumn sunlight.  The car is waiting several metres up the road and she heads for it.  But Roman has other ideas.  He catches her arm and swings her around to face him.

“I don’t believe you,” he says simply.  “I know you, Doc.  You’re not this heartless.”

“I’m tired, Roman.” It’s simple and it’s true.  “I’m terrified for my children and my family.  I don’t have any energy left for anyone else.”

“Then let me help you,” he cups her face in his hands.  “You don’t have to face all this alone.  You don’t have to be so damn strong and stoic.  Stop hiding from me.  Stop shutting me out!”

She tenses, willing herself with every nerve and muscle not to start crying.  Not to even let her eyes moisten.  She cannot let him in.  She cannot let him see her weakness.

“No.”  She shakes her head.  “I’m not hiding.  I’m just doing what I need to do.  You’re wrong, Roman.  I am this heartless.  I have hurt people.  I did when I was Grace, and now she is part of me.”  With that, she turns her back on him and stalks to the car.  He watches her as she slides in and pulls the door closed behind her.  And then the car is gliding, into the Parisian traffic, leaving him alone and perturbed on a French sidewalk. 

Chapter 14 – Le Roi s’approche de la Reine

It’s not hard to avoid Marlena in the vastness of Stefano’s apartment.  Especially as she seems to have cloistered herself in the bedroom.  The bedroom that he is, to all intents and purposes, now excluded from.

It’s not like he’s trying to avoid her.  Not really.  

Although, maybe it’s subconscious.  A defence mechanism.  Because it hurts so much to see her and to not be able to touch her.  

Sometimes, he catches her in the hallway and she looks at him with that detached, cold glance that she seems to have perfected and he can barely breathe.   

For where is she?  Is she still there, hiding from him?  Or has she gone?  Merged into this hybrid creature who is not Grace and yet not Marlena.  Is she lost to him forever?

He can’t believe that.  He can’t let himself believe that.  And yet.  And yet….

Bo has counselled him to stay strong.  To be the rock.  That’s easy to say when you’re not the one sinking beneath the waves.  The one desperately reaching out for any kind of stable, familiar ground and clutching at empty air.

He had told her he would be her rock.  Her moral compass.  And he’s failing her.  

Again, he’s failing her.  

She has always been the better of them.  She has been his strength, his morality, his serenity.  His joy.

Even when he had let her down, when he had broken her heart time after time, she had still been there.  An oasis of certainty.  The centre of his universe.

He doesn’t even know how to start to do that for her.  To steady her against the storm.  To provide her with peace and certainty when it has all been wrenched from her.  When her fears have overwhelmed her and broken her, to enfold her in his love and put her back together, piece by fractured piece.

Instead, he is lurking here on the side-lines.  Watching her.  Watching her shattering and all the pieces of her spiralling in a vortex of undulating horror and dread and conglomerating back into something, someone that is no longer the woman he loves, but a stranger.  

~

“Doc.”  It’s a whisper.  A statement.  A suggestion.  

It’s dark but she can feel him.  Feel his closeness, his warmth.  His breath on her skin.  The almost, but not quite, touch of his lips.  Of his hands.

She aches with the closeness of him.  She wants him so badly she can taste it.  Feel the burning touch of his skin on hers.

“Roman.”  It’s a question, but it’s not.  It’s a plea.  A prayer.

If only he would touch her. 

“Marlena.”  His voice is low and full of need and desire.  “What do you want?”

There are a million things she wants.  But right now, she can only think of one of them. 

“You.”  She gasps as she feels his hand on her skin, his touch so familiar and yet so strange.  So illicit.

“Marlena, I wan…” she loses the intent of his words, muffled against her skin, against her hair, against her mouth.

She knows this shouldn’t be happening.  This can’t be happening.  It’s wrong.  

But God, it feels so right….

~

She moans in her sleep and rolls over, her arms reaching for something that is not there.  He shifts uncomfortably where he sits on the edge of the bed, knowing she is not reaching for him but wishing with all his heart that she was.

The moonlight falls in a silvery shaft across the bed, illuminating her beautiful features and as he watches her lips move silently, he wonders what she is saying.  What she is dreaming.

He can see the strain etched on her face even in the depths of her dreaming sleep and he wonders, not for the first time, if his desired ends justify the means he is taking to secure them.  

She might accuse him of not knowing what love means.  But he does know what it means.  He’s just not sure which of them he loves more right now.  Grace, or Marlena.

Grace, he understands.  He made her.  He brought her into being, a beautiful blazing phoenix rising out of the ashes of Marlena Evans Brady.  A brilliance and a ruthlessness to match his own.  And she pleases him.  She wants to please him.  She will do as he asks, because it is he that asks it.

But Marlena….  she is, has always been, something else.  A challenge he has not been able to resist.  Over twenty years, he has been drawn back to her, time and time again.  And somehow, somewhere in that time, she became an obsession.  She relentlessly haunted his dreams and the thought of her filled his days with an aching emptiness.  And she has almost cost him his own life, more than once.

He has spent far too much of his time, energy and money, trying to woo her, to win her, to have her.  And still, he wants her.  At any cost.

And yet, he wants Grace too.  But does he want her more than he wants Marlena?  He is not sure.  It is true that she would be easier to contain.  Ultimately, he knows he could convince her that to remain by his side would be in her best interests.  That her wants and desires can best be sated by adhering to his own desires and plans.

But to have Grace, he must destroy Marlena.  Again.  And does he really want that?

He knows how unhappy she is.  How much she hates him for what he is doing to her.  The way he is manipulating her.  But when all is said and done, when it is just them, when she knows she has no other choice than to be with him… when she understands just how much he loves her and the lengths he will go to, to make her happy.  Surely then she will soften?  She will learn to love him in return.  He will give her whatever she wants… within reason.  And she will give him what he wants.  Her heart, and her body.

“Oh, Marlena,” he whispers, reaching out to stroke a wisp of hair from her cheek.  “I would give you the world, if only you would let me.”

The briefest of sighs slips from her as she rolls away from him.

He could lie and tell her that he’s not enjoying this.  That he doesn’t get any pleasure from seeing her in pain.  The truth is somewhat baser.  When it comes to Roman Brady and her feelings for the man he thinks of as his enemy and his obstacle, he enjoys everything about this.  The pain he is causing the both of them is a bittersweet revenge for all the years they have defied him.

The truth is, it would be easy to send Roman home to Salem and to just take Marlena and be done with it.  But he knows if he does that, Roman Brady will never stop looking for his wife.  He will never believe that this is her choice.

No, it will be far sweeter if she convinces him that she wants him to go.  That she no longer loves him and that she doesn’t want to be with him any longer.  

He may be unsure whether he wants to break Marlena, but one thing he is in no doubt about.  He wants to destroy Roman Brady.  Completely.  And the best way to accomplish that is to take Marlena from him and have her break his heart in the process.

He smiles as he thinks of his plan and every element he has carefully put into place.  Every contingency he has catered for.  Every step of it carefully planned from the moment they locked him in that dingy Louisiana jail cell.  

I *love* you, Marlena.  You would deny my love and why?  Because you fear what you might find inside yourself should you choose to admit it?  That Grace lives in you yet, yearning and fighting to be free, as I will fight….  “I *will* have you Marlena.  I will not think of you with John.  I will *not* give up that which is the only thing I have left to gain.  I will come for you Marlena, that, I promise you.  Watch your beautiful young family and enjoy them while you can.  Because I will be coming, when you least expect it.   

He had warned her then, his plan already loosely formed.  Still in its infancy, to be sure, but he had known, even then that he would have her.  Whether she is Grace or Marlena, he is not letting her slip through his fingers once more.  This is the endgame, and he will use whatever, or whomever he must, to manoeuvre her into a position where she chooses to be with him.  To finally be his queen.

“Ah, Marlena,” he sighs again, and this time he reaches out and draws the fleshy pads of his fingertips over her skin, tracing the soft curve of her neck and shoulder.  “I regret having to cause you pain.  But in the end, you will see.  It will be worth it.  You will see that I can make you happier than Roman Brady ever will.” 

~

“Roman?”  

He pulls back from her, his expression quizzical.  

“Marlena?”  He seems confused; or maybe it is she that is confused.  She shouldn’t want him, and yet she does.  It’s like breathing, the wanting of him.  She can’t not.  And when he touches her, she can’t push him away.  She melts into his touch; his nearness draws out every sliver of need and vulnerability and desire from her.  She wants his hands on her, his lips.  She wants to feel him and smell him and drink him in.

She wants him so badly she aches for him to touch her again.

And then he does.  But it is wrong.  He feels wrong.  He smells… wrong.

“Roman?”

Her eyes flutter lazily open, and he is there, the shape of him next to her.  But it…

Her heart suddenly pounds as she realises that the bulk of a man sitting on the bed beside her is not Roman, but Stefano.

She opens her mouth to cry out, but he presses two fingers to her lips and shakes his head, his eyes glittering in the semi-darkness.

“You are safe, my Queen,” he tells her.  “I only wished to see for myself that your injuries are healing and that you are well.”

She says nothing in reply but edges away from him, pulling the covers up to cover as much of herself as she is able.  It is an exercise in futility as he is sitting on one side of the crumpled covers and if she sits up, as she must, to be able to look him evenly in the eye, then she must accept that the only thing that will cover her is the flimsy satin nightgown that clings to her diminished frame.

And still, that is preferable to remaining supine and letting Stefano loom over her.  That gives him too much power and he already has far more than she will ever be comfortable with.

She ignores the libidinous rake of his eyes across her as she pushes herself up against the bedhead, but she does pull one of the pillows that had until moments ago been under her head and holds it across her front, crossing her arms over the top of it.

“I don’t care if this is your house,” she hisses.  “This should be my private space.  Neither you, nor your mobsters are welcome in my room.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckles.  “My dear Marlena, on the offence as ever.  Still as though you have any power to demand anything.”

“Respect and decency shouldn’t be too much to ask,” she glares at him, “but I guess I forgot for a moment who I was talking to.”

“I do not wish to cause you discomfort, or distress Marlena,” he tells her.  “But there are matters I needed to discuss with you.  And of course, as you know, it is imperative that John does not know that I have communicated with you.  And especially that he does not know that you have seen me.  He would doubtless inform his colleagues at the ISA and that, I cannot allow.  I am sure you understand.”  He bestows on her his most patronising smile, revealing two, even rows of shining teeth, silvered in the moonlight.

“What matters?”  She hates herself for just capitulating to him.  But she knows he will do whatever it is he wants, and her requests or demands will just fall on deaf ears.  The best she can do is limit his incursions on her time and private space by getting them over and done with as quickly as possible

“I wished to tell you how pleased I am with your handling of the Bachelliers.  As I mentioned before, I regret that I didn’t better protect you from Claude.  I will be sure in the future to account for such possibilities and make sure I ensure your safety.  It will be my top priority.”

“Over torturing me?  Am I supposed to be grateful?” Marlena asks dryly.

“No.”  He shakes his head and smiles again.  “I don’t expect you will ever be grateful.  I know you find what I am doing to you abhorrent.  I hope, in time, that you will understand my reasoning.  And that you will find it in your heart to forgive me for the pain I am causing you.”

“Oh, I already understand your reasoning.”  Her look is nothing short of murderous.  If she thought she could manage it, she would try and kill him now.  But she is still suffering from her injuries, and she has no weapon with which to attack him.  She also doesn’t doubt that either Johnson or Kushnirenko are within hearing range of her door and ready to either protect their boss or to stop or incapacitate Roman should he try to enter.

“But I will never forgive you.  if you think there is even the slightest chance that my feelings towards you will soften, then you’re delusional.”   She stops and then lets out a harsh burst of laughter.  “Looks like I forgot who I was talking to.  Again.”

“Well, we shall see.” Stefano shrugs unconcernedly.  “I believe I can make you happy, Marlena.  If you will only give me the opportunity.”

“You can believe the sky is orange, but it doesn’t make it so,” she points out.  And then she sighs.  “We’ve had this conversation… I don’t know how many times.  I still don’t love you.  I never will.  You’ve kidnapped and incarcerated me, my husband, and now my children and grandchildren.  You’ve threatened the lives of my family.  I could never love someone who would willingly cause the people I love so much distress and pain.” She shrugs, throwing up her shoulders in surrender.  “Why am I even wasting my breath?  If you were capable of understanding any of this, you would never do any of what you are doing.  You’re a sociopath, I may as well be talking to a brick wall.”

“You wound me, Marlena,” Stefano slaps a hand to his chest in mock distress.  “All I wanted to do was tell you how pleased I am that you are finally adhering to my rules and that you managed the meeting with Veronique and Daniel quite superbly.  And yet, here you are attacking me, once again.”

“You have me destroying people’s lives and you want me to bask in your praise and congratulations?”  She should be appalled, but she’s not.  She’s too weary to feel anything but numb right now.  “I did what you wanted me to.  I’m not proud of it.”

“I don’t require that you are.”  Stefano acknowledges.  “I understand you do not like causing others pain.  But a debt needed to be paid, mia cara.  And Daniel had to pay it on his brother’s behalf.”

“Is that all you wanted to say?”  She doesn’t want to get into this with him.  The imagined morals of a situation that is at its heart the definition of immorality.  She doesn’t have the energy or the desire to discuss it with him.  It won’t change anything, after all.

“I wanted to tell you that this evening Daniel Bachellier turned himself into the gendarmerie.  He has confessed to his part in the illegal arms deals.  Veronique will publicly stand by him but privately she has engaged a top divorce lawyer.  The news of his arrest will be all over the papers in the morning.”

“I’m thrilled,” she replies, feeling utterly exhausted and defeated.  “So, is that all?  Can you leave?  I want to go back to sleep now.”

“No,” Stefano shakes his head.  “I think you deserve…”  He harrumps and pulls out a mobile phone.  Pressing two buttons, he puts it to his ear and waits.  Then he nods.  “Put her on,” he says and then hands the phone to Marlena.

She is thrown, to say the least.  She had not expected this, and her heart starts to pound again.  She puts the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she says tentatively.

“Marlena?”  The voice at the other end of the phone is faint and tinny but she knows it like she knows her own heart.

“Carrie?” she lets out a soft sob.  “Carrie, is that you?”

“Marlena…  it’s me.  It’s me.  And Will is here too.”

She can hear the little boy’s voice murmuring in the background and she presses her fingers to her lips to stifle the tears that threaten to overtake her.  “Are you okay?  Carrie, I am doing everything I can to get to you.  To get you out of there.”

“We’re okay.  They’re treating us okay.  Marlena, please don’t do anything you’ll regret.  I know Stefano.  I don’t want… please don’t compromise yourself.”

“Carrie honey, I can’t…. I won’t leave you there….  Not while there’s a breath in my body.  I will find you; I promise you that.  And your father…. everybody is looking for you.”  She hugs the pillow to her body and looks at the window, refusing to look at Stefano as she lays her heart open for her daughter.  “Carrie, I love you.”

“I love you too Marlena, but I’m scared.  I’m scared for you as much for us.  I know what Stefano wants and he won’t rest until he gets it.  I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for us.”

“You don’t get to make that choice,” Marlena tells her.  “And you have your nephew and your own baby to think of.  To look after.  I have all of you.  I will do whatever I have to.  How is the baby?” she asks.

“Fine.” Carrie assures her.  “There is a doctor here so they’re giving me regular check-ups.  I had a scan last week.  Everything is fine.  But Marlena-”

“Can I speak to Will?” Marlena asks, trying to forestall any further conversations about what the future might hold.  About the sacrifice she is likely to have to make.  The elephant in the room she most definitely does not want to name.

“Of course.”  There is a clattering as the phone is dropped and then a number of loud clicks.  And then…

“Grandma?”

“Oh Will!” she sniffs, visualising his scared little face.

“Where are you?  Where’s Momma?  I want to go home!”  he starts to cry and it’s enough to unleash her own tears.  “Grandma, I want to go home.”

“Oh, I know you do baby,” she tells him.  “And I’m working on that.  Getting you home.  I promise you, as soon as I can, I will make sure you can go home.  Is that okay?  Can you trust me on that?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says uncertainly.  She can tell he is trying to be brave for her and it breaks her heart that he has to be.

“I love you Will.  You be a good boy for your Auntie Carrie, okay?”

“I will.  I love you Grandma.”

“Marlena?”  It’s Carrie again.  “I love you.  Please tell Jo-… Dad…  Please tell him I love him too.”  

“I will honey,” Marlena promises.  “And stay strong.  I promise.  I will be there as soon as I can.”

And with that, the phone-call is over.  The line is disconnected, and she is left with tears slipping silently down her cheeks.  Stefano remains at her side, his hand reaching for the phone in hers.

“They are safe.” Stefano tells her gently as he takes the phone from her hand and puts it on the bed between his legs and hers.  HIs skin is warm against hers as he takes her hand his fingers curl around her palm.  “They are being taken care of, Marlena.  I promise you; no harm will come to them.”

“As long as I continue to do what you want.” Marlena says dully.

“Yes.”  Stefano inclines his head.  “I am sorry.  I know it is distasteful.”

“Distasteful?!”  She wrenches her hand from his.  “It’s abhorrent.  It’s blackmail.  Emotional torture.”  She sobs.  “Will’s just a baby.  He’s so scared Stefano.  Please let him go.  Let them both go,” she is desperate now.  She doesn’t even care that Stefano can see just how desperate she is.  She clutches at his arm, not even bothering to fight the tears.  “I’ll go with you now.  Anywhere.  I’ll do anything.  Just let them go.  You can have me, but leave my family in peace.”

“Anything?”  He raises one thick eyebrow.

“Anything.”  She holds his gaze.  “Anything, Stefano.”

He lifts his hand and wipes the tears from one pale cheek.  And then slowly, he leans forward.

She feels his lips on hers and she struggles to maintain her composure.  She tenses, despite herself, but she accepts his kiss.  It is soft at first, chaste almost.  But then it becomes more demanding, his tongue attempting to slither between her lips.  Her skin crawls as his fingers tangle in her hair and the pressure of his lips and tongue increase.

And then, it is too much for her.

With another sob, she pulls away, withdrawing her hands from his arm.

“Not anything then.”  Stefano notes coolly.  “You cannot kiss me like you mean it.  You will not love me.  You will not give yourself, your body, to me.”

She sucks in a breath, somewhere between a gasp and a moan of horror.  She knows that in his head, this is where it ends up.  With her in his bed.  This is where it has always ended.  Since Maison Blanche.  Maybe, since Grace.

She had staved him off last time they were in Paris, when he had kept her prisoner in a cage beneath the Parisian streets.  But this time…?

Will he be so patient with her when he has Carrie and Will at gunpoint?  When he is threatening Roman’s life?  When he can take any one or any number of her family and kill them with just a word?

When he has her isolated and alone?  How long will he be patient then?

“No,” a shake of his head gives her the answer to her question.  “I will not let Caroline and Will go.  You will complete the tasks I have laid out for you.  There are things I need you to do.  And those things will prove to you and to Roman that you belong to, and with, me.  This is a lesson you need to learn, Marlena.  You are mine now.  The sooner you accept that, the sooner you submit yourself to me and accept what I can and will do for you, the sooner you learn to love me, the better.”

“Never,” her voice is low and haunted.  “I will never love you.”

“That would be….” he inclines his head slightly.  “Unfortunate.  For your children.  Your family.”

“You are an animal!” She can’t help herself and she lashes out, slapping him square across the face.  In immediate retaliation, he grabs both of her wrists in his powerful hands and forces her back against the pillows.

“I am losing my patience,” he snarls.  “I came here to reward you, not to listen to your abuse, sei ingrata cagna!”

“Reward me?” she can’t help herself as once again, the tears start to spill down her cheeks.  “Do you know what it feels like?  Hearing the fear in their voices, knowing that I’m the reason they’re there?” Stefano’s face is mere inches from hers and she is forced to stare into his dark eyes.  “It’s torture, Stefano.  You are torturing me, what do you expect?  My thanks, my gratitude?”

Stefano says nothing for a long moment but then, without warning, he presses himself against her and kisses her again.  His kiss is harder and more insistent this time, full of need and desire.  And pinned beneath him, his fingers around her wrists, pushing her into the pillows, she can’t escape.  

So, she does what he wants her to do.  She allows him entry and she kisses him back.  If she doesn’t, she is frightened to think what he might do next.

When he is done, he finally pulls back, breathing heavily, his face red.

They stare at each other for a long moment and then Stefano releases her arms.  She looks down as she rubs her wrists, unable to look at him any longer.  This is dangerous.  This will only intensify his obsession with her and his determination to have her.  At any cost.  But she doesn’t know what else to do.  This is a zero sum game.  And she is the losing party.

“I have had my pilot file a flight plan,” he tells her, his voice hoarse with hunger.  “For tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she looks up sharply, the discomfort in her wrists forgotten.  “Where are you sending me?”

“Venice,” Stefano tells her.  “Our friend Alessandro Moretti has something that belongs to me.  I want it back.”

“Moretti.”  Marlena shakes her head, her eyes wide.  “No, Stefano.  I barely made it out of his place the last time.   He knew I was working against him.  He probably knew I was working for you.  I’d never be able to pull off any kind of con.”

“You will not need to.  He will not even know you are there.”  Stefano smirks.  “He is holding a large masquerade ball in two night’s time.  Everyone who is anyone will be there.  I will supply you and Roman with credible aliases and invitations to the ball.  While you are there, you will slip into Moretti’s quarters and retrieve my asset.  Once it is returned to me, your job in Venice will be complete.”

“You make it sound simple,” she shakes his head.  “Moretti is clever.  It won’t be nearly that easy.  What is it that he has taken?”

“You need not concern yourself with the details,” Stefano lays his index finger lightly on her hand.  “You just need to identify where it is and obtain it.”

“At least tell me how big it is.”  Marlena demands with exasperation.  

“Very small.”  Stefano lifts up his hand and holds his thumb and forefinger around five centimetres apart.  “Very simple to secrete on your body.  I will provide you with costumes and a safe storage container in which to stow the device.  As I said, you just need to find it and bring it to me.”

“And if Moretti recognizes me?” Marlena asks him.  “You just got done telling me you wouldn’t put me in danger again.”

“No, I said I would account for such possibilities, and I would ensure your safety.  My men will be there.  They will watch you and they will watch Moretti.  If anything goes awry, they will ensure you are extracted safely.”

“Why can’t you just have one of them steal this device for you?” Marlena wonders.  “Why does it have to be me?”

“Because you…” he laughs appreciatively.  “Because I remember how magnificent you were as Grace.  When you attended these soiree’s with me.  When you had the silly lovestruck idiots fawning over you while you took everything you wanted from them.  I want you to remember it too.  And I want to see you… looking every bit the Queen I remember.”

“You’ll be there.”  It is a statement, not a question.  

“Alas, not this time,” he shakes his head.  “I have already risked too much in order to see you here.  It is time for me to find somewhere safer to watch you from.  Somewhere, at a distance.  But,” he smiles and reaches out to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “I will be watching you, mia cara.  Watching and listening.  So, do not disappoint me.”  He holds her gaze for a long moment and then with a soft chuckle, he elevates himself from the bed.

“More specific instructions will await you when you get to Venice.  Until we meet again, Marlena.”  He slides his fingers down her cheek and then he turns and without waiting for any kind of response, he walks from the room.

Marlena clutches the cushion to her tightly as she starts to tremble.

Chapter 15 – Il Lavoro Italiano

They arrive in Venice early the following evening.  It is a beautiful winter’s evening and the long rays of the golden sunset flame against the flaking walls of floating renaissance buildings.  Marlena and Roman ride a private motorboat into the city and find themselves alighting at a stop on the Grand Canal.  

They are led by their taciturn guide down a wooden jetty and around to the entrance of an attractive terracotta coloured hotel which is situated directly on the Grand Canal.  The sign over the wood and glass door reads Hotel Gritti Palace.  

Their guide opens the door and ushers them in and towards the ornate marble reception desk.

“Aaahhh, Signora Allard.”  A young woman holds her hand out to Marlena who accepts the greeting and shakes it politely.  They have travelled on false passports provided by Stefano, Marlena in the name of Olivia Allard, Roman in the name of Jack Webb.  A small dossier along with the passports had provided them with a backstory on their assumed personas, in the event that they might be questioned by anyone at the masquerade ball the following evening.  

Marlena’s cover is that of an executive working for a cosmetics company with connections to several of the high-profile guests.  Marlena can only imagine that Stefano has called in some favours to ensure that these individuals will back up the story and claim acquaintance with her if questioned.  Roman is billed as her husband, a man without a job or a purpose other than to follow his wife around the world.  

Roman had read the documents in stony silence on the plane and then tossed them in Marlena’s lap.   She knows that Stefano has intentionally concocted this to be as humiliating for Roman as possible and she hates him for it.  But the truth is, she is still furious at Roman for putting their children in danger and precipitating the abduction of Will and so, rather than try and soothe his aggravation, she had stuffed the documents back inside the envelope in her bag and ordered a martini.  Roman had glared at her with haunted eyes, she had glared right back, and they had continued in near silence until this moment.

“We have reserved the Somerset Maugham suite on the request of your assistant,” the young woman waves Marlena forward to sign the register, “it is one of our most popular suites.”  She looks at Roman curiously.  “Ah, we weren’t informed that you would be accompanied.  This is…?”  

“This is… my husband,” Marlena’s voice is brittle.  

“Signor Allard, welcome.”  The young woman bestows a gracious smile on Roman, clearly sensing the undercurrent between the couple.  

“Thanks, but the name is Webb,” Roman says gruffly.  He knows as well as Marlena does that Stefano deliberately gave them different names.  It’s never bothered him that Marlena kept her professional name when they got married.  But this bothers him more than he’d like to admit.  Stefano is forcing the wedge further between them with every little detail he concocts, every contact he makes.  It’s as though he is silently taunting Roman by underlining the growing distance between him and his wife.  An emotional, and lately, a physical distance.  

His wife is not his wife any longer.  She’s not Grace either.  She’s a hybrid creature, a concoction of ice and steel and so much pain.  The softness is retreating hour by hour, her vulnerability becoming encased in anger and fear.  He’s desperate to reach her but he doesn’t know how.

And he’s terrified that if he doesn’t find a way through her defences soon, it will be too late.

“Can I ask, are you sharing the suite, or would you like me to book Signor Webb a separate room?” the young woman asks cautiously, sensing the undercurrent of tension between her guests.

“It’s fine.”  Her tone is short and weary.  Marlena knows that if Stefano had wanted Roman in a separate room, he would have booked one.  Rather, he intends to make her suffer.  He will make her watch Roman and lie next to him in bed.  She will feel his warmth next to her and know she can’t touch him, and she can’t take comfort in his arms.

Damn you to hell, Stefano!  She balls one fist up by her side where Roman can’t see it and she bites back the tears.  

“Could we be shown to the room?” she asks tersely.  “I It’s been a long day.”  

“Of course.”  The young woman nods at Marlena.  “This way Signora.”

~

“So, what now?” Roman asks when they are finally alone in the beautiful suite.  Marlena looks out of the window across the water which is glittering with the reflections of lights that are strung along the Grand Canal.  

“Now?” she asks absently.  She has always wanted to visit Venice and now she finds she has already been here, in another lifetime.  Her ‘Grace’ memories are like faded patchwork, just snatches of moments in time.  And yet, she had been able to succinctly recall the fact that she had barely escaped mobster Alessandro Moretti’s wrath when she had been here last.  He hadn’t hurt her, but he had threatened to.  And now Stefano wants to send her back into the lion’s den.

“When are we going to talk Doc?” Roman stands uncertainly in the doorway of the bedroom.  He wants to go to her but Hope’s insistence that he should give Marlena her space rings in his ears.  And yet.  So many of their problems in the past have stemmed from assumptions and an unwillingness to broach painful discussions.  He’s finally learnt his lesson and now he is being told to stand back and let her navigate these waters alone.  He’s not sure that’s the right choice.

“We’re not.”  She says simply.  She doesn’t have the energy to play games with him, to pretend that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  

“How can I help you if I don’t know what’s going on, Marlena?” He does go to her now.  To hell with what Hope and Bo and everyone else might counsel.   He might be tipping his hand but damn it, he needs to punch through this shield of indifference she wears like a second skin. Marlena is his wife and he’s not letting this happen without a fight.  

“I know it’s Stefano.  He’s got to you somehow.  You’re terrified and there’s only one thing that scares you like this.”  He puts his hands on her shoulders and forces her to face him.  “Tell me Doc, has he been speaking to you?  Threatening you?” 

She says nothing but she can’t meet his eyes.  Instead, she looks past him, at the soft pastel pink and pale green of the walls.

“Have you seen him?” Roman’s voice is low and intense.  “Was he in Paris?”

“He spoke to me in Paris, yes.  The day we…” she is suddenly overcome with his closeness and the memory of their lovemaking that afternoon, the feeling of his warm skin against hers and the soft, cool breeze that swept over them as they lay in silence.  Roman had been trailing his fingers over her damp skin when the knock had sounded at the door and she had jumped, heart pounding.  She looks past him again, her eyes darting around the room.  She can’t do this.  Stefano has been crystal clear.  She is not to reveal the existence or the content of their conversations.  She can’t risk even the slightest admission of Stefano’s messages or phone calls.  And certainly not his visit to her bedroom.  Not ever.  “Roman, I never hid that from you.”

“Oh Doc,” he sighs, cupping her cheek in his warm palm.  How can they talk when she’s convinced Stefano is listening to their every word?  When the reality is that there’s probably little doubt that he’s listening to and probably watching their every move.  “You could hardly hide that.  But what are you hiding from me?  What can’t you tell me?”

Everything.  Anything.

“Roman…” she is caught in his orbit now, the softness of his touch on her cheek, the familiar sweet intensity of his gaze.  She shakes her head, her eyes shining brightly as she tries to find something to say.  Something that will explain without incriminating.  

But there’s nothing.  Nothing she can say that will give Roman any comfort without putting him in danger.

“I’m hungry,” she abruptly brushes his hand away from her face and pushes past him.  “I’m going to take a shower.  Then I’m going to find somewhere to eat.”

Roman growls in frustration as she retreats to the bathroom and closes the door behind her.  He thumps the wall in frustration.  And then despite his better judgement he speaks out loud to the empty room.

“Damn you, old man.  I know you’re listening.  I know you’re why she won’t talk to me.  You’ve scared her half to death.  Your threats, your manipulations.  But I’m telling you right now, I am not letting you win.  Our love is stronger than your hatred and your obsession.  Marlena will come back to me, like she always does.”

His voice is swallowed by the lush room, and he is left with the unsatisfactory response of silence.  As he hears the shower start, he looks down at the writing desk.  A thought suddenly takes him, and he pulls out the antique chair and sits down.  He picks up a pen and pulls forward the pile of writing stationary and taps the nib of the pen against the expensive cream paper.  

And then he begins to write.

~

Marlena is almost dressed when she sees the folded paper propped against the pillow.  Roman had entered the bathroom after her, promising her that he would be quick, and they could find somewhere to eat once he was out of the shower.  

She had quickly pulled on a pair of fitting black jeans and a midnight blue satin blouse.  She had taken the time to dry her golden hair in the bathroom, so she had simply let it fall around her shoulders, zipped up a pair of black ankle boots and pulled a black leather jacket from her suitcase.  It was then that she had seen the letter and recognised Roman’s writing.

She looks at it for a long moment and then with misgivings, she picks it up.  Using her fingers to flick the half-folded page open, she reads the first lines.

“Marlena,

Honey, I’m not going anywhere.  I promise you, whatever happens, however much you push me away and try and convince me that you’ve changed, I am not giving up on you.  Not now, not ever.”

Suddenly Marlena is aware that she can no longer hear the shower and she rapidly folds up the letter and tucks it into her purse.  And then, as quietly as she can, she slips out of the suite and makes her way to the elevator.  She swipes the tears from her eyes as she steps into the ornate carriage and nods to the attendant who pushes the ground floor button.

She ignores the nods of the hotel staff and exits the hotel into the gathering dusk.  She doesn’t even stop to think where she is going, she just knows.  She knows these buildings, these alleys, these canals.  She heads north, away from the Grand Canal and then turns right onto Calle delle Ostreghe.  She climbs the stone steps of a small bridge that crosses a canal and continues down a small maze of narrow streets and alleyways, crossing the rio di San Moise and passing the beautiful baroque church, the Chiesa San Moise, close to Piazza San Marco before she turns left and heads deeper into the ancient city.  Until finally she finds the small, traditional canal-side restaurant she is looking for.  She enters the Ristorante Da Ivo and asks for a table for one.  The waiter shows her to a small table in the corner.

“Una bottiglia di Nero d’Avola, per favore,” she orders a bottle of red wine as he passes her a menu.  He nods as she settles into her seat, and he brings her the wine as she runs her gaze over the food on offer.  She’s hungry but recently every time she has gone to eat a meal, her appetite has vanished with the first forkful.

She takes a mouthful of the wine and is suddenly assaulted by a memory of Stefano sitting across from her, his rich laughter filling the small establishment as he toasted her latest success.  That hadn’t been the Moretti job, it had been another.  She can’t remember the exact details.  She’s not sure she wants to.  

– Ahhh, la mia bellissima regina.  Superi anche le mie aspettative.  Sei superbo, mia cara. Vorrei solo poter vedere la sua faccia.

– Gli ho detto che era un tuo dono, mio caro. È morto con il tuo nome sulle labbra. 

Stefano laughed again and kissed the back of her hand.  Then, in a more intimate gesture, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

– Mia Grace. Mia magnifica regina. My love.

Marlena shudders and takes several large mouthfuls of wine, draining her glass.  She lets the waiter refill her glass and points to a random dish on the menu.  Once the waiter has replenished her wine and left her alone, she takes a deep breath, trying to dispel the memories of Stefano and the feelings they evoke.  

Because they aren’t just feelings of disgust and that scares her as much as anything has recently.

~

When Roman emerges from the bathroom, damp but already dressed, it takes him a moment before he realises that he is alone.

“Doc?”  He calls, striding into the living room.  “Marlena?”  He whirls around frantically, crossing to the window in a vague hope that she is somehow hiding out on the balcony above the Grand Canal.  He wrenches the door open and steps out onto the stone ledge, but she is not there.  As he had known she would not be.  

Pulling out his cell phone, he dials her number and his heart sinks as he hears it ringing in the room behind him.

“Dammit Doc!” He steps back into the room and slams the balcony door behind him.  And then he speaks out loud to the empty room, knowing that somewhere, Stefano is listening to him, or will at least hear his words at some point. “So help me God…. DiMera, if anything happens to her, I will hunt you down and wring your miserable neck!  What you’re doing to her… if you cared about her, like you claim to… you wouldn’t put her through this.  Just let Carrie and Will go.  Let Marlena go.  This is torture!”

He halfway expects Stefano’s disembodied voice to float into the room but there is nothing but the muffled sounds from the terrace ristorante below.

Remembering the letter, he swings into the bedroom and looks at the place on the bed where he had set the letter.  It’s not there now and he can’t help second-guessing the wisdom of writing it.  Hope had told him to leave well enough alone, and he had ignored her counsel.  Had that prompted Marlena to flee the room or is there something more nefarious at play?

He grabs his jacket from the chair, his wallet and a door key and makes his way out of the suite.  He takes the stairs two at a time rather than taking the elevator and when he gets to the ground floor, he accosts Paola, the young woman who had welcomed them earlier.

“My wife,” he says desperately.  “Have you seen her?  Did she come through here?”

“Signor Webb,” the young woman puts her hand soothingly on his arm.  “Yes, your wife was here.  She left the Gritti Palace around twenty minutes ago.  Is there a problem?”

“Damn!” Roman shakes off Paola’s touch and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration.  “Was she alone?  Did she speak to anybody?”

“Why don’t you come and sit down, Signor?”  she asks gently

“I don’t want to sit down!” Roman snaps, his agitation growing.  “I just want to know where my wife is!”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” she nods understandingly.  “Signora Allard was unaccompanied.  To my knowledge, she didn’t speak to anyone on her way through the lobby.  I am sorry, I wish I could help you further.  Are you… is there a problem?”

“No, no problem,” Roman sighs.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t … I didn’t mean to…  I’m sure everything is fine.  She just didn’t tell me she was going out and I worry.  I worry about her.”

“Of course,” Paola replies soothingly.  “But I am sure she will be fine.  She has probably just stepped out for a breath of fresh air and will be back soon.”

“Yeah.”  Roman sounds unconvinced.  “Listen.  I’m going out to see if I can find her.  Can you please ask her to call me on my cell if she comes back.”

“Of course, Signor,” Paola smiles insincerely.  “I will make sure the message is passed on.”

Roman takes his leave then.  As he leaves the hotel, he describes Marlena to the doorman and asks if he remembers which direction she went in.  The doorman points down the narrow street, away from the teeming canal moorings and Roman sets off in the direction he indicates. 

As he does, he dials Bo’s number. 

“Bo,” he growls as his brother answers the phone.  “We’ve got a problem.”

~

Hoping that she can banish Stefano from her mind, Marlena takes Roman’s letter out of her purse and opens it, smoothing it against the tabletop.  Taking her fingers, she runs them over the indentations his writing has made in the thick paper, and she takes a deep breath, looking up and blinking back the tears.  She would give anything to talk to him right now, to feel his hand on hers.  Well… almost anything.

Marlena,

Honey, I’m not going anywhere.  I promise you, whatever happens, however much you push me away and try and convince me that you’ve changed, I am not giving up on you.  Not now, not ever.

It is clear to me that Stefano is listening to every conversation we have and that you know it.  I am sure he has spoken to you of his anger at what happened between us in Paris, and he has threatened you, or more accurately, threatened to hurt the children and most likely, me.  I know that is the only reason you would behave the way you have been.  You are trying to convince me that you have changed, that you are becoming more like Grace, but Doc, you forget that I know you and I know enough of Grace to know that is a lie.  There is only one reason you would push me away in the way you are doing and that is to protect me and the children.  

I also figure you can’t tell me because this is all part of his plan.  To drive us apart and to make me think you don’t love me anymore so that I will walk away.  But Doc, baby, I’m not walking away.  If you think I am going to let you walk right into the clutches of that monster, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.  And if there are things that I have done to make you think I would do that, then I am so sorry, baby.  If the pain that was locked away by Grace, the feelings of abandonment and betrayal that Stefano fostered in her has taken root inside you then I am sorry and I will spend the rest of our lives trying to make that right.  

But understand this, Marlena.  I am not leaving you.  We have to find a way to communicate.  You can’t go through this alone, you are drowning in this, I can tell, and I won’t let you go through this alone.  You’re not alone, you have me.  

Trust me Doc.  Confide in me.  Write to me if that’s the only way you can tell me what’s going on.  Tell me what Stefano has said to you.  Tell me how you’re feeling.  Tell me your fears.  Listen Doc, we can even devise some code words.  When you read this letter, if I am right about Stefano, about the threats… tell me I am right about St Mark’s.  That it’s closed for renovations or opens at 11am or whatever you want.  Just tell me I was right about St Mark’s.  That’s all I need.  We can write to each other, Doc.  We can use codes; we can find a way to communicate right under the old man’s nose.  Just trust me.  Just trust in my love for you.  We can find a way through this, together.

I love you, always.

Roman.

When she finishes the letter, she finds her risotto has been delivered to the table.  She takes a deep breath and scans the letter again before folding it up and putting it back in her purse.  

She uses the knuckle of her thumb to smudge away the tears around her eyes.  She should have known Roman would figure it all out.  In a way, it is a relief.  To not feel so alone.  She is humbled that he knows her so completely, even when she barely knows herself.  To feel so known and so held and loved is a privilege.  But it is also deeply problematic.  Because if this ends up where she thinks it is going to end up, it puts Roman in terrible danger.

She pulls the dish piled high with glistening rice and mushrooms towards her and pokes at it with her fork.  She is reaching for her wine again when suddenly, the distinct feeling that someone is watching, washes over her.  She looks up and scans the room, looking from face to face over the traditional red tablecloths.  She hears quiet conversation and sees eyes lowered to menus and meals and engaged with their companions.  But there are two other tables with solo diners, and she fixes on one.  A rugged young man, maybe in his early thirties.  He has the appearance of a tourist in a worn t-shirt and baggy cargo pants but there is something about him.  Marlena has spent more than half her life with cops and ISA agents and there is something about this man that is “off”.  As she watches him, he briefly looks up and meets her gaze and then looks back down at his menu.  And she is sure.  He might be ISA, he might be one of Stefano’s men, but she would lay money on the fact that he is not just a tourist.  He is there because she is.  He is watching her.

She almost laughs at the absurdity of it.  She has probably never been safer in her life than she is right now.  Her every move is being watched and overheard.  She is being scrutinised so closely that they probably know what she is thinking before she does.  And yet.

And yet…

She raises her eyebrows, takes another mouthful of wine and lets her gaze wander around the room again.

And she freezes as she sees a familiar face.  Mikhail Kushnirenko is standing in the doorway, staring at her, a speculative smirk on his face.  Her stomach flips and she feels physically sick as he walks towards her.  

“May I?” he says in a thickly Russian accent as he indicates the chair across from her.

“Do I have any choice?” she asks tersely.

“No.” He smiles, revealing two rows of crooked teeth under an even more crooked nose.  He pulls the chair out and transfers it to the side of the table so that he is sitting close to her.  He throws a manila envelope on the table as he lands heavily in the wooden chair.  “Le patron envoie ses salutations.”  One corner of his mouth curls up as he leans over to her.  “He sent me to check up on you.  Make sure you’re sticking to the agreement.”

Marlena shifts, trying to move away from his intrusion on her space.  “Well, you can see I am.  Roman is back at the hotel.”

“And you here, eating by yourself.”  Kushnirenko indicates the risotto that she has barely touched. “Such a waste.”

“Help yourself,” Marlena glowers at him.

“Je ne parlais pas de la nourriture,” he leers at her and then, to her horror, she feels his hand on her thigh.  “But if you insist.”

“Get your hands off me!” she hisses angrily.  She doesn’t want to make a scene, especially if there is an ISA operative in the room.  The moment she looks like she needs rescuing from this situation, his cover will be blown, and Stefano will know that she is being followed.  He may already know, of course; but she would rather not make it obvious.  She is safer if she is being watched by the ISA, whether Stefano is aware of it or not.

“And why would I want to do that?” he does remove his hand but lifts it to her hair instead and wraps a strand of it around his scarred finger. “When I’ve got you here… all alone.”

“I’m warning you,” her tone is even and quiet but full of fury.

“Or you’ll what?”  he laughs.  “Make a scene?  Alert Moretti to the fact that you’re here?  You know he has eyes everywhere.  Draw attention to yourself and… well… I believe he’s not your biggest fan.  That is assuming he doesn’t already know you’re here, of course.”

“I can take care of myself,” Marlena says although her throat suddenly feels tight with anxiety.

“Eh.  I’m sure you could, once.  But you’re rusty.  You didn’t see that guy,” he nods obliquely in the direction of the ISA operative, “tailing you from the hotel.  And neither of you saw me.  So, what makes you think you can avoid Moretti’s men?  Or handle them if they do show up?”

“I have no intention of drawing attention to myself, and I would appreciate it if you would, likewise, keep this low key.”  She hates that he is right.  She has been so preoccupied with her fears for Carrie and Will as well as the situation she finds herself in with Roman and the lies she has to tell him, that her awareness of her surroundings has become blunted, and she has forgotten to watch what is happening around her.  She cannot afford to become complacent.  With people like Moretti around, she is in danger from more than just Stefano and his heavies.  She glances at the ISA operative, but he is studying his phone and seems to show no recognition that he has been discovered by his mark and her visitant.

“Bien sur.  But Stefano wants me to remind you that you must play this game by his rules.  If you don’t… then your husband…” he draws his finger lightly across her neck in an unmistakable gesture which conveys his meaning in no uncertain terms.  “Although, chérie, his neck is not nearly as pretty as yours.”

“I don’t need a reminder.” Marlena’s voice is low and holds a defiantly warning tone.  “Tell Stefano that he doesn’t need to send his thugs to threaten me.”  She lifts her hand and pushes his away from her, lowering it to the table in a coolly antagonistic gesture.   “I might well be distracted, given that he is holding my family hostage, but am well aware of his terms.”

Kushnirenko chuckles darkly and pulls the dish of cooling risotto towards him.  He collects a fork and starts to shovel it into his mouth.  “I like you,” he says conversationally, although the combination of his thick Russian accent and a mouthful of risotto muffles his words. He pauses while he swallows his food and then takes a swig from her glass of wine.  “You’re sexy but you’re tough.  I see why the boss has a thing for you.”  He gestures to the waiter and orders another bottle of wine along with a second glass.

“I couldn’t care less what you think of me.” Marlena looks at the food that he is ladling into his mouth and then shakes her head in disgust.  “Does Stefano not feed you?”

The huge Russian laughs and takes another mouthful of wine as he nods at the waiter that delivers the second wine glass and another bottle to the table.  “Porta alla signora un piatto del tuo Filleto di Manzo.  Avrò la Fiorentina Alle Braci.  Raro, per favore.” 

“Sì signore, subito.” The young man nods and then hurries away to the kitchen. 

Marlena notes the ease and familiarity with which her companion orders the dishes and the nervousness of the waiter and concludes that it’s not the first time he has been here.  This must still be a favourite restaurant of Stefano’s then. 

Kushnirenko pours some wine into the clean glass and hands it to her and then lifts his own and clinks it against hers.  “Ura, velikolepno,” he says in his native Russian.  

“Salut,” Marlena inclines her head.  “Although I don’t exactly have any good reasons to toast.”

He pushes the envelope towards her before he polishes off the last of the risotto.  “I don’t know.  You’re here.  Your husband and your children are still alive.  That’s reason enough to celebrate, don’t you think?”

Marlena glares at him before taking a big mouthful of her wine.  “What’s this?” she nods at the envelope

“Details.  For the Moretti job.”  He sees the look on her face and lifts one eyebrow.  “This one is important.  The boss needs this information.  He’s depending on you to obtain it for him.”

“So, he’s sending me into the scorpion’s nest?”  Marlena shudders.  She remembers Moretti only too well.  He had been a small-time member of the mob back when she had been introduced to him, but he had his eyes on the ladder up the organisation and was known for his ruthless dispatch of any competing mafioso that got in his way.  

She was newly out of her training and the Grace alter had been in charge for a little less than a year. He was the usual macho Italian mobster with an eye for the ladies and he had taken an instant interest in her.  She had found him repellent; his oiliness was only slightly less repugnant than his brutal temper and she had found it all but impossible to laugh at his tasteless and offensive jokes.  But Stefano had wanted to see what dirt she could dig up on him and so she’d been forced to spend several weeks under his roof and in his bed.

He had found her in his study one day, leafing through his papers.  She had claimed she was simply looking for a pen but given the position he was in, he was a desperately paranoid man and he’d (correctly) presumed her to be working for the opposition, or even worse, for another competing member of the Mafia.  He had spent a long hour alternately threatening, interrogating and simply trying to terrify her.  His threats of torture had become more and more graphic as she had played the poor, terrified, innocent ingenue to the hilt.  Despite the hardness she had developed as Grace, she had still genuinely been frightened of this man as he ranted and raved so it had not been a hard act to pull off.  

Eventually he had worn himself out at the same time he had run out of breakables to hurl across the room to shatter in satisfying explosions.  So, he had left the appartment with a promise to return and use the more physical methods he had been describing to extract the information from her.  

Before he could return, however, Stefano’s men had safely extracted her, and she’d been spirited swiftly out of Italy.  The experience had left her shaken, although she had played down how traumatised she had been in Stefano’s presence.  He loved her for her strength and fearlessness, she was not about to let him see any weakness, any chinks in her armour.

Moretti had attempted to pursue her for a period of weeks but given that she hadn’t actually managed to obtain anything of value, he had quickly lost interest and she had resurfaced in Paris when his pursuit of her had waned.

And now, here she was, twelve years later, about to walk into the lion’s den with nothing but a masquerade mask between her and the devil.

“I will be there,” Kushnirenko tells her with a malevolent smirk.  “To keep an eye on you.”

“That makes me feel so much safer.”  She picks up her wine and takes a large mouthful.  “You said… assuming Moretti doesn’t already know I’m here.  Is there any reason he should?  Any indication… he might?”  Her voice trembles traitorously as she asks the question.  Not a lot scared Grace, but that madman did.

Kushnirenko gives a blood-curdling chuckle.  “Do I hear some nervousness, cherie?”

The waiter chooses that moment to deliver the meals that Kushnirenko had ordered.  He pushes the plate with the sliced tenderloin in front of her and eyes up the large T-bone steak on his own plate.

“Do I have a reason to be nervous?” she asks quietly as she picks up a clean fork and pushes a piece of meat around her plate.

“He has no reason to know or even suspect you are here.”  He carves off a large chunk of steak and stuffs it in his mouth.  “Moretti has moved up in the world.  He probably doesn’t even remember you exist.”

Marlena says nothing, just stabs at her meat with her fork and cuts off a far smaller piece than Kushnirenko has attacked.  She chews on it without enjoyment.  While the food is as delicious as it has always been, she has little appetite.  Not while Stefano has Carrie and Will.  Not while her future is being held hostage.

She does not think Moretti has forgotten her.  Men like him never do.  Men like him hate being made fools of.  Particularly by women.  He won’t let her get away so easily a second time.

“Eat up,” Kushnirenko points at her food with his knife.  Bits of steak drop from his mouth to the table as he speaks around a mouthful of food.  “The boss said to tell you to eat.  You’re too skinny.  You need to build up your strength.”

“And if I’m not hungry?” Marlena asks wearily.

“Eat anyway,” her Russian companion growls.  

Marlena sighs and picks at her food in silence as he wolfs down his second plate of food inside thirty minutes.  

When he deems she has eaten enough to satisfy Stefano, he pours her another glass of wine and empties what is left of the bottle into his own glass.  Then he pushes the manila envelope towards her.

She opens it and pulls out several sheets of paper.  One is a photograph of a painting.

“Stefano wants me to walk out of a masked ball with a painting?” she asks incredulously.

“Not the painting.”  Kushnirenko throws back the entire glass of wine and signals the waiter to bring over a third bottle.  “Hidden in the frame is a thumb drive that contains information vital to the continuing operation of the DiMera organisation.  This painting was supposed to come to the boss, but Moretti intercepted it before it got to its destination.  We don’t think he knows about the drive so it should be a simple case of locating the painting, securing the drive and getting out of there.”

“If it’s so simple, why do I have to do it?”  Marlena takes another mouthful of the wine.

“Because the boss wants you to.” Kushnirenko grins, clearly enjoying her fear.  “Because he wants to remind you that he is The Boss.  That you have to do what he says, or your husband…” he shrugs and it’s a casual enough gesture but there’s such a malevolent underlying threat that a shudder runs through her.

“I…” she suddenly feels dizzy and overwhelmed with the need to get out of the stuffy restaurant and away from Stefano’s hired bully.  “I need to go.  Roman will be worried.”

“Ahhh, and here we were, having such a splendid time together.  Enjoying each other’s company, so much.”  

Marlena makes to slide away from him, but he slaps his hand over her arm, pinning it to the table.

“Before you go,” he growls, “you were reading something earlier when I came in.  A letter?”  He holds out his other meaty hand.  “I’m pretty sure the boss would like to know what was in it.  If you would be so kind…?”

Chapter 16 – Il Ritorno

“Roman, it’s okay,” Bo reassures him after hearing Hope pass on the news from Shane on the house phone.  There’s a complicated relay of text and phone messaging happening even as they speak to update Roman on Marlena’s whereabouts.  “The ISA has eyes on her.  She’s safe.”

“Where the hell is she, Bo?”  Roman leans on the railing that separates the hotel dockside from the Grand Canal.  The day has dissolved almost completely into evening now and the soft glow of lights from the timeworn buildings across the canal shimmer in ever moving splashes on the inky water.

“She went out by herself.  Shane’s assured Hope that she’s safe, Roman.”

“Stop telling me she’s safe and tell me where she is!”  The tourists around Roman stare at him briefly as his voice raises in frustration.  “Bo, she’s not safe.  She’ll never be safe while that old bastard is out there.”

“Shane says they can’t tell you.  You would go straight there and then Marlena would know she was being followed.  And so would Stefano.”     

“How would Stefano know?” Roman demands angrily.  “Is he with her?”

“Not Stefano.  But…” Bo pauses.  He doesn’t really want to tell Roman this information.  He knows it will be like gasoline to the flame of Roman’s anger and fear.  But Hope has insisted that Roman needs to know.  He needs to be in full possession of the facts if he is going to keep Marlena, and himself, safe.  “There is someone with her.  The ISA believes he’s an associate of DiMera’s.”

“Who?” Roman can feel his heart pounding in his throat.  Everything feels so tight he feels like he might explode with all this uncertainty and anxiety.

“His name is Mikhail Kushnirenko.  He’s a Russian gun for hire.  There’s nothing to definitively link him to Stefano but the ISA think they’ve been running in the same circles for some time now.  The fact that he’s here and with Marlena seems to underline that.”  Bo pauses for a moment.  “Shane wants to know if you’ve seen or heard of this guy.  Or if Marlena has mentioned him.”

“Marlena is barely speaking to me right now, Bo,” Roman sighs and smooths one finger across his eyebrow.  “There was a guy in Paris, I told you, but he was English, and he said his name was Johnson.”

“Johnson is legit, we know about him,” Bo confirms. 

Roman rolls his hand into a fist and looks around him.  He wants to hit something.  He wants to take this helpless anger out on something.  Anything.  DiMera is shutting him out, dividing him from Marlena and she is playing right into his hands.  It’s likely this Russian is another means to control her, to remind her of the ever-present threats to those she loves if she doesn’t walk the tightrope that DiMera has stretched tight for her.

He knows that she knows, one small divergence from that path and she could lose everything and everyone she loves.  But what exactly awaits her at the end of that path?  And what terrible things will DiMera require her to do on the way to that destination?

“Bo, I have to see her,” he whispers.  “I’m losing her.  She’s slipping away day by day and every time I try and reach her, she just gets further away.”

“I know it’s frustrating, bro.”  Bo feels just as helpless as Roman right now.  He knows from Hope that Kushnirenko is a nasty and dangerous individual and knowing that Marlena is with him right now is not something he feels comfortable with, at all.  The only comfort is that the ISA operative is there in the restaurant, watching her; and he has relayed the fact that Marlena was not happy at the Russian’s arrival and remains clearly unhappy with his continued company.  And yet, she has stayed there and eaten a meal with him and engaged in conversation, albeit with some irritation and discontent.

“Frustrating?” Roman laughs mirthlessly.  “Bo, this is hell.  Are there any leads on Carrie and Will.  Anything?”

“Nothing.  The ISA are throwing everything they can at it but Roman, you know Stefano.  He has so many bolt-holes.  They could literally be anywhere.”

“Dammit!”  Roman slams the railing with the heel of his palm.  They need to find Carrie and Will before Stefano leads them into his final trap.  It is the only chance they have of circumventing this twisted nightmare of a chess game he has laid out for them.

“Roman,” Bo’s voice is replaced by Hope’s on the other end of the line.  “I know you’re angry and you’re scared.  But you have to keep calm and keep playing along with Marlena’s lead.  Anything else puts both of you in too much danger.  Listen, we have some information about Alessandro Moretti.  Like we speculated, he’s pretty senior within the Mafia.  He’s operated out of Venice for years.  It’s likely Marlena came into contact with him when she was Grace, but there’s no actual evidence we can find that she did.  Moretti took possession of a crate of artworks that came into Florence several weeks ago and we think that crate was supposed to end up with DiMera.  So whatever task Stefano has in mind for Marlena, it’s possibly retrieving something that was in that crate.”

“He’s stepping it up,” Roman observes calmly.  Inside he doesn’t feel calm.  He feels a roiling mass of nerves.  “It’s gone from confrontation to blackmail and now theft.”  He leaves the rest of his words unspoken.  But they hang there in the moist, cool air. 

“Moretti is dangerous, Roman.”  Hope tells him.  “The word is, he’s violent and unstable.  If he catches her, he won’t hesitate to kill both of you.  You’ll need to have all your wits about you.  Both of you.”   

~

At his words, terror floods Marlena and she goes inexplicably hot and then deathly cold.  Kushnirenko can’t read Roman’s letter.  If he were to read it, Stefano will know she is communicating with Roman, or at the very least has plans to.  And if that happens, Roman’s life is forfeit.  Stefano has made that clear.

“Hand it over.”  Kushnirenko grins wickedly.  He could have led the conversation with this, but he has chosen to leave it until the moment she was ready to leave.  When she would be least expecting it and have little in the way of a defence prepared.

But she has to try.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammers.  “I was reading the menu.”

“Shall I empty out your bag?” he raises his eyebrows and reaches across her. 

“No!”  She pushes the bag out of his reach.  “It’s nothing.  It’s nothing Stefano would be interested in.  Please.”

Kushnirenko snorts.  “Now I really want to read it.”  He rubs his fingers together.  “Give it, zhinka.”

Marlena glares at him, trying to work out how or even if she can avoid or delay handing over the letter.  But a moment later she realises there is nothing she can do.  He has her number and all she can do is hand over the letter. 

She sighs and slips her hand into her bag.  Digging around for a long moment, she locates the side pocket and finds the letter folded and slipped in there.  She pulls it from the bag and hands it over to Kushnirenko, tears filling her eyes.

The husky Russian takes it from her and releases his grip on her to unfold the worn piece of paper.

“Dear Marlena,” he reads out loud in his heavily accented English, “If you are reading this letter, then I have been executed.  No man is without sin, but God knows, I did not kill Tony.  I have gone with the faith that death is not the end, but a summons to a new existence…”  His brow creases in confusion and he looks at Marlena.  “I do not understand,” he says, clearly perplexed.

“This is a letter Roman wrote to me several years ago.”  Marlena is trembling as she looks at the copy of the letter that John had written to her in his cell in Aremid five years previously.  She doesn’t look at her companion as she explains, just keeps her eyes on the letter that had ultimately changed her life.

“He’d been falsely accused of killing Stefano’s son and he had been sentenced to death.  Obviously, he didn’t die and eventually I saw the letter.  Before I saw it, I didn’t know how he felt, and I thought we would never be together.”  She takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes to her hands which are occupied with the strap of her bag.  “I keep a copy of the letter with me to remind me of all the challenges we’ve overcome to be together.  Reading it gives me hope, even in the most difficult of circumstances.”

Mikhail Kushnirenko cocks his head on one side to regard her for a moment and then he pulls his attention back to the letter.  Marlena doesn’t need to hear him read it out loud to know what it says.  

I know our life together has been complicated.  You’ve been in love with other men, and I’ve been in love with other women.  But the love we shared was something special, Doc.  There never was, and never could be, anyone to fill the special place that you hold in my heart.  I love you.  I know now, I always have, and I always will.

She has read it so many times it has been seared into her memory.  The moment she had realised how John felt.  That he loved her too, as much as she loved him.  The moment that she had realised that maybe they could be a family again.

That reality had taken a while to come to fruition, but eventually it had.  And then Stefano had intervened again, and Princess Gina had wreaked havoc in their lives.

So much pain.  So much time wasted.  Both before and after this letter.  But still, it serves as a beacon, a reminder of their love and how it has endured through unspeakable trials and unthinkable experiences.  He has always been there for her.  Even when he thought she didn’t love him.  Even when he thought that she had chosen ‘Roman’ and he had decided that leaving Salem was the best thing for all of them.  

Even then, he hadn’t been able to walk away from her.  

He is the one constant in her life.  And when she struggles to remember that this letter reminds her.  It is why she’d brought it with her on this trip.  Because when things get too tough to bear, when he is near, but circumstances won’t allow them to be together, she can remember another time when it was so, and that it had finally, gloriously, ended.  

“Ahhhh…” he peels back his lips and bares his teeth in a loose approximation of a smile.  “I see.”  With that, he folds the letter in half and then rips it into several pieces.  At Marlena’s exclamation of dismay, he laughs.  “The boss doesn’t want you having hope, chérie.  He wants you to know there is no hope.  You are his now.”

“I will never be his,” she hisses.  “He can manipulate and torture me all he likes but my heart will always belong to Roman.”

“You might want to rethink that,” he shrugs.  “The boss will lose his patience sooner or later.  And when he does… your Roman…?” he aligns his index and middle fingers and aims an imaginary gun at the oblivious ISA agent by the wall.  He lets off an imaginary shot and then brings the tips of his fingers to his lips, blowing away equally imaginary wisps of smoke.

Marlena looks away, full of hatred for this man and his employer, both.  All the hope that Roman’s letter had imbued her with has fizzled back into bleakness over the past hour.  How can she hope to fool Stefano when he is watching her like a hawk at every moment and when Roman’s life is in his hands?

The only bright spot is that it seems that she has managed to fool Kushnirenko into thinking John’s Aremid letter was the one she was reading earlier tonight.  She needs to get out of here now before he decides to double check that assumption.

“I need to go,” she says dully.  “It’s late and I have to deal with Moretti tomorrow.”

“Ah yes,” Kushnirenko nods.  “You will need to be well rested and on your guard.  I will be there, and there will be others, but it will be up to you to find the painting and secure the drive.  If Moretti discovers you, we will do what we can to aid your escape; but let’s see it doesn’t come to that, eh?”

“Believe me, the last thing I want to do is come face to face with Alessandro Moretti,” she suppresses the shudder that ripples through her at the thought.  “I’ll be as discreet as I can.”

Kushnirenko nods at the waiter.  “DiMera pagherá.”  The waiter nods and begins to clear away their dishes.  “I’ll make sure you get back safely,” he tells Marlena, and he pushes out his chair.

“I’ll be fine making my own way back.” Marlena says curtly.  

“I’m sure you will.  But to be sure, I will accompany you.  You have a big day ahead of you and one chance to find what it is that the boss needs.”  He stands and holds his hand out to Marlena.  She deliberately ignores him, and her jaw set with grim determination, she slips out from behind the table and stands, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder and pushing past Kushnirenko.  She’s had enough of Stefano telling her how it will be and what she can and can’t do.  And she’s certainly had enough of his minion thinking he can order her around.  Glaring at him, she walks out of the restaurant.  Kushnirenko grins and takes a moment to admire her retreating form and then follows her from the restaurant.

The rugged young man seated by the wall, who has not missed a single interchange between the beautiful blonde that is his mark and the Russian thug that joined her, slides his cell phone out of his pocket and dials.

~

Roman is still pacing outside the hotel when Marlena finally arrives back.  Kushnirenko had followed her back to the hotel, retreating to a safe distance as she rounded the corner.

“Doc!” Roman abandons all caution and pulls her into his arms when he sees her.  “God, I was so worried about you.  Where have you been?”

“I had…” she swallows, disentangling herself from his embrace.  “I needed some air.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Worry me?” Roman frames her face with his cool hands.  “Marlena, I’ve been frantic”

“I’ve been perfectly safe, Jack.”  Her tone is sharp.  “I can take care of myself.  You know I can.  And anyway, it’s busy.  What’s going to happen here?  With all of these people around?”

She waves carelessly at the droves of tourists that, despite the darkness that has now enveloped the floating city, are still flocking to and from the canal dock and filtering in and out of the hotel and surrounding shops and restaurants.  

Roman doesn’t say anything.  His fear for Marlena’s safety had almost made him forget how cold she had been to him recently.  But now, here she is, being just as cool and stand-offish as she has been since that day in Paris where everything had changed.

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” she says, a little more gently this time. And then, suddenly aware of the fact that he has probably spent the entire time she has been gone and sitting in a restaurant standing out here waiting for her, “Jack, have you had something to eat?”

“No, I … it was the last thing I was thinking about.” Roman admits.

“Okay, let’s go in and get a table.” Marlena motions to the floating veranda that runs along the front of the hotel and looks out over the Grand Canal.  “You need something.  We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Roman notes that she is saying that he needs something.  She’d disappeared from the hotel room not long after saying she was hungry.  So wherever she’s been, it seems she’s eaten.  Breaking bread with Stefano DiMera’s hired heavies?  That seems unlikely, certainly through her own choice.

“Do you…?” he follows her into the hotel, ignoring the glances of the doorman and the staff.

“I’ve already eaten,” she says peremptorily as she walks up to the desk.  “Excuse me?” she catches the attention of one of the young male receptionists who have taken over on the evening shift and she eyes his name-badge.  “Roberto?  Uh, can you tell me what time St Mark’s Basilica opens to tourists in the morning?”

“Si Madame, it opens at 9:30.  It is best to get there early, the queues can get quite long, even at this time of the year.”  Roberto leans over and pulls out a leaflet that he hands her.  

“And the bell tower?” she asks, even though she knows the answer very well.  “What time does that open?”

“10:30 Madame.” The attractive young man inclines his head and Marlena graces him with a genuine smile.  “Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?”

“Thank you, no.” She shakes her head and turns to Roman.  “You were right Jack,” she tells him.  “About San Marco.  I thought it all opened at the same time, but you were right.”  She wants to take his hand and squeeze it, to underline the point she is making but she is afraid that Kushnirenko is watching.  Or someone else in Stefano’s employ.  So, her words will have to do.  The words he asked her to say.  

Because the moment she had seen his worried face as he paced in front of the hotel, she had been flooded with all the love and hope that she had felt as she had read his letter.  The certainty that he knows her so intimately.  Better than anyone living.  Better than anyone ever has and ever will.  And she can’t bear this distance between them.  She can’t live like this, any more than he can.  

So, she will risk it, she will risk the worst happening.  Because she knows he wants to take that risk for her.  To keep her safe and sane.  

She would do anything to keep him safe.  But breaking his heart several times a day is too impossible to bear.  And ultimately, she doesn’t know that it will keep him safe.  This may be a terrible mistake, but at this moment, it is a mistake she is willing to make.  That she has to make for both their sakes.

“Oh.” Roman’s eyes widen.  “Okay.  Right.”  He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.  He’d all but forgotten about the letter he had written earlier this afternoon.  He had noted its absence had coincided with Marlena’s departure from the hotel, but his head and heart had been so filled with uncertainty, confusion and fear for her safety that he had hardly stopped to consider that she might have read it and taken it to her heart.

“Let’s get that table,” she suggests, daring a smile that reaches her eyes for the first time in days.

When they have been seated at a table next to the canal, Roman has ordered a meal and they both have a drink in front of them, she allows herself the luxury of relaxing for the first time since the afternoon Stefano had summoned her to the study in Paris.  She has lived in terror since the moment Kushnirenko had appeared behind her.  And if she’s honest, she’s still frightened of what might happen to her, to Roman and to the children, but she can’t carry on like this.  Living with this constant dread is exhausting her.  It will make her ill and it is distracting her and making her sloppy and she can’t afford that.  Not with men like Alessandro Moretti to deal with.  She needs to reserve her anxiety for those moments where it can benefit her with heightened awareness of what is happening around her and the quick reflexes she will need to get in and out of Moretti’s apartments without being caught.

“You ate when you went out.”  It’s not really a question, not quite an accusation.  

“I did,” she says quietly.  “I found a little restaurant that I remembered from my time with Stefano.  I needed some… time to think.”

“Think about what?” he is not sure where this is going but just the fact that she is talking to him is movement in the right direction.

“This.” She looks around her.  “I have a head full of memories that I am trying to make sense of.  Some of them coalesce into narrative, some are still just flashes of moments.  Things that happened.  Places.  Faces.  Things that I saw.  Things that I did.”

“Feelings?”  He knows only too well about flashes of memories.  Memories both his and not his.  Memories that were stolen from him and that have never completely been returned.  But he also remembers the intensity of the feelings that accompanied certain images the first few times they had flashed into his memory.

“No, not so much,” she shakes her head.  “I…  She did her best to feel as little as possible.  That was why she existed.  To protect me from the feelings I couldn’t deal with.  So no.”  She’s not ready to tell him about Moretti yet, about what happened twelve years ago, or how scared the thought of him makes her now.

“What happened here?” he asks her gently, picking up on her apprehension.  “Is it Moretti?”

“Can we… talk about it later?” she asks him and under the table, hidden from view by a crisp while linen cloth, her fingers creep to his knee.

In response, his eyes widen and his lips twitch into a guarded smile.  This is more than he had hoped to dare for.  He slides his own hand under the table and laces his fingers in between hers.

“Later.”  He nods his head.  “Okay.”  He strokes his thumb down her index finger and he looks deep into her eyes.  For the first time in days, she meets his gaze and the look in her eyes tells him everything he needs to know.  

She still loves him.  

And he was right about Stefano’s threats.  She’s scared and she’s trying to protect him but she’s also trusting him enough to let him in.  She is trusting him to be careful and discreet.  He will follow her wherever she leads him.  He will follow her to the ends of the earth if necessary.  And in this, he will let her lead, wherever she will.

“This ball… tomorrow.”  She takes a breath.  “The host is… not… someone you want to tangle with lightly.”

“Are you sure this,” Roman pauses, remembering their cover story and remembering also that Marlena had referred to him as Jack earlier.  If anyone is listening to their conversation, even if it is just Stefano or his people, they need to stay as in-character as possible.  “Is this business deal worth it, Liv?  Getting involved with these people… it sounds like it could be… risky.”

“It could be,” she agrees.  With her free hand, she picks up her glass of red wine and takes a mouthful.  “It could be very risky.  But I need to pursue this, Jack.  The payoff is…  well, I know that the shareholders will only be happy if I can find the kind of deal I am looking for.”

“Damn the shareholders,” Roman growls.

“You know what’s at stake here.” She reminds him, unlacing her fingers from his but then catching his hand in hers and squeezing it.  “Eyes on the prize, Jack.  There’s only one way to get what we want.   Trust me.”  Her eyes plead with him to stay with her.  Physically and emotionally, she needs him there with her.  “Just be there with me tomorrow.  Be my eyes and ears.”  She lifts one eyebrow, and he sees her golden eyes glittering with the reflections of the hundreds of fairy lights that are strung along the railing of the veranda they sit on.  “Once I strike the deal, we can leave the ball and leave Italy.  Okay?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Roman heaves a sigh and picks up his own glass of wine.  He downs a large mouthful and then takes another for good measure.  

“Not really,” she gives him a half-smile.  “This is very important.  The main shareholder has made that clear to me.”

“You make it sound like he’s been in touch with you tonight,” Roman says carefully.

“Not directly,” she responds.  “I’ve been… made aware.  The details are important.  I know what I have to do.  I have to make this deal tomorrow.  It’s crucial to the business plan.”

“I understand.” Roman nods.  The details are important, but he knows she’s not going to tell him anything now.  Not while they can be overheard by other diners and hotel staff.  And probably DiMera.  She may never be able to tell him, at least not until all this is over.  But he already knows as much as he needs to know.  For now.  

He raises his glass and gives her an ironic smile, one that holds no humour but tells her of all the frustration and worry that ride as constant companions inside of him.  “Here’s to a successful deal then, Oliva.  If anyone can pull it off, I know you can.”

Marlena lifts her own glass and leans across to touch it to his.  In doing so, she takes the opportunity to mouth the words she has been longing to say to him.

• I love you. I love you, Roman.  

She dares not say anything else.  She shouldn’t have said that, but she can’t contain it anymore.  Loving him is an antidote to the fear and the hatred she feels for Stefano.  Withholding has made her brittle and empty.  It has brought her to the edge of madness.  She will do anything for the love of him, except for not love him.  For that way lays only misery and torment.  Maybe it’s selfish but she can’t hurt him anymore.  She can’t knowingly lay waste to his heart and survive the devastation left in the wake of their division.

He holds her gaze and enfolds her hand in his under the table.  And he just nods.  And in that single gesture is everything he wants to say to her and everything she knows he has just said without words.

• I love you too.  You know how much I love you.  I am here.  I am not going anywhere.  Ever.  I will journey to the ends of the earth with you.  Whatever the reason, whatever the risk.  I am here. Every step of the way.

She doesn’t know where this journey will end, or if the ending will be a happy one or the one that she dreads.  She only knows she can’t do it without him.

Later on, after some desultory conversation and when Roman has eaten and she has shared his dessert of tiramisu, they make their way back to the suite.  When the door is closed, they only stand there and look at each other.  Neither of them knows how far they can take this.  Stefano is listening, that much is evident.  But how much further has he taken it?  Does he have cameras in this suite?

It seems unlikely, but they can’t be sure.  As much as they want to believe they are safe enough to at least touch each other in the safety of their hotel room, they can’t be sure.  And without that surety, it is too dangerous to get too close.  Stefano’s threats are ever-present.  His hatred of Roman will take flight at the slightest provocation and Marlena will not risk that. 

After a moment, Roman disappears into the bathroom and it is only seconds before she hears the shower.  Shortly afterwards, all his clothes appear, thrown into a heap on the floor outside the bathroom.  She looks at the open door for a moment and then, making a decision, she strips her own clothes, leaving them in a pile next to Roman’s and she enters the bathroom and closes it behind her.

Silently, without a single noise, Roman pushes her up against the door and presses his mouth against hers.  Her eyes close and she wraps her arms around his neck, sinking into the feeling of his body against hers and his tongue in her mouth.  And then his hands are in her hair and his mouth on hers and her cheek and her neck and she is silently gasping for breath.  

And she can feel his skin so close to hers and she wants him so badly she aches.  And then he is all hands and lips and she is all wanting and heat and there is no actual thinking, just feeling and sensation and oh god… the pleasure…. The utter bliss of his sweaty skin against hers and the feeling of him sliding… ohhhh god… Oh Roman… Roman.  And all the time, all she can hear is the sound of the shower and nothing else.  And somehow, the silence makes it all the more erotic and pleasurable. 

When they are done, she slides down the door and they huddle in a heap on the cool marble tiled flood.  Roman pulls a towel down from the railing and edges it under her before he wraps his arms around her.  

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear before he nibbles on her earlobe.  “I love you, Marlena.  Thank you for trusting me.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back, just loud enough that he can hear it over the sound of the shower.  “But this is dangerous Roman.  This puts you and the children in terrible danger.  If Stefano found out…”

“Stefano is not going to find out,” he tells her as he slides his hand down her arm and laces his fingers between hers.  He lifts her hand and plants a soft kiss on the back.  “When we leave this bathroom, it goes back to how it was.  On the surface anyway.”

“I don’t think we can act that well.  Not well enough to fool him anyway.”  Her eyes fill with tears, suddenly terrified that she has made an awful, terrible mistake.  “Roman, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, baby.”  He kisses her forehead, her nose and her lips with all the tenderness and gratefulness he feels for her.  “I am too.  But we’ve made it through worse, Doc.  We’ll get through this.  I promise.”

She lays her head against the warmth of his chest and sighs.  She hopes he’s right and this isn’t the time that their love isn’t enough to win the battle.

Chapter 17 – Degas e Disastro

The following morning, in order to make Marlena’s question to the hotel receptionist seem reasonably legitimate, and to kill some time and act as normally as they can, given the circumstances, Marlena and Roman play tourist and make a visit to the San Marco Basilica.

Marlena does her best to dress as unobtrusively as possible and hides behind an oversized pair of sunglasses as much as she can.  The last thing she needs to do is alert Moretti or any of his associates to her presence in Venice.

She has told Roman as much as she dares of what the plan is for tonight and as much as she thinks he can handle of her previous confrontation with Moretti.  In their conversation she had downplayed the graphic threats he had made as she knows prior to their rediscovery of each other yesterday she would have chosen not to tell him.  And she doesn’t want what will be an expression of genuine fear for her safety trigger a reaction in him that will be read correctly by Stefano.

No, it’s best that Roman doesn’t know exactly how unhinged Moretti is liable to become.  With good management and a bit of luck, they can get in and out of Moretti’s apartments without detection and be out of Italy before he even has an inkling that anything is amiss.  The best-case scenario is that he will never know that anyone has taken back what is DiMera’s.

When they return to the hotel from their morning’s expedition, Marlena is greeted by the hotel concierge with an envelope, and informed that several packages have been delivered to their room. 

Marlena opens the envelope as they ride the elevator up to their suite and pulls out a letter that is written in a distinctive hand.  Stefano’s handwriting.

Roman starts to say something but she shakes her head and then scans the letter.

Mia cara,

I trust Mikhail reminded you of our deal.  I am concerned you might have forgotten our agreement already.  Keep your distance from John Black.  You understand the consequences if you fail in this one undertaking.

Be careful tonight.  I don’t need to tell you Moretti is dangerous.

I look forward to seeing you in your ball gown, my Queen.  I am sure you will not disappoint.

Stefano 

She folds the letter up and slips it inside her bag.  Roman looks at her, but she bites her lips and shakes her head.  Not here.  She’s not sure he should read it at all.

They exit the elevator car in silence and Roman follows her to the door of the suite.  Once they are safely inside, she makes her way to the writing desk.  

“I need a drink,” she says cursorily.  “Make mine a martini.”

“Should you be drinking?” Roman asks, his voice brittle.  If she didn’t know this was an act, she might have been hurt by the coldness in his tone.  “You need your wits about you tonight.”

“Please don’t tell me what I need,” she takes a sheet of paper and scribbles a note on it.  “Just pour me the damn drink, Roman.”

He says nothing but does as she asks and mixes her a martini.  He leaves it at the bar as he moves across to the space she has vacated and glances at her messy scrawl.

Stefano suspects something is up.  But he doesn’t know for sure.  Which is good news.  It probably means no cameras, just listening devices.  I love you.  

He bites back a smile and turns to her.  “Are you going to tell me what was in that letter, Doc?”

“No.”  She shakes her head.  “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Doc, please…”  Through their day together today he has come to realise how difficult this is going to be.  Living one reality while convincing Stefano DiMera that a completely different reality is happening.  He’s going to have to keep the two existences running inside his head simultaneously while trying to ensure that his version of their fictional relationship somehow meshes with Marlena’s.  Without being able to discuss it.

“Roman.”  She cuts him short.  “You know everything you need to know; everything that I am able to tell you about tonight.  About Moretti.  About what I need to do.  Please don’t ask me anything else because there is nothing else I can or want to tell you.”

She does not allow him the space to reply.  Instead, she goes into the bedroom and surveys the pile of boxes that sit on the bed.  She, like he, is starting to realise the startling impossibility of their undertaking.  Maintaining separation while somehow maintaining their connection.  Without words (that bit isn’t hard, they have always had that innate non-verbal connection that is a quality of the most successful relationships) but more importantly without the touch and physical connection that is so much part of how they are when they are in sync with each other.  And to maintain the continuity of the lie so that it is believable to Stefano while inhabiting the reality of their love and their relation to each other.  She is not sure they can pull it off.  But if they can’t?  The result would be unthinkable.

~

They talk very little during the preparations for the ball.  The packages, as she had expected, held their costumes and masks for the occasion.  Hers is a concoction of ice blue satin, laced tightly around the bodice with trim in champagne and pale pink to accentuate.  Her mask is a half-faced affair in silver and pale gold with inlaid crystals.  When she has piled the hair on top of her head and applied her usual make-up in the subtle tones she favours, the effect is as breath-taking as Stefano had known it would be.  

In actual fact, the outfit is understated by Venetian standards, many of the masquerade ball costumes are vividly colourful and outlandish.  Hers is deliberately meant to blend into the background, but the overall effect is somehow anything but inconspicuous.

“Wow.”  Roman can’t help himself when she exits the bathroom.  “Doc, you look…  Wow.”

“I don’t want to look wow,” she exclaims, looking worried.  “I don’t want Moretti to pay any more attention to me than he needs to.  I need to be just another nameless guest at his ball.”

“Doc, he’s going to notice you in that get-up,” Roman tells her.  He understands her worry and he wants to reassure her, but the fact is, she looks incredible.  “He’d have to be blind not to.”

“With the mask on?” she asks, fastening the disguise to her face.  

“You still look stunning, but I guess, less eye-catching.  But can you keep it on all evening?  Is that how it works at these things?”

“I don’t think so,” she shakes her head.  “We need to get in and out as quickly as possible.  Arouse as little interest and suspicion as we can.  At the first opportunity we need to make our way up to Moretti’s apartments.  Then you need to keep watch while I locate the painting.”

“You’re assuming that he actually has the painting in the apartment and that it’s somewhere where you can find it.” Roman reminds her.

“It’s a Degas.  He’s too vain and too powerful to keep it hidden away.”  She knows Moretti.  He’s a show-off.  The painting is of uncertain provenance, but it has been authenticated as a genuine Degas by several well-known experts.  It has never been on the open market or seen in a museum.  He’s going to want to show it off, even if he did come by it in a less than legitimate fashion.  After all, nothing his organisation does is particularly legal, or by the books.

“All right,” Roman adjusts the lace that bunches at his cuffs beneath the royal blue long coat trimmed with gold brocade.  He has to give it to Stefano; the old man certainly has some sartorial style when he picks these outfits.  “Shall we get this over and done with then?”

~

When they arrive at the ballroom at the Palazzo Labia, the party is well underway.  It is late enough that their entrance is not remarkable, but not so late that they will attract attention by being obvious.  Marlena has spent the private water taxi ride feeling both nauseous and terrified as she contemplates what she needs to accomplish in the next few hours.

On entry, she and Roman are announced as Olivia Allard and Jack Webb, a conceit they have maintained since they left the hotel room thirty minutes earlier.  Their host, Allesandro Moretti takes the time to greet them as they enter and to Marlena’s dismay, he takes her by the arm as he leads her into the ballroom.  His hand grips her arm just a touch too tightly as he surveys the room.  It is a large room with panelled walls, gilded with gold which shimmer with the light reflected from several large crystal chandeliers.  The light from the chandeliers doesn’t reach into all the corners of the room and the shadows are broken up by small wall lights which cast golden circles of light up the ancient walls.  At one end of the room, a chamber ensemble is seated next to a giant fireplace and is playing a melodic waltz which can be heard over the general hubbub of conversation.  In the centre of the room, a number of guests in colourful costumes and opulent masques are sweeping in mixed couples across the dance floor.

Marlena takes the opportunity to steal a glance at Moretti.  His mask is silver filigree, but it is small and covers little of his face.  In fact, it serves only to accentuate his beautiful features, the olive skin, dark jet hair and ice-blue eyes.  He looks every bit the commanding host and bountiful playboy.  If she did not know the vicious monster that lay beneath the beautiful exterior, she might think him charming.

But she knows better than that. 

“Signora Allard,” he swipes two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and hands one to her, ignoring Roman, who trails quietly behind.  “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.  You are in… cosmetics, I believe?”

“Yes, I represent Wildeye Cosmetics, we’re a relatively new start-up, based in New York.”  She gives him a watery smile, hoping very much that he will lose interest quickly and move onto more appetising prey.

“And you company is looking to expand the brand into Europe?” Moretti cocks his head on one side thoughtfully.  “That is a rapid growth for a company less than … two years old, I believe?”

Marlena’s skin prickles unexpectedly.  Alessandro Moretti has researched her.  Her backstory is legitimate, the company real enough, but she is unsure how far Stefano has gone in establishing her credentials within the hierarchy of the small organisation.  If Moretti was to call the head office and ask about Olivia Allard, what information would he have received, she wonders.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” she says carefully as she takes a small sip of the champagne.  “You have several guests here with whom I was hoping to arrange meetings.  But I didn’t realise you had an interest in cosmetics, Signor Moretti.”

“Ahhh, no.” He smiles, baring a mouth full of gleaming white teeth.  He is really very attractive, but even without knowing his background, there is something about him that is predatory, an undercurrent of violence that simmers quietly beneath the surface.  It is quiet, but electric.  She felt it twelve years ago and she feels it just as strongly now.  

“I was curious, Signora, when I received a request for an invitation for you and your… husband,” he nods in Roman’s direction.  “Usually, the guests at my ball are hand-picked.  In most cases, they are known to me.”

Cocking his head again, he puts a hand to his ear and makes a show of listening to the music that is being played by a chamber ensemble at the far end of the ballroom.  He suddenly takes her glass and along with his, puts them on a tray that is waiting to his left.

“May I have this dance?” he offers her his hand and before she can decline, he takes her hand in his and folds his arm around her, sweeping her away onto the dance floor.

“Do you know this waltz?” he asks her.  She shakes her head, even though she knows very well that it is a Strauss waltz.

“It is Du Und Du, from Die Fledermaus,” he smiles a wolfish smile.  “You know that Rosalinde spends the entire second act at Prince Orlofsky’s masked ball, pretending to be someone she is not?”

“No,” Marlena says faintly with a shake of her head.  She feels dizzy but she can’t extract herself from his arms without drawing more attention to herself.  The very last thing she wants to do is to give him an excuse to take her mask off.   “I’m not familiar with it.  It isn’t really… I don’t get to the opera much.” 

“Ah, you should, Signora.  It is so… instructive.  And many of the greatest operas are, of course, Italian.”

He tightens his arm around her as the waltz speeds up and she is forced to focus on his face as the room spins around her.  He is an accomplished dancer, leading her with practiced ease.  She barely has to think about where to put her feet as he glides around the room, his arm around her, his hand warm and firm in hers.  As the music slows down once more, he starts to speak again, bouncing back to his previous line of conversation.

“So, when I received the request from your company for your attendance at my piccolo festa, I was curious.  But Signora Allard, strangely, I could find remarkably little information about you.”    

“I don’t like attention,” Marlena says as lightly as she can.  “I just make deals and shake hands.  I do not want to be the face of Wildeye.  Press attention doesn’t interest me.  I just want to move our brand into as many territories as possible.  Then I want to go home.”  

“To your husband?” Moretti raises one eyebrow.  “Children?”

“Yes, with my husband.”  She clarifies, looking around for Roman.  She sees him leaning against the wall, watching her intently and she feels profoundly relieved and immediately stronger and more self-assured.  She can do this.  She can evade Moretti’s interest and she can find what she came for.  “And I have children.  All grown now, of course.”  The music comes to an end, and they come to a rest close to where the musicians are laying down their instruments to take a breather.

“Ahhh, yes I remember now, your biography mentioned you did have children.”  Moretti catches the eye of a waiter who brings them more champagne.  “Three, or was it four?”

“Two.” Marlena has memorised her own biography so if he is trying to catch her out, he will have to do better than that.  “I have two girls.  Sonia and Caroline.  Sonia works in advertising and Caroline is studying medicine.”

“Mmmmm…. Do you like our little fresco, Signora?” Moretti asks, waving his arm casually at the huge painting in front of him.  It is Tiepolo’s “The Meeting of Antony and Cleopatra” and it is, quite honestly, stunning.

“Gosh,” she breathes as she takes in the beautiful artwork, “I’d read about it, of course but I wasn’t expecting it to be so big.  It’s… just beautiful.”

“It is more than two hundred and fifty years old.”  Moretti nods his head.  “It has survived floods and wars and countless masquerade balls.  It is one of the true hidden gems of Venice.  I like to have my little parties here so that people can see the true beauty that our country has to offer.”

“May I?” she steps forward, away from his embrace as though making to study the painting.

“Of course.”  He regards her for a moment and then turns to Roman, who has moved up behind him, determined to remove Marlena from Moretti’s orbit.  “Mr. Webb.  I have been remiss.  Grazie for letting me steal your wife for a few minutes.  I am sure you would like her back now.”

“My wife is free to do as she wishes,” Roman says curtly but nonetheless carefully.  “But yes.  I would like to cut in.  If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” Moretti steps aside and ushers Roman towards Marlena, who is still studying the fresco.  “I will be back later to make some introductions.  Right now, I have some new guests to attend to.”

Roman nods and moves alongside Marlena, putting his arm possessively and protectively around her.

“What was all that about?” he murmurs as he looks up at the fresco.

“He was asking questions.” Marlena does her best not to let her concern bleed through into her voice.  “He apparently takes an interest in his invitees.  He wanted to know who I was and what I was about.”

“Anything we need to be worried about?” Roman watches the musical ensemble re-take their places.  “We should dance.”

Marlena says nothing but allows him to curl his arm around her waist.  As always, their bodies feel like they fit together perfectly as he takes her hand and holds it against his chest.  It’s not a ball dancing hold but he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t want to sweep around the room with her.  He wants to find a quiet corner of the room and just hold her while he has the opportunity.  Also, removing her from Moretti’s view adds an extra incentive.

“Doc?” he guides her around the edge of the room towards an area that is less well-lit, where he hopes they can linger while they observe the general demeanour and movements of the room and in particular, their host.

“I don’t know, Roman,” Marlena frowns.  Moretti had been charming and there had been no hint of a threat but his allusion to Rosalinde had been unnerving.  It could be just a casual coincidence.  But what if it’s not?  

“If there’s any chance he knows who you are, Doc, we should leave.  Now.”  Roman’s voice is low and urgent as he pulls her towards the wall.  She looks around the room.  She can count at least three of Moretti’s men who are watching them.  They’re making it look as casual as possible, but she can feel their eyes on her.  Another scan of the room and she finds Allesandro Moretti looking straight at her.  He smiles and raises his glass, and she nods her head and forces a smile before she turns back to Roman.

“I don’t think we can leave now without arousing suspicion.  And I can’t.  I need to find the drive.”

“Marlena, it’s too risky.” Roman hisses.  He has also seen Moretti’s men monitoring their movements.  And he doesn’t like the expression on Moretti’s face when he looks at Marlena.  It’s not just interest, it’s…. he’s seen men look like that before.  There’s a grasping kind of vindictiveness poorly hidden behind the silver masque.  The Italian mobster is covetous and quite possibly vengeful and he’s not a man that is used to being denied.  “I have a really bad feeling about this.  If he knows who you are… he’s not going to just let you waltz upstairs and recover this drive.”

“I realise that.”  All Marlena’s senses are on high alert, and she knows what Roman is saying makes perfect sense.  Alessandro Moretti is a violent and controlling man and if he catches her trying to steal from him, he will have no compunction in killing her.  But if she turns tail and runs now, will Stefano give her any more mercy?  Will Carrie and Will still be safe in his custody?  “Roman, I can’t.  I have to at least try and retrieve this drive.”  She touches his arm with her hand.  “I can do this.  You need to trust me.”

“I’m scared Doc,” he says in a low voice.  “I almost lost you a couple of weeks ago.  I can’t go through that again.”

“You won’t,” she shakes her head and then turns to glance around the room again.  She needs the assurance that Stefano’s men are here as Kushnirenko promised they would be.  Stefano had promised that he would ensure her safety and that he wouldn’t let her be hurt again.  As much as she hates to have to trust Stefano, she is quite sure he means what he says in this case.  He wants her for his own, he’s not about to carelessly compromise her safety.  But it’s impossible to know for sure.  If Moretti takes such an interest in his guest list, anyone Stefano has introduced into the venue will either have to have had their identity well disguised or slipped in via alternate methods.  Kushnirenko is highly unlikely to have walked in as a single male guest but given his unorthodox appearance, he is equally unlikely to be passing as a waiter.

And then she sees him standing near the fireplace, his arm casually draped around the shoulders of a female companion, a forest green and black masque settled on his crooked nose.  His eyes meet hers and one corner of his mouth curls up in a smile.  Then he laughs at something the man standing across from him has said and his attention is gone as swiftly as his eyes had settled on her.  But it is definitely Kushnirenko, and that is all she needs to be assured that Stefano has kept his promise.  To the best of their ability, they will ensure she can do the job she has been sent to do. 

“He’s on his way back over here,” Roman murmurs behind her and her heart starts to pound as she sees party guests parting to facilitate Moretti’s passage across the ballroom.

“I thought you would be dancing Signora,” Moretti says when he reaches them.  “Signor Webb, you do not wish to dance with your beautiful wife?”

“We were just admiring the dazzling spectacle you have put on Signor Moretti,” Marlena takes a glass of champagne from the tray that has appeared along with the host and hands it to Roman.  She takes another for herself and takes a mouthful waiting for Moretti to get to his point.  

Moretti raises an eyebrow and nods with a smirk.  “Of course,” he concedes.  “If you have never been to a Venetian ball, I can understand you may just wish to let the experience wash over you.  But please, do dance.  I wish for all my guests to enjoy themselves.”

“Of course,” Marlena nods, taking another mouthful of the bubbly champagne.  “And we are.  Thank you for your consideration.”

“Ah, I promised to make some introductions, did I not?” Moretti suddenly seems to remember her reason for making an appearance at the ball.  “Yes, now,” he turns and surveys the room.  “Let me see, who might be of use to you?”

He doesn’t wait for a suggestion from her, instead, he marches off across the room, a gaggle hangers-on, heavies and sycophants in tow.

“Doc, if he brings over someone who knows what they’re talking about….”

“I know, I know.” Marlena can feel her heart pounding in her chest.  This is not going according to plan and Moretti’s attention is worrying, and potentially deadly.  “As long as his attention is on us, we’re not going to be able to find a way to get out of here and get up to his appartment.  We need some kind of diversion.”  

She looks to where she had seen Kushnirenko before Moretti’s reappearance and finds him starting straight at her.  His smirk has disappeared now, but he gives her a curt nod and turns immediately to speak to the broad-shouldered young man next to him.  She watches the young man depart the group and watches Kushnirekno dip his head towards his collar and sees his lips move she knows immediately that they are all wired, including she and Roman and everything they are saying is being closely monitored.  

A moment later there is a loud crash and loud voices and then a woman screams and there is an eruption of noise and action at the far end of the room.  Suddenly there is jostling, and Moretti and his men are pushing past people to get to the melee which seems to be increasing in volume and activity at the end of the room.  Marlena looks at Kushnirenko again and he nods at her and then in the direction of the large, vaulted arch that serves as both the entrance to, and exit from, the ballroom.  

She says nothing, just nods back, takes Roman by the hand and pulls him after her as she hurries towards the archway.  Moving against the tide of people they are bumped and shouldered and eventually separated as they navigate their way out of the ballroom.  

When Marlena reaches the door to Moretti’s appartment, Roman is no longer with her, but she can’t wait for him.  She has to get in and out before Moretti realises that she is gone.  She pulls a key out of her bra and looks around as she smoothly inserts it in the lock.  No-one is paying any attention to her as she pulls the door ajar and slips inside.  She closes it behind her, but she doesn’t lock it.  She’s worried about Roman, but she can’t afford to waste even a second.  She needs to find that damn flash drive and get back down to the ball before Moretti realises that she’s gone.

Swiftly she mounts the stairs to the apartments and consults her memory as to the layout.  The living quarters overlook the Grand Canal and that seems the logical place for him to display the ill-begotten Degas, so she starts there.  A cursory sweep of the room however tells her that her assumption is incorrect.  Moving down the hallway, she makes her way into Moretti’s study.  This is a different building, different apartments to the last time she was in Moretti’s company, but still, the sight of his well-appointed office brings back memories that she would rather that she hadn’t uncovered.  The fear rises in her throat as she wonders once again where Roman is.

“Damnit!” she slams her hand down on the desk as she finishes examining the walls.  The painting is not here either.  That leaves one more likely place.

She moves back down the hall and pushes open the door to the room that had been labelled as Moretti’s bedroom on the plans she had studied.  His tastes clearly haven’t changed in ten years.  She looks at the ornate four-poster bed in distaste.  The ropes attached to each post indicate his fetishes have only grown since she was last here.  The large cabinet next to the bed probably holds much more in the way of the bondage and ‘discipline’ implements he favoured, although, as she recalls, his version of discipline bordered on torment.  His pleasure at the pain he could inflict far outweighed his concern for his partner’s pleasure and safety and on the day he had found her in his office, his true nature had broken through the paper-thin façade he barely maintained on a day-to-day basis.  And she’d had no doubt he would follow through on his threats.  

Swallowing down her distaste and the shimmer of fear that sits below it, she steps into the room and surveys the walls.  And there it is.  On the wall opposite the bed.  The painting she has been looking for.  Stepping over to it, she lifts it off the wall and turns it over.

She runs her fingers around the inside of the frame to find the compartment where the flash drive has been secured.  When she finds it, she slips the concealing flap of canvas aside and presses her fingers against the barely discernible buttons, making sure to press them in the correct order.  In short order, the compartment flips open.  But it is empty.  Where the flash drive should be, there is nothing.  

“Oh God, no!”  She presses shaking fingers to her mouth as she stares at the frame.  If the drive is gone then in all likelihood, Moretti has it.  And if he has it, he must know Stefano will want it back and that he has sent someone to retrieve it.

“Looking for this, Signora?”

Her head whips around at the sound of Moretti’s voice and she sees him at the door to the bedroom, a small black box between his thumb and forefinger.  His smile is greedy as he steps into the room, and she can feel the malevolence rolling off him in waves.

Behind him, Roman is half pushed, half pulled through the doorway, flanked by two of Moretti’s henchmen.  One of them holds a gun at his head and Marlena can see his jaw is bruised and his eye is already swelling.

Moretti walks over to her and takes the painting from her.  She looks from Moretti to Roman and back again as he places the painting carefully back on the wall.

“So, we meet again, Signora Gardner.  My Natasha.”  He turns to her and glides his fingers up her cheek.  With a flick of his wrist, he removes her mask and drops it on the sideboard that sits against the wall where they stand.  “Or should I call you Grace DiMera?  Or perhaps, we should just go back to the beginning.  Doctor Marlena Evans.”

Marlena can’t help the tiny gasp that betrays her surprise.  She had halfway expected him to have recognised her as Natasha Gardner, her alias when she had been in Venice and in his bed last time.  But that he knows her as Grace and furthermore knows her real identity, is a complete shock.

“You’re surprised that I know your secrets?”  He laughs, removing his own mask now.  “Dear Natasha.  You think I would allow you to infiltrate my house, my life and then walk away with no recriminations?”

“Alessandro,” she tries to protest, “that was more than ten years ago.  And I didn’t do anything.”

“Not for want of trying though, was it Natasha?”  His smile is ugly now.  “If I hadn’t caught you snooping that day, what would you have taken back to DiMera?  What would you have found and taken from me, eh?”

“Nothing.”  She shakes her head desperately aware of Roman and wondering where Kushnirenko and the rest of Stefano’s men are.  “Nothing happened.”

“And nothing has happened tonight.  Yet.”  Moretti holds up the flash drive.  “DiMera sent you for this, yes?”

She swallows.  She has no explanation, no lie to offer him.  

“What makes you think that I work for him?” she tries to divert his attention.

“Ha, well now, that is a story.  When you escaped, Tasha, I made it my mission to track you down.”  Moretti moves around behind her and leans over her right shoulder, speaking so close to her she can feel his hot breath on her ear.  She knows he is watching both their reflection in the full-length mirror that lines the wall next to the door as well as Roman’s reaction to his words and his proximity to her.

“Even back then I had a network of informants, many of whom work ostensibly for my ‘competitors’.  But, DiMera hid you well.  By the time I discovered that you were in Paris and with him, he was already spiriting you away.  I tracked your progress across Europe, first Lisbon, then Vienna, then back to Paris.  But each time, by the time I knew where you were, DiMera had already moved on.  But I kept watching and waiting.”  He takes a strand of her hair and curls it around a finger, grinning as Roman starts but is held in check by the men either side of him.  “And then you disappeared completely, Natasha.  For several years, there was nothing, no word of you.  And then finally I got the information that DiMera was living in Salem and he was infatuated with a beautiful blonde doctor.  And as soon as I got pictures of you… well, there you were.  My Natasha.”

“You’ve known where I was all this time?” Marlena asks.  She is trembling and she hates herself for it.  Knowing that he was out here, watching her and she hadn’t even been aware of his existence is… well it would be frightening if there wasn’t so much to already be terrified of.

“All this time,” Moretti nods, his voice low and oily.  “But all the information I had told me that you and DiMera were doing a much better job of making each other miserable than I ever could.  So, I opted to just leave you to it.  But then you had to get yourself an invitation to my little soiree and, well, since this” he waves the drive in the air “had just come into my possession, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”  He moves his hand from her hair to the side of her neck and slides it down over her décolletage and breasts until he reaches the left side of her waist.  Then in a single movement, he spins her around and pulls her in to him, anchoring her to him with a strong forearm across the back of her neck.

“Marlena!” Roman cries from across the room as he tries to struggle from his captor’s grip.  The cold muzzle of a pistol in his neck brings him up short and he has to watch helplessly as Moretti leans his head against Marlena’s and murmurs in her hear.  Her sob is so loud he can hear it from where he stands and despite the gun, he struggles again to get to her.  “Leave her alone, you bastard!” he shouts at Moretti seconds before one of his guards slams the pistol butt against the side of his head.  He slumps against his captors, dazed and he hears Moretti laugh and Marlena shouting his name.

“Take him to the study,” Moretti tells the guard with the gun.  “I would like some time alone with Natasha here before I am done with her.  You can bring Mr. Brady back when I am ready to show him what happens to people who cross me.”

The guard nods and they drag a still dazed Roman from the room.

“Well, Natasha,” Moretti tosses the flash drive on the sideboard next to the masques.  “Shall I call you Natasha?  Or would you prefer Grace.  Or Marlena?”

 “Does it really matter what you call me?” she asks icily.  “If you’re going to kill me, names seem rather irrelevant at this point.”

“Mmmm, you may have a point.” Moretti opens a drawer in the side table and pulls out a large, serrated survival knife.  He runs his finger delicately over one side of the shining blade and then draws it back across the top of his finger.  “Before I kill you, however….  I believe that last time we met there were some things I promised I would do to you.”  He slides the blade down her cheek and she feels the bottom drop out of her stomach.  “And you know how I hate to disappoint, bella.”

“I’d rather you just kill me and get it over with.” Marlena says dryly.

“Ah, this is not optional, my dear.”  He lays the cold blade of the knife against her cleavage.  “I am telling you what is going to happen, Natasha.  I will fuck you.  And I will hurt you.  Then I will bring your husband in here and he will watch me kill you.  And he will be next.”

Marlena thinks for a moment that she might throw up.  She has no doubt he means every word he says.  And she has nothing with which to fight him apart from her words and her wits.  

Moretti says nothing more, but without any pre-emption, he drags her across to the bed and suddenly wraps his fingers around the top of bodice of her dress. With wrenching slashes, he saws the knife through the layers of satin and lace, splitting the top of the dress in two.  Marlena yelps as the point of the knife slices her skin in places as he roughly rends her costume.  When he reaches the skirts he takes the fabric in his hands and rips it, tearing it to the floor so that she stands in the ruins of her dress and the lacy white lingerie that Stefano had picked out for her.  

Marlena’s eyes fill with hot, angry tears.  Where the hell is Kushnirenko?  Where is Stefano?  Does she stall as much as possible in the hopes that Stefano will prove as good as his word and send his men to her rescue?  Or does she assume that because Moretti is here and Kushnirenko is not that Moretti’s men have subdued the DiMera contingent and there will be no rescue?  Does she fight or does she try and delay Moretti as much as possible?

Can she delay?  Moretti wants to degrade and violate her.  She won’t let him do that to her.  Not without a fight.  In the past few moments, Kellam Chandler and Orpheus have both materialized in her memory.  She can almost see them standing behind Moretti, smirking.  She won’t let this man take what is left of her dignity, not if she has a single breath left in her body.

“Do you want me to hurt you, Natasha?” Moretti winds his hands in her hair and wrenches her head back painfully.  He looms over her, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a grimace.  She knows he wants her to beg.  He gets off on pain and fear.  But she won’t give him the satisfaction.  He can take her life but she’s damned if she’ll give him anything willingly.

Instead, she spits in his face.  Immediately, the smile disappears, replaced by an ugly scowl and he backhands her across the face so hard that she falls back onto the bed.

“You’ll regret that,” he tells her as wipes his cheek with his sleeve.  

“How so?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  “You’ve already told me you’re going to rape and torture me.  And then you’re going to kill me.  Really, what more can you do?”

“Make it very slow and very painful.” Moretti strips off his satin coat and undoes the cuffs of his shirt.  “And, in case you think Papa DiMera is going to come to your rescue, my men are dispatching his, as we speak.  You think that I was unaware that they created that diversion so that you could make your way up here?”  He gives a brittle mirthless laugh as he strips off his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt.  “I was waiting for it, Natasha.  I knew the plan; I knew every move you were going to make before you even did.  I made sure that Stefano’s spies were given access to the key that unlocked my apartments.  DiMera thinks he is so clever and yet he sent you, his puttana d’oro, straight into my trap.”

“Sei un maiale vile e misogino,” the burst of Italian comes from nowhere, surprising her even as she utters it.  

“You say that like it’s an insult and I should be offended.”  He smirks at her and she decides suddenly that she’s had enough of this.  Bringing her hands up, she pushes him back and tries to get up from the bed.  But she is unbalanced by her semi-destroyed dress, the weight of which now mainly hangs behind her.

Moretti steps forward and pushes her back down onto the bed.  She won’t submit to him though.  She hits out at him and tries to roll out from under him.  He uses a knee to pin the dress to the bed and tries to capture her wrists with his hands.  She slaps at him hard and while he catches one of her wrists in a vice like grip, he misses the other flailing hand and she manages to rake her nails across his face.  At the same time, she curls one leg up underneath her and uses it to lever him away from her.

“You should be,” she pants as she tries to scramble back across the bed.  “If you had any decency, you would be.”

“But I don’t,” he sneers as he pulls at her dress, dragging her back towards him.  “I don’t have to be decent.  I am one of the most powerful men in Italy.  I take what I want.  Who I want and how I want.”  

“You’re not taking me!”  She raises her foot to kick him away but he catches her ankle and uses his own legs to pin hers to the bed.  It all happens so fast as he hits her again, so hard this time that the room spins as she tries to regain her equilibrium.

And then his fingers are around her throat and with his other hand, he takes her wrists and pins them above her head as he leans over her.  “Oh, really?  Is that correct?”  He kisses her then and sliding his lips along her jaw, he suddenly nips her hard so that she yelps in surprise and pain.  

“It’s one of the perks of the position I am in Natasha.  I can indulge my fetishes,” he reaches back and pulls the knife from where it is tucked in the waistband of his pants. “I can inflict pain.”   He brings the razor-sharp point of it to her cheek and draws it over her skin.  Marlena closes her eyes and bites the inside of her lip to stop from crying out.  It is a glancing wound but it stings and it is only a flavor of what he intends to do to her.

“I can make you cry,” he slides the knife down to her breasts and makes another, this time, deeper cut.  Marlena turns her head, hot tears sliding out from under her eyelashes.  “I can make you scream.”  He moves the knife down to where the reddened scar from the bullet-wound still marks her skin.  And he slowly slides the tip into the center of the wound and twists it.  Marlena presses her lips together, trying to contain the pain but as the knife moves deeper into her flesh and spirals, she can’t suppress the scream of agony that escapes her.

“Good, good.  Now we understand each other.” Moretti withdraws the knife and lays it on the bed beside her head.  When she opens her eyes she is staring straight at it.  The blade glistens with her blood.

“Look at me Natasha,” he orders her as he fumbles with the waistband of his pants.  “I want to see your eyes when I fuck you.  When I make you scream.”  

After a moment, she complies but where he is expecting to see terror, pain and shame, her expression is hard and her eyes glitter dangerously.

And then it comes.  The sound of gunshots and shouting.  

Moretti reflexively loosens his grip on her wrists and looks towards the open doorway, confusion and concern clouding his face.  

It is the tiny lapse of attention that she needs.  In one fluid motion, she wrenches her right hand from his grasp, reaches across herself and grabs the hilt of the knife.  And then she swings her hand back.  In any other circumstances, any other woman, it would have just been a wild slash with a hope and a prayer to do enough damage to get her attacker off her.  

But not this moment and not this woman.  As she swings her arm, she repositions the knife in her hand and she applies the right amount of pressure as she draws her hand in a smooth, controlled arc across Alessandro Moretti’s throat.  

Moretti’s eyes widen as he feels the sudden bite of the blade and it severs both his jugular and carotid arteries on the right side of his neck. 

Marlena brings up both her feet and uses them to push him away from her and as she does so, the blood starts to spray from his neck in bright scarlet gushes.  By the time he clutches at his throat and falls to his knees, she has been covered in expansive spatters of his blood.

She stares at him as he falls face forwards onto the expensive silk rug beneath her feet, his blood obliterating the pattern where it pools.

“Merde!  Bien joué, cherie.  I would have liked to have seen you do that.”  

Marlena’s head snaps around to the doorway where Kushnirenko stands panting.  

“You… those gunshots…?”  She doesn’t quite have the composure to form full sentences, but he gleans her meaning.  

“Yeah.  That was us.”

“I…”  She looks back at Moretti’s body and then at Kushnirenko, her eyes wide.

“You’re welcome.” He tells her gruffly.  “Now get that dress off you.  You need to get out of here.  More of Moretti’s men are coming.  And the police, no doubt.”

Marlena stares at him, struggling to understand what has just happened and what he is saying.

“Move it cherie, you don’t have any time.  You need to get out of this building.  Now!”  He pulls a robe off the back of the door and throws it at her.  That action is enough to kick her brain into some kind of action and she struggles out of the ruins of the blood-soaked dress.  She gasps in distress as she wraps the robe around her wounded body, but she does her best to ignore the searing pains in her chest and abdomen as she limps across to where the flash drive lays abandoned on the sideboard.  She swipes it up and tucks it into the watertight container sewn into her bra.  Then she moves to where Kushnirenko waits in the doorway. 

He watches her as she does all this, a grudging admiration spreading across his face.  He can see from the way she moves and the bloodstain slowly blossoming as a darkened circle through the robe that she is injured and yet she doesn’t make a sound.  Giving it a moment’s consideration, he steps into the room and over Moretti’s body.  Grabbing the knife from where she has dropped it on the floor, he turns back to the doorway and hands it to her, handle first.  “You need to take this.  It has your fingerprints all over it.”  The sound of gunfire and shouting intensifies and it only takes him a moment before he empties the clip out of his gun, inserts a new one and offers it to her.  “All the exits are likely to be covered.  If you can’t find another way to get out of this building, you might have to shoot your way out.”

Marlena looks at the gun for a long moment, her long-held distaste and instinctive fear of firearms at war with the fear she feels.  And she knows she’s also fighting to disavow the comfort that the Grace part of her takes from having a weapon in her hands along with the skill and expertise to use it.

“Take it,” Kushnirenko urges her.  “You’re going to need it.” 

The image of Roman with a pistol aimed straight at his head makes up her mind for her and she takes the gun from him.  Settling it in her right hand, she feels the warmth and familiarity of the grip as her palm curls around it and feels oddly reassured.  “What about you?” she asks, surprised at his generosity.

Kushnirenko nods back at Moretti’s lifeless body.  “He’s a mobster.  There will be guns in this room.  If you go now, I can find one before they get this far.”  He gives her a gentle push.  “Nearest exit is in the living room.”

“Where’s Roman?” she asks, holding her left fist, knife enfolded in it, against the wound in her abdomen. 

“Forget your husband.  Get out of here before Moretti’s men get in here and find what you’ve done.  You’ll be dead for sure once they catch you.” Kushnirenko tells her bluntly.

“I’m not leaving without him!” Marlena says angrily.  It is unconscionable to think she would leave without Roman. She would die rather than leave him behind.  They will kill him in an instant once they know Moretti is dead. 

“Foolish woman!” Kushnirenko spits.  “Infuriating zhenshchina!”  He gives her a push towards the doorway.  “I do not know where your husband is.  Do not get yourself killed trying to find him!”  He pauses and then he speaks into his collar again.  “Lei è in partenza. Coprila.”

“Go!”  He tells her.  “The men will cover you the best they can.  There are only a few of us left so be quick.”

She nods and as the shouting resumes, she slips out of the room, ducking and running as the gunfire resumes.

She already knows where she’s going.  Without consciously thinking it, she knows where he is.  Moretti had told his men to take Roman to the study and that is where her body is taking her, as though on autopilot.  She gives a yelp as a bullet narrowly misses her and is embedded in the wall scant centimeters from where she is staggering to the doorway at the end of the hall.

~

In the study, Roman sits in a chair, his arms tied to the arms with ropes pulled so tightly his fingers are turning numb.  It had taken him long minutes to regain his senses when he had been brought here and dumped in the chair but when he had come to enough to figure out what was going on, he had maintained the charade of being semi-conscious with the hope that he could take at least one of his captors by surprise at an opportune moment.

And then he had heard Marlena scream and his blood had run cold.  Instinctively, he had lashed out at the man on his right and had managed to unbalance him and send him sprawling.  As luck would have it, the man hit his head on the desk on the way down and had been knocked unconscious.

Unfortunately, Roman had lost his balance along with his adversary and by the time he had recovered, the muzzle of a gun was in his neck.  That hadn’t been enough to stop him, however.  Something terrible was happening to Marlena and he was damned if he was going to sit by and listen to that animal take her apart, piece by piece.

His reward had been another blow of the butt of the pistol against the back of his head and a second period of unconsciousness.  When he had come to this time, he had found himself tied to this chair, the muffled sound of gunfire coming from down the hallway.

The second guard is still out cold, propped up against the wall beside the door now.  And the remaining man is standing in front of the closed door looking uncertain.  

“If your boss is in trouble and he thinks you’re hanging out here, shooting the breeze with me, he’s not going to be happy.” Roman comments knowingly.

“Sta ‘zitto!” his young captor replies, clearly terrified by the choice he knows he must make.

“I’m all tied up,” Roman shrugs, pulling on the ropes as if to underline his point.  “Not going anywhere.  If that helps.”

The man shoots him a glare and then sighs and starts to open the door.

To his surprise though, it flies open, knocking him back and Marlena enters the room, brandishing a gun which is pointed straight at him.  He immediately, in turn, points his gun straight at Roman.

Roman’s heart thumps painfully at the sight of her as she kicks the door closed behind her.  She’s alive.  She’s alive but she’s covered in blood and she’s clearly in pain, clutching at the place Stefano’s bullet entered her stomach several months ago.  A dark maroon stain has mushroomed across the robe that is wrapped haphazardly around her blood-slicked body.  And clenched in that hand across her body that seems to be the only thing keeping her upright is a survival knife.  Caked in drying blood.

“Put down the gun,” she says in a low, hard voice.

“I will shoot him.” The young man’s voice is trembling.  He was in no way prepared for this. This woman, that his boss was supposed to be punishing, standing here, wild-eyed, blood spattered across her face and in her hair.  Her hands encrusted with it, drying into the creases of her knuckles.

“Shoot him and I will kill you in the most painful way you can imagine,” she narrows her eyes.  “Put. The. Gun. Down.”

He hesitates and looks at her and then at Roman.  As he does, she takes the opportunity to step forward in her stockinged feet and lifts her knife to his throat.

“I’ve already killed one man tonight,” she tells him quietly.  “Another won’t make much difference to me.”  And not looking, she flips the hand with the gun behind her and fires.  The guard behind her who had been starting to rouse, screams in pain as a bullet tears through his knee-cap.  Marlena shrugs as she brings the muzzle of the gun back to the side of the man in front of her.

He swallows painfully and carefully lays his gun down on the corner of the desk.

“Good boy,” she whispers gently.  “Now go and sit next to your friend over there.”

He complies in short measure, and she watches him sit, his knees up in front of his chest, his face murderous before she slides the gun across the desk until it is in front of Roman.

“Doc!” his brows are furrowed as he watches her limp around the desk to him.  

“Not now Roman,” she shakes her head.  “We have to get out of here.  Now.”  She swaps the gun and the knife between her hands and uses the serrated blade of the knife to carve through Roman’s bonds.  When he is free, he picks up the guard’s weapon as she surveys the room.

“There’s no good way out,” she tells him, raising her gun.  “So, we’ll have to take a bad way.  Take off your coat.”  She fires four shots into the glass window at the far end of the room so that they form a horizontal line and then thrusting both the knife and the gun into a pocket of the robe, she takes Roman’s hand and pulls him after her as he shrugs off the satin morning coat, dropping it on the floor behind him.

On disrobing the heavy outer layer of his costume, Roman realises her goal and despite the blows to his head, he’s in significantly better shape than her so it’s easy for him to put on a burst of speed, reaching the window before she does.  Turning partly side-on, he uses his shoulder to crash through the already splintered window and pulls her through after him.

Chapter 18 – Canali e Cannule

And then they are jumping and falling and falling, the air bitingly cold, snatching the breath from their pained lungs.  And all the time they are running and falling, their hands hold fast bringing them a sliver of stability in a world that is spinning around them so fast that they can’t see the truth any longer.

And then they hit the water and it closes over their heads and the warmth of Roman’s hand is torn from Marlena’s.  And for long, terrifying moments her world is dark and silent and agonisingly painful, and she can’t breathe.   There is nothing but blackness and water in every direction and she doesn’t know which way is up.

Each kick against the heaviness of the water is torture and her lungs are bursting, and she starts to think that maybe this is it.  Maybe she has escaped Moretti just to die in a Venice canal.  And then she thinks that maybe that is the way it should be and there are far worse ways to die.

With a shock, she emerges from the icy water, and she inhales large, excruciating gasps of air.

“Roman!” the shout erupts from her as she spins around in the water, frantically searching for him.  “ROMAN!”  She flails in the freezing water but he’s nowhere to be seen.  “ROMAN!” she screams and then she feels something brush against her leg and she reaches down.  Her fingers close around the lace of his shirt cuff and then he is gone, and she screams in fear and frustration.  

Taking a deep breath, she dives under the water and ignoring the pain in her stomach, she searches for him.  

Through the dark, murky water, she sees a flash of light, what might be Roman’s shirt and she reaches out for it. 

It is him and she draws him into her arms and kicks desperately to break the surface of the water.  When she does, she realizes that he is unconscious, and she looks around desperately to see where they are.  Canal de Cannaregio is a large waterway off the Grand Canal and there is a bridge fifty off meters away and on the other side of the canal there are buildings with doors that open straight onto the canal.   But she will have to get Roman there along with herself and her strength is rapidly dwindling.  She can barely keep the two of them afloat, let alone get them through the choppy, ice-cold water  

“Roman!” she gasps.  “Wake up honey.  I need you to wake up.  I need you to help me.”

But he’s a dead weight in her arms and she feels herself sinking again, his weight dragging her down.  Despite the fact that they are no longer wearing the heavy costumes that would have pulled them immediately to the bottom of the canal, she is not sure how much longer she can keep the two of them afloat.

To make it worse, she is unprepared for the bow wave of a boat that suddenly breaks over her head.  Her mouth is full of water, and she can barely hang onto Roman as they both start to sink beneath the surface of the canal.

And then she feels hands on her and she is rising, breaking the surface and the pain in her stomach is searing as she is dragged over the side of a speed-boat and deposited on the water slicked deck.  She hears shouting and a large splash and then there are several men hauling Roman into the boat.  He is followed onto the boat by the man who had jumped in to retrieve her husband.  Someone gives a barked order, and the boat is suddenly moving down the canal, away from the Palazzo and the chaos of sound and light that surrounds it.

“Roman!” she crawls over to him.  “Roman.”  She brushes the hair back off his face but it’s a moment before she realizes his lips are turning blue.

“He’s not breathing!” she shouts frantically.  She doesn’t know who these people are, but she can only presume that if they’ve been fished out of the canal, their immediate safety and health is a priority.

“Here, let them have some space,” one of the men folds a foil blanket around her shoulders and moves her backwards while two more kneel beside Roman and commence mouth to mouth and CPR.

“Oh god, please let him be all right…” she moans, clutching at the hand of the man who is gripping her shoulders, helping her stay upright while she watches the others try and save her husband.

It feels like forever, the breathing and the pumping and the breathing again and she moans as the pain washes over her in waves.  

And then Roman gasps and rolls over, coughing up large mouthfuls of water.

“Oh God, thank God, Roman!” Marlena scrambles over to him, forgetting both her companion and the hypothermia blanket in her relief at Roman’s recovery.  “Oh honey, I was so scared.  You weren’t breathing.  I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Doc,” Roman pulls her into his arms and immediately winces at her gasp of pain.  “Marlena, you’re hurt.”

“It’s okay.” She nods, shivering.  They are both freezing cold, and the pain is starting to overwhelm her now.  Now that they are safe for the moment.  “I’ll be okay, Roman.”

With that, her eyes roll back in her head, and she slumps against him.

“Doc!  Marlena!” Roman strokes her face, trying to rouse her.  “C’mon baby.  Don’t do this to me.”  He looks around him and seems to notice, for the first time, where they are and their companions on the boat.  “She needs a doctor,” he tells the one closest who holds a foil blanket.

The man nods and looks at his companion who stands behind Roman.  The other man nods and speaks into the phone that he is already holding to his ear. 

Roman pulls on the cord that secures the robe that is plastered to Marlena’s body.  When it is loosened, he peels back one side of the robe.  He is intensely relieved to note her lingerie is intact but he gives a low moan when he sees the two wounds that Moretti has inflicted on her.

“Oh Marlena,” he whispers against her pale face.  “Baby, please forgive me.  I should have stopped him.”

One of the men crouches down beside Marlena and nods at the crumbling Venetian building that they are coming alongside.  Roman understands the silence from these men.  They know that despite the dunking in the canal, there’s an outside chance that any listening devices might have survived and DiMera could be listening to everything that’s happening.  

Roman nods and lets them peel Marlena away from him.  He watches as they wrap her in the hypothermia blanket and between them, they lift her out of the boat through the door of the non-descript building they are floating outside.  

Then he lets them wrap another foil blanket around him and takes the hands offered to help him disembark. 

Inside the building, he is momentarily blinded by the lights, and he allows himself to be led to a small utility room where he quickly strips his clothing and steps into a hot shower.  He rapidly cleans the filthy canal water off with anti-bacterial soap before he turns off the shower and rubs his hair and body down with a warm towel.  Then he accepts a robe which he wraps around his wiry frame and steps back into the interior of what is clearly an ISA base of operations.  

A man and a woman sit in the open plan kitchen, hunching over laptops, both with headsets on, listening to conversations.  A second man is on a mobile phone holding a low but fairly urgent conversation.  

“Roman!” A familiar English accent cuts across the hum of the technology and Roman swings around to see Shane stepping through a doorway and across the room to where he stands.

“Shane!”  The brothers hug gratefully.  “Damn, I didn’t know you were here.  Bo didn’t tell me.”

“I asked him not to,” Shane admits.  “I felt you had enough to deal with, trying to navigate things with Marlena and knowing DiMera is keeping tabs on you.”

“Confirmed Shane, two wires – one in Mr. Brady’s shirt, one secreted into Dr. Evan’s bra.”  One of the techs interrupts the conversation.  “But both were DOA, neutralized by the dip in the canal.” 

Roman expels a sigh of relief.  They had been as careful as possible on the boat, but he knows things had been said which would raise Stefano’s eyebrows had he heard them.  

A young man in dark clothing hands Roman a glass of brandy and motions to the table where there are a couple of hot, steaming cups of tea waiting.

“Where’s Doc?” Roman asks suddenly, realizing that she’s not in the room with them.

“The doctor is seeing to her.” Shane nods to the now closed door across the room that he had emerged from earlier.  “She’s fine Roman, she’s in good hands.  Come and sit down and tell me what the hell happened in that place.”  He moves across the room to the low coffee table where the tea awaits them and waits for Roman to join him before he seats himself.

“It was a set-up.” Roman sighs as he eases his aching body down onto the sofa and takes a large mouthful of the brandy.  “Moretti knew exactly who Olivia Allard was before we walked in the door.  He was waiting for us.”

“He knew?” Shane looks shocked.  “Do you think Stefano set you up?”

Roman pauses, swirling the brandy around the glass as he thinks about Shane’s question.  Had the old man set them up for failure?

“No,” he says finally.  “That doesn’t make sense.  DiMera wouldn’t put Marlena in that kind of danger, deliberately.  Moretti’s reach appears to be more extensive than any of us knew.  From what he told Doc, he’d tracked Grace back to Salem not long after she escaped San Christobal.”

“Bloody hell,” Shane shakes his head.  “Why didn’t we know about that?” He looks around at one of his fellow agents who shakes his head.  “I would never have allowed either of you to walk in there, had I known that.”

“I don’t know that you would have had a choice,” Roman empties the brandy and places the tumbler on the table with some force.  “Have you ever tried to stop Marlena doing something when she’s determined?”

Shane gives him a rueful smile.  “We both married rather stubborn women,” he says and both men sigh at the same time.

“As soon as we arrived, Moretti targeted her.  He was too interested in her, too… I don’t know. There was just something that raised my hackles.”  Roman’s lips thin as he considers the way Moretti had swept Marlena onto the dance floor and her unease when he had finally relinquished her.  “I wanted to cut our losses and get out of there before he had the chance to recognize her.  I think she knew, or at least suspected that he knew who she was.  But she wasn’t going to walk out of there without at least trying to do DiMera’s bidding.”

“She’s more frightened of DiMera than Moretti?” Shane shakes his head.  

“She’s frightened for Carrie and Will.” Roman clarifies.  “And me.  She’ll do anything for the children, you know that.  She’d take a bullet for them.  She’d take one for me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows.  She’d done just that mere months ago.  He does know Marlena, only too well, and this whole situation worries him more and more by the day.

“Roman, did you know that Moretti is dead?” he asks gently.

Roman closes his eyes and winces.  He takes a big breath and runs his index finger across his eyebrow several times as he tries to construct his next sentences in his head.

Shane silently motions to a young agent to replenish the brandy in Roman’s glass which he does, silently.

“I was afraid of that,” Roman admits, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair.  “Shane… I’m fairly sure it was… Marlena who… was responsible.”

“Marlena… or Grace?” Shane second guesses.

Roman sighs again and picks up the glass, swirling the liquid around as he stares at it morosely.  He considers Shane’s question carefully.  He has been asking himself the same question since the moment Marlena limped into Moretti’s study; knife in one hand, gun in the other.  He’s only too well aware of Marlena’s abhorrence for weapons, guns in particular.

She had handled that gun like it was an extension of her body.  Like she had spent years training and practicing and using guns without a second’s hesitation.  Like Grace had taken over.

And yet.…  And yet.

“I don’t think so,” he shakes his head slowly before lifting the tumbler to his mouth.  “I mean, I know Grace fooled me before.  And I know whatever happened in that room-” he sees Shane looking at him questioningly and realizes that he hasn’t yet told Shane the details of the night’s events.

“The moment we arrived, Moretti took too much of an interest in Doc.  He made a point to greet us and lead us into the ballroom and before I knew it, he was dancing with her.  She did her best to look interested and grateful for his interest, but I could see she was worried.”  Roman takes another mouthful of the brandy.  “She wanted to get up to his apartments and get out of there as quickly as possible, but she was pretty sure he was watching her, or at least had men stationed to watch her.  I guess she knew DiMera had people listening into us, so she suggested that DiMera’s men create some kind of diversion.”

“I’m assuming they acted on that suggestion?” Shane picks up his cup of tea and takes a mouthful.  The first indication that there were any problems at the ball had been reports of a disturbance in the ballroom which had roused the interest of the Italian carabinieri.  By the time they had arrived there were reports of gunshots.  The ISA already had a couple of boats on the water and agents staged at strategic points around the Palazzo.  They hadn’t, however, been able to successfully infiltrate the guest list of the ball itself which had caused Shane some extra worry.  “How many men did Stefano have in there?”

“Enough to cause some chaos.  But not enough to stop Moretti’s guys grabbing me.”  He gulps down the last mouthful of brandy and growls as it sears its way down his throat.  “I knew then we were in trouble.  They grabbed me, roughed me up, but just let her go.  They damn well watched her unlock the door and head upstairs to Moretti’s quarters.  That bastard just wanted to give her the time to incriminate herself.”

Moretti’s malevolent smile as he sauntered towards where Roman struggled with three captors had made Roman’s stomach flip.  In the ballroom behind him, the disorder was spreading but Moretti paid it no mind.  Instead, he had come to where Roman now had a gun pointed at his head.

“He didn’t bother with the pretense then.  Just told me he knew who I was, who ‘Olivia’ was and who she was working for.  That he’d been waiting for more than ten years to see her again and finish what they had started before she had run out on him.  I told him he wasn’t going to lay a finger on her and next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back.”  He indicates his bruised eye which has swollen almost shut at this point.

“I’ll get the doctor to check you over once she’s seen to Marlena,” Shane nods.

“It probably looks worse than it is,” Roman shrugs.  He’s had worse injuries and he’s far more concerned about Marlena’s wounds right now.  “By the time I regained my bearings, things were settling down in the ballroom.  Moretti’s men had a bunch of DiMera men at gunpoint so Moretti, content that everything was under control, headed upstairs in pursuit of Doc.”

He pushes himself up from the couch and walks over to the window, looking out over the darkened canal.  The ISA has set up this safe house in the canal equivalent of a back street and given that it is getting on for midnight, there is not much in the way of lighting or activity out there.

“She was in the bedroom with the Degas when he got to her.  He greeted her by name.  Her false names and then her real name.  He knew it all.  And he knew she was there for the drive.  He already had it.  He’d known she was coming, and we walked straight into his damn trap.”  He slams the heel of his palm against the wall.  It had been one of the worst moments of his life, being dragged from that room, hearing Marlena’s sobs and knowing what Moretti intended to do to her.

“I should have done something!” his whisper is tortured.  “Damnit!  I left her there with that evil bastard.  It’s my fault.”

“I doubt that was your choice,” Shane says kindly.  He’s standing behind Roman and lays his hand on Roman’s shoulder.  “You say Marlena would take a bullet for you.  Has taken a bullet.  One thing I know for sure Roman, you would do anything in your power to protect that woman in there.  You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“They knocked seven bells out of me,” Roman admits.  “Hit me with the butt of the gun.  Before I even knew what was happening, they had me in the study.  But still. Marlena was left alone with that madman, Shane; and he made it clear what he was going to do to her.”  His eyes fill with tears as he recalls the knife wounds on Marlena’s chest and abdomen.

“There have been unsubstantiated rumors for years about Moretti’s sexual … proclivities.” Shane admits wearily.   “There have been women in his orbit that have just disappeared but none of the ones that survived his attentions have been willing to talk.”

“What?!”  It takes a moment for the implications of what Shane is saying to register with Roman.  But when it does, a wave of rage overtakes him.  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before we went in there?” Roman spins Shane around and slams him up against the wall.  “For God’s sake man, I NEVER would have let her walk into that fucked up situation if I had known that.”

“Roman,” Shane holds up a hand to stop the others in the room from intervening.  Then he puts his hands on Roman’s chest and gently pushes him away.  “Honestly, I was so close to pulling this whole operation.  I wish I had now.  I thought we were going to get operatives into the building and then at the last minute that fell through, and I almost pulled it then.”  He sighs tiredly.  

He’s lost a lot of sleep over this whole situation over the past few days.  He’s spent hours daily poring over documents, discussing strategies with those in charge.  But the reality is, until they can get some lead on where Stefano is, or where he’s keeping Carrie and Will, they are really at his mercy.  To do anything other than tread the narrow path he has laid out puts Carrie and Will in danger.  And Marlena knows that better than anyone.  Trying to persuade her otherwise would be a hopeless task.

“But like you said Roman, Marlena is stubborn.  If she’s not going to do what you tell her, what the hell hope have I got of getting her to listen to me?”

“But if she had known what kind of man Moretti is….”

“Roman, I’m pretty she knew.” Shane says gently.  “Moretti’s penchant for inflicting pain isn’t exactly a new thing.  I think Marlena knew exactly what kind of man he is… was… before she walked in there tonight.  But like you said, she feels she has to protect Carrie and Will at all costs.”

“At the cost of her own life?”  Roman flicks away a tear and turns away to the window, unwilling to let the agents in the room see him crying.  “Dammit Shane, it’s not worth it.  I can’t stand by and watch her sacrifice her own life for Carrie’s.”

“I know.” Shane nods.  “Look Roman, I understand, believe me.  I love Carrie too, but I know how I would feel if it was Kim in this situation.  It would be intolerable.”  He sighs and lays his hand on Roman’s shoulder.  “Trust me, no-one here likes the way tonight went down.  We’ll debrief, work out where things went wrong and make sure this doesn’t happen again.  Okay?  And if Marlena decides she doesn’t want to indulge DiMera any further, then we pull the pair of you out and we figure something else out.”

Roman turns and stares at Shane, his expression pained.  They both know Marlena will not make that choice.  She will never walk away while the children’s lives are at risk.  That’s not who she is.     

“I thought I was gonna lose her Shane,” he whispers.  “I heard her scream, and I couldn’t do anything.  I mean, I tried but they knocked me out again.  By the time I came to, I was tied up and I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the sound of Marlena’s terrified screams.  He knows already that sound will haunt him until the day he dies.  Marlena in fear for her life, Marlena in agony and him, powerless to do anything.

“And then there was gunfire,” he continues leaning against the wall.  He doesn’t want to think, imagine, visualize what Moretti had done to her in that room.  What he would have done to her if she hadn’t escaped him.  However it was that she had done that.  “I don’t know… I guess it was DiMera’s goons facing off with Moretti’s.  And I thought if I could just persuade my guard to check what was going on.  But when he opened the door…”

He swallows painfully at the memory of Marlena limping through the door, one hand wrapped around the handle of a blood-soaked hunting knife and the other expertly wielding a Heckler & Koch USP.  

“There was so much blood, man.  She was covered in it.  And I didn’t know whether it was hers or someone else’s.”  He can see it all, as if it’s seared into his brain.  She had blood on her face and in her hair and all over her hands and she was wearing a robe that was plastered to her body and he knew the dark shadows where the fabric stuck to her were blood.

“I could see she was injured from the way she was moving but she didn’t pay any attention to that.  Her focus was singular, and that was to get us both out of there, whatever it took.”  He tells Shane how she had held a knife to the young man’s throat and casually dropped the fact that she had just killed a man and that she would have no qualms about killing another.

“Moretti?”  Shane asks, but it’s merely rhetorical.  They both know it has to have been Moretti.  She had been alone in a room with him and he had made it clear that he planned to rape and kill her.  And then she had stumbled into the study with a knife and a gun and now, Moretti was dead.  The math was obvious. 

“Moretti.” Roman nods and sighs.  “And then without blinking, she shoots the other guy, the guard on the floor in the leg to incapacitate him.  Shane, she didn’t even look.  She either knew exactly where he was, or she just didn’t care if she killed him.”

“That doesn’t sound at all like Marlena,” Shane notes, his concern growing.  

“I know, but Shane, Laura was adamant Grace couldn’t come back.  She described it as… she said Grace had shattered and that facets of her still existed but scattered through Marlena.  That Marlena wasn’t just Marlena anymore but Marlena with bits of Grace.” He thinks of Marlena’s coldness in Paris and certain expressions he has caught on her face, and he knows this is true.  There is plenty of Grace glittering within his wife, just waiting to be triggered with the wrong word or action.  But for her to coalesce into a fully formed personality again?  If he is to believe Laura, that won’t happen.  Can’t happen.

Or can it?

“I don’t know for sure,” he concedes.  “It was all so fast.  I just, I did what she told me.  I didn’t have time to ask any questions.  When I realized she was planning to jump from the window, I just went with it.  What else could I do?”

“From the second story window,” Shane reminds him with a shake of the head.  “You’re damn lucky both of you survived.”

“If she hadn’t made a point of getting me out of that room, I wouldn’t have survived, Shane.” 

“I guess that’s the single best argument for her still being Marlena.” Shane reasons.  “Surely Grace would have just saved her own skin?”

Roman pauses for a moment, considering Shane’s words.  “I don’t know, man.  Grace… damn, I mean, she was hard work and yeah, she hated me at the beginning.  She had every reason to, with all the bullshit Stefano had used to brainwash her.  But then we spent time together and there was any number of times she could have made her escape.  That’s not to say she didn’t try at the start.”  

He smiles ruefully as he remembers her attempt to escape him at the gas station on their road trip south.  And even later in the woods above the Ocoee River gorge when she had twisted her ankle trying to make her escape.  But all the time, the tension between them had been palpable.  He had fought with everything he had not to give into her.  She had Marlena’s face and body, but she wasn’t the women he loved.  Still, he hadn’t been able to deny the magnetic pull she had on him.  And he on her.  She wasn’t Marlena… and yet she was.

“But we were drawn to each other.  By the time we made it to New Orleans, she had definite feelings for me, Shane.  There’s a lot about that time I haven’t told anyone but suffice it to say, I don’t think Grace would have left me to the mercy of Moretti’s henchmen.”

“You loved her.”  Shane is astonished.  He’s heard plenty from Bo and Hope about Grace and the things she had done to both the family and to Roman.  He can’t imagine how Roman could have any kind of positive feelings towards her, let alone love her.

“She was a part of Marlena,” Roman shrugs.  “Not the best bits, sure enough.  But while we were on the run from Stefano, I got to understand her.  I got to see beneath that hard, brittle exterior.  I got to see the broken, vulnerable woman underneath; I saw what Stefano had done to her.  I understood why she was like she was.  And there was the connection between us.  It was still there, no matter how much we tried to deny it.”

The sound of a door closing catches the attention of the two men and they turn to find the doctor exiting the room.

“Dr. Rossi. How is she?” Shane is the first to ask the question that is on everyone’s mind.  

“Dr. Evans should be just fine.” The doctor is an older woman with cropped iron-grey hair and thick glasses perched on a fine roman nose.  Despite her Italian name, she has a distinctly Scottish accent.  “I have cleaned and stitched up her wounds and we’ve bathed her.  I’ve put her on an antibiotic IV and given her some painkillers and a sedative.”  She sighs and shakes her head.  “The poor lassie has clearly been through an incredibly traumatic experience; she needs a lot of rest.  You must be gentle with her.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” Roman asks, still desperate to know exactly what had happened to her in that room with Moretti.

“No.  I’m afraid not.”  The doctor shakes her head. “And if she had I probably wouldn’t tell you.  However, as it happens, she regained conscious only briefly, but she was too agitated and would not speak to me.  She wanted to know where you were,” she nods at Roman, “but my first priority was to make sure her injuries weren’t life-threatening.   I had to sedate her in order that I could work on her wounds.”

“Can you tell us what you think happened?” Shane asks trying to waylay Roman’s inevitable outrage that he had been shut out of the room when Marlena had been asking for him.  “Given the evidence of her injuries I mean.”  

“I would say your man Moretti took a knife to her,” the doctor says bluntly, anger flashing in her slate grey eyes.  “She has three wounds, two merely flesh wounds but she has extensive scarring on her abdomen from a previous injury and there she has a deeper laceration.  It’s not a clean wound, he clearly meant to do significant damage and cause her pain.  Thankfully it doesn’t appear to have nicked any of her internal organs but I want to keep her under observation for at least twenty-four hours to be sure.”

The doctor indicates the sofa.  “Mr. Brady, please sit down so that I can examine you.”

“I’m fine,” Roman says dismissively, his voice low and hostile.  “I want to see my wife.”

“As I mentioned, she’s been sedated, and she’ll not be awake for a while yet.”  The doctor’s tone becomes curter and more authoritative.  “You look like you’ve taken your fair share of the beating tonight.  It’s my job to check you over and make sure there’s nothing more serious than a black eye to worry about.”

“Sit down Roman,” Shane says wearily.  He knows Roman’s about to argue again, and he also knows Dr Rossi is correct.  Roman has had several blows to the head and he could well be suffering from concussion or even a skull injury.  They can’t afford to miss anything; they’ve already messed up this mission far too profoundly.  “The quicker you let her examine you, the quicker you can see Marlena.”

Roman sighs and reluctantly allows himself to be led to the couch.

“Doctor,” Shane says carefully as the doctor shines a light into each of Roman’s eyes in turn. “Marlena, can you tell us if …. her state of mind…?”

“I cannot speak to any previous diagnosis,” the doctor says.  She has been briefed on the history of Marlena’s dissociative disorder and the alternative personality that had taken control but to make a judgement on whether that was an issue in this incident would take more time and psychiatric experience than she has.  “I would say, in the short time I spent with her, that she is exhibiting all the behaviors I would expect for someone who had just been through the kind of trauma that she has experienced.  Anything more than that… I would suggest you get a qualified psychologist in to make an assessment.  I would suggest that anyway to be frank.  Your girl has been through a hell of an experience.  She should be debriefed and assessed for potential post-traumatic symptoms.”  She nods and steps back. 

“Mr. Brady, I’m giving you a clean bill of health.  A few painkillers should ease your head while you recover from that black eye but there is nothing more serious to be concerned about.”

“Thanks,” Roman’s throat is tight, and he forces out the words almost painfully.  “Can I go and see Marlena now?”

“Yes but try to let her sleep.”

Roman nods and leaves Shane to thank the doctor as he makes his way to the bedroom.  Opening the door, he slips silently into the dimly lit space.  

She lies pale and still, the IV trailing into the cannula which has been inserted under the waxen skin of her hand.  He traces his fingertips across the tape which holds it in place.  There is a bandage covering the cut on her face and her hair is still damp from the bath they have given her.  

“Marlena,” he whispers and leans over to press a soft kiss to her forehead.  “I’m here, honey.  It’s okay baby, you’re safe.  You can sleep now.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”   

~

“Where IS she?” Stefano screams at the scarred man before him. 

“We’re looking,” the DiMera employee is too experienced to flinch before Stefano’s rage but even so, he feels a flutter of a misgiving deep in his belly.  Close to a dozen men were killed in a shootout with Moretti’s men tonight and in the chaos, the American woman and her husband had escaped the Palazzo.  There were unsubstantiated rumors that they had leapt into the canal and the evidence of the broken window in Moretti’s study adds weight to that theory.  But beyond that, there is no trace of them.

“Looking?” Stefano slams a glass on the desk in front of him and stalks to the end of the room and then back to where the other man stands.  “Looking is NOT GOOD ENOUGH.  I want you to FIND them.  NOW.”

The subordinate nods and beats a hasty retreat from the darkened room.  Stefano lets out a guttural snarl as he looks heavenwards.  Tonight was disastrous, he’d sent Marlena into a spring-loaded trap and she’d barely escaped with her life.  Assuming, of course that she has survived.  There is no sign of her anywhere.  

Kushnirenko had been holding off Moretti’s men and any eyes Stefano had outside the Palazzo had been called in to back up their besieged colleagues.  And no-one had seen Marlena exit the building.  He had never intended for her to be ensnared by Moretti.  He had wanted to test her, to push her towards the skills and temperament she had developed as Grace.  He wants her to reclaim the Grace within her, to value it as he does.  But he had not wanted this.  Never this.

“Oh Marlena,” he says softly leaning on the desk and bowing his head.  “Marlena, what have I done…?”

Chapter 19 – Tempo di Verità

She gradually becomes aware of the soft murmuring of voices as she claws her way back to consciousness.  She shifts to try and make out where the noise is coming from and yelps as she feels a pulling, tearing pain in her side.  

“Heeey,” Roman comes into focus above her and she can’t help the sob of relief that erupts from her.  She has no idea what’s happened or where she is but just the sight of her husband is enough to calm the panic that is bubbling inside her.  “Hey, pretty lady.  How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she croaks.  “Roman, what happened?  Where are we?”

And then suddenly she remembers Stefano’s wires and she pushes the bedclothes down to inspect her body.  She’s been sure for a while he’s secreted wires in her clothes, even down to her underwear and her first instinct is to employ caution.  Seeing that she is wearing a soft cotton nightdress, her brow wrinkles and she looks up at Roman.

“It’s okay Doc, we’re in an ISA safehouse.  They checked for listening devices, but it seems they were all deactivated by our dip in the canal, so Stefano didn’t hear anything after we left the Palazzo and he can’t track us.  We’re safe for the time-being.”

“Oh.” Marlena pulls the covers back up to her neck, suddenly self-conscious about the bandage on her chest.  She doesn’t feel safe.  It’s all coming back to her now.  The ambush by Moretti and what he had intended to do to her. The knife deep in her scar tissue.  Kushnirenko handing her his gun.   The escape with Roman out of the second-floor window and their plunge into the icy waters of the canal.  And the rescue by, what must have been, ISA operatives.

Roman sits gently down on the edge of the bed and lays a warm hand on her arm.

“Honey, do you want to tell me what happened up there?” he asks her softly.  

Her heart pounds in her chest as she shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears.  How can she tell Roman that she killed a man tonight?  That she took a knife and slit his throat.  She can’t even pin this one on Grace.  This one was all her.

“Marlena,” a familiar voice comes from across the room, and she hears the movement of someone getting up and moving towards the bed.

“Shane?” she asks in confusion.  Shane Donovan, here in Venice?

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he tells her with a genuinely love-filled smile.  “How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Roman laughs softly.  “Doc, Shane came to oversee the ISA operation in Venice.  They’ve been tracking us since we left Paris and Shane’s been feeding me information through Bo and Hope.”  He takes her hand apologetically, stroking the back of her fingers with his thumb.  “I couldn’t tell you before now because I didn’t want to risk Stefano hearing.”

“It’s a given that DiMera knows that the ISA have agents on the ground, but I’d rather not hand him the details on a silver platter.” Shane agrees.  “Not that I’m afraid we’ve been much help in this case.”  He gives a heavy sigh and shakes his head, contemplating, not for the first time, how close they’d come to complete disaster tonight.  A dead Moretti isn’t ideal but it’s far preferable to a dead Marlena.

“You saved us,” Marlena demurs.  “We would have drowned in that canal if your men hadn’t fished us out.”

“I would have preferred it hadn’t gotten to that stage.” Shane responds grimly.  “Marlena, we know Moretti is dead.”

She inhales sharply and looks away for a moment, trying to collect herself.  She doesn’t want to think about it.  She doesn’t want to think about any of it.  She just wants to sink back into the oblivion that she has only just fought her way out of.

“It’s okay Doc,” Roman tells her.  “He was an animal.  He deserved to die.”

“No-one deserves to die, Roman,” she tells him angrily.  Moretti might have been an animal, but he was a human being and she believes that every person has the capacity to repent and change and become a better person.  She has seen it happen too many times in her life to deny that is a fundamental truth.

“He was going to rape you, Marlena,” Roman says angrily and then he suddenly stops and looks at her, fear flashing across his face.  He doesn’t think that Moretti had had time, but he had been knocked unconscious.  How is he to know what the hell happened in that room?  “He didn’t…?”

“No.” Marlena’s voice softens now.  “No.  It’s okay honey.  He got distracted by the gunfire.  He was in the middle of… he had a knife….” she doesn’t want to give Roman and Shane a blow-by-blow account of the way Moretti had taken his threats and started to carve them into her flesh.  She’s pretty sure they’ll be able to extrapolate the bare facts from the evidence scored into her skin.

“He’d put the knife down…” she pauses recalling the way Moretti had ordered her to look at him.  He’d gotten as far as undoing his trousers before the shooting had started.  

“You took advantage of his distraction and grabbed the knife,” Shane extrapolates.  He can see the battle she is having, and he understands it only too well.  In all these years he has never gotten used to taking lives.  “Marlena, it was self-defense.  You did what you needed to in order to survive.  No-one is going to blame you for that.”

“I know.”  Her tone is flat and colorless.  “Don’t look at me like that Roman, I’m not going to fall apart.  I meant what I said, he didn’t deserve to die.  No-one does.  But I’m smart enough to know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t…” she swallows.  She doesn’t want to say the words but if she’s going to own this, the fact that she took a life, then she needs to be unequivocal in naming it.  “If I hadn’t killed him first.”

“Neither of us would be here if you hadn’t, Doc,” Roman says with a raised eyebrow.  

“Neither of us would be here if Stefano’s men hadn’t fought their way into Moretti’s apartments.  If it hadn’t been for them, I don’t know that I could have… done what I did.”  She shudders as she recalls the warmth of his blood on her hands and the shocked look in his eyes as he clutched at the gaping wound in his throat.  “I feel sick,” she moans.  Shane looks around and picks up a plastic container left nearby by the medical staff.  He thrusts at Roman who holds it under Marlena’s head as she alternately retches and gasps with the pain.  When she is done, Roman gently hands her a cloth and takes the bowl away, emptying it in the bathroom.

“It’s okay, Marlena,” Shane tells her softly.  “it’s okay to feel all the things you’re feeling.  To know you did the only thing you could do but to still feel the guilt and disgust and to wish you could have done anything but that.”

“Don’t you think that I know that, Shane?” she snaps angrily.  “I’m a psychiatrist, for God’s sake.  Feelings are my specialty.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Shane holds up his hands.  “I’m just trying to help.  Your specialty might be feelings, but my specialty is this kind of work and I understand only too well the feelings that come with it.”

“Look, I slit open a man’s throat tonight.”  Her voice is brittle and full of fury.  “Your words and my feelings aren’t going to change that.  Talking about the fact that Stefano put me in a position that I was almost raped and murdered tonight isn’t going to change it either.  Nothing is going to change anything that happened.”  She groans, laying her hand protectively over the throbbing injury in her stomach.  “Or anything that *is* going to happen.”

“What do you mean by that?” Roman asks from the bathroom doorway.  He’s heard the conversation and her words have made the bottom fall out of his stomach.  He’s never heard her talk to anyone like this, much less Shane.  At least, not as Marlena.

“You know what I mean…!” she turns on Roman, still full of fury and vitriol.  Her rage is mainly at Stefano and at this situation that she can’t escape and at the sight of Roman’s stricken face, her anger deflates, and her shoulders drop.   Her brow furrows and her tone softens as she pleads with him to understand her impossible dilemma. 

“I mean, Stefano is purposely putting me into positions that require me to call on the skills I learnt as Grace.  And situations that mean I’m having to uncover the memories of the time I spent as her.”  She runs her hand wearily over her face.  “I don’t think he expected things to go quite as badly off-key as they did tonight but if any of us think he’s going to back off putting us in compromising and dangerous situations then we’re deluding ourselves.”

“Then we have to stop this now,” Roman says firmly as he comes back to Marlena’s bedside.  This has to end, and it has to end now.  This will end up destroying all of them if he lets it go any further.

“No.” She shakes her head with finality.  “We’ve talked about this Roman.  I can’t walk away.  It’s Carrie and Will’s lives at stake here.  And I have to think about Sami, Eric, Brady and Belle too.  There is nothing to stop Stefano taking all of my children, if he decides he needs the leverage.”

“Has he threatened that he will do that?” Shane asks, the concern clearly etched on his face.  It’s not something that they haven’t considered.  After Will’s abduction, all Marlena and Roman’s children have a 24-hour security detail but that’s not likely to bring Marlena much comfort.

“He has.” Marlena doesn’t see the point in hiding the fact that she has been speaking with Stefano.  “He’s threatened the children and he threatened Roman’s life if I don’t do everything he tells me to do.”

Roman shakes his head.  He’d known that the old man had threatened his life and probably the kids too but hearing her say it so bluntly, knowing that she has been carrying that knowledge and fear inside her without being able to tell anyone… it’s unbearable.

“How does he contact you?” Shane wants to know.

Marlena sighs.  “By phone.  He sent me a cell phone.  So sometimes he calls me when he knows I am alone.  Other times he contacts me by text message.  Sometimes it’s by letter although that’s more the information that he is using to try and come between Roman and me.  But,” she takes a deep breath, “in Paris, I awoke to find him in to my room one night.” Her tone is so matter of fact that it takes Roman’s breath away.  He’d known Stefano had been communicating with her but the fact that he’d been brazen enough to come to her in person and she hadn’t told him hits him like a blow to the chest.

“Doc!” he shakes his head, not able to find words to communicate his feelings.  Not really knowing how he feels, even.

“Roman…” she doesn’t have the time or energy to comfort him right now.  “I couldn’t tell you.  He listens to everything.  He sees almost everything.   I had to push you away, I had to put distance between us.  He forced me to do that.  He wants me to embrace the Grace still in me and he wants you to watch what I become and what I will do for him.  He wants you to lose faith in me.  He wants you to choose to walk away.”

“That will never happen,” Roman tells her fiercely.

“If it doesn’t, I am afraid he will kill you.”  She has tears in her eyes now.  “Part of me wants you to walk away Roman, because if you don’t…” she bites her lip, trying to quell the emotions threatening to spill out.  “He told me if I…. if we made love again, after Paris, he would have Kushnirenko kill you.”

“Kushnirenko?” Roman asks, trying momentarily to place the name.  “The goon you met up with last night?”

“You knew about that?” Marlena is confused for a moment and then then remembers the context of her dinner with Kushnirenko. “Of course you did.  There was an agent there.  Mikhail took great delight in pointing him out.”

“Mikhail?” Roman is taken aback with the familiarity with which Marlena refers to Stefano’s brutish hired gun.

“It’s easier to say than Kushnirenko,” Marlena shrugs, almost carelessly.  “But quite honestly Roman, he saved our lives tonight.  He provided the diversion in the ballroom, and he was the one that led Stefano’s men into the apartments.  He found me right after I killed Moretti.  He made me pull myself together and he gave me the gun that helped me rescue you.”

Roman doesn’t know what to say to that at all.  The idea that Marlena is on first name terms with a thug like Kushnirenko and furthermore sounds like she feels grateful towards him is almost more shocking than the fact that she is so matter of fact about killing Moretti.

“Marlena, while none of this comes as a particular surprise, I *am* concerned about everything you’ve just told us.”  Shane takes a deep breath, carefully considering his next words.  He is more than concerned.  Roman might be convinced that she’s Marlena, and he might be right, but Shane isn’t totally buying it.  And even if she is, she’s clearly conflicted and she is compromised by Stefano’s threats and emotional blackmail and bullying.  He needs a professional opinion on her state of mind and whether it is safe to allow her to continue to follow this course that Stefano is charting for her.  It feels very much like she is swimming in Stefano’s current and is inches away from being swept out of their reach.  Even if she wasn’t his sister-in-law, Shane can’t in all good conscience continue to undersign this route of action if it risks Marlena’s safety, sanity or quite possibly, her life.

“I’m going to have an ISA psychologist come by and debrief you in the morning.  Then we can talk further about what we do next.  I know you’ve said you’re not willing to walk away but we do have options and I think we should consider pulling you out of this.”

“Let me save your psychologist the time Shane,” Marlena’s tone is dry, and she raises one eyebrow.  “I’m perfectly sane. I am Marlena, not Grace. I am not suffering from dissociative personality disorder or any other disorder for that matter.  I know exactly what’s going on here, I know the risks are and I am willing to take them to save my children’s lives.” 

“Doc, we need to talk about this,” Roman starts.

“NO.” The word is a staccato burst of sound in the small, darkened room.  “No, Roman.  How many times do I have to tell you this?  There IS no other way.  Stefano has had time to plan this down to the last detail.  He is constantly five steps ahead of us.  I have no choice but to follow the course he has laid out for me.”

“Of course you have a choice,” Roman hisses angrily.

“What?  To face Sami and tell her I chose to leave her little boy in Stefano’s hands?  The choice to tell Anna that she will never see her daughter again and she will never meet her grandchild?”  She shakes her head firmly.  “Roman, I can live with having killed a man tonight.  I can live with the risks I need to take in order to secure Carrie and Will’s freedom and my family’s safety.  Your safety.”  She softens now, her tone and her expression pleading with him to understand and to accept that for her, there is no acceptable alternative.  “What I couldn’t live with is putting my own safety before that of everyone I love.  I just can’t do that, don’t you understand?”

“I just… I can’t lose you, Doc,” Roman sinks to the bedside and takes her hands in his.  “If the choice is between you and the children…  I can’t make that choice.  But I know can’t lose you.”

“You don’t have to make that choice, honey.  It’s my life and my choice to make.” She lifts her hands to his face and cups it between her palms.  “Roman, I love you all *so* *much*.  There is *nothing* I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Roman’s voice is little more than a sob and the tears welling in his eyes threaten to blind him.  He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he contemplates what she is telling him.  What she is asking him to do.

There’s no knowing what Stefano has in store for Marlena or the lengths that he will ask her to go to.  He knows she means it when she says she will do anything.  He’s not sure she will be able to live with anything and everything Stefano requires of her, though.  While there is Grace inside her, she is still fundamentally Marlena and he knows her deeply moral core will find much of what Stefano might ask of her absolutely abhorrent.  If she was willing to hand herself over to the police for the things that Grace did, how will she live with what she might have to do before she comes to the end of this journey?

For Marlena’s part, she has no such concerns.  The safety of her family is the only thing she cares about.  She is altogether certain that Stefano’s endgame is not for her to end up as part of that happy family picture, so any thoughts of how she will live with the knowledge of what she has done are irrelevant.

A thought suddenly occurs to her, and she looks up at Shane.  “I had the flash drive that Stefano sent me to retrieve.”  It had been tucked into her bra and she can only hope that it survived the two-story descent into the frigid waters of the canal.  Otherwise, all this will have been for nothing.

“We have it,” Shane tells her gently.  “The techs are on it now, trying to crack the encryption.”

“Shane, it’s too risky!” Marlena’s voice shakes.  “What if he realizes someone has tried to break into it?”

“Then he’ll probably think Moretti had someone hack into it.” Shane reminds her quite reasonably.  “For all we know, he did.  But please Marlena, these guys are complete professionals.  They won’t leave any trace and if there’s any indication that it might be booby-trapped they won’t go any further.  But we have to see if we can find out what is on that drive.  What was so important that Stefano would send you, of all people in after it.  What’s on that drive that’s so important that he would put *your* life at risk?”

“I don’t think he had any idea that Moretti knew who I was,” Marlena shook her head.  Stefano is many things, but reckless with those things, or people, that he covets, is not one of them.

“Even so,” Shane frowns.  “There could be something on that drive that gives us some sort of information that leads to where he is keeping Carrie or Will.  Or gives us some kind of leverage over him.  If there’s even the smallest chance, then we have to take that risk.”

Marlena nods silently.  Shane is right.  Any nuggets of information about the DiMera organization could yield unexpected gems.  They have to grasp at any straws, no matter how slim the chance might be that they could supply any real clues to Carrie and Will’s whereabouts.

But in the meantime, there’s a bigger issue that they have to confront.  Stefano isn’t going to just want his flash drive.

“Stefano is going to be looking for us.” her shoulders slump as she leans back against the starched white pillows.  “And when he finds us, he’s going to want to know where we’ve been.”

“Don’t worry, we’re arranging a cover story.” Shane stands with one hand on his hip and runs the other through his curly, greying hair.  “But at this point, Stefano doesn’t even know if you made it out of the Palazzo alive.  We’re in the process of planting a news story that two bodies were pulled out of the canal.  It should buy us a bit of time.”

“Hey… can’t we make it more than a planted news story?” Roman asks eagerly, suddenly buoyed by hope.  “What if we could convince Stefano that Marlena actually *died* in the fall from the window?  Maybe we could buy enough time to find Carrie and Will?  Or to neutralize Stefano?”

“I’m afraid not,” Shane shakes his head regretfully and puts his hand on Roman’s shoulder to comfort his brother-in-law.  He understands Roman’s desire to grab at any sliver of a possibility that he won’t have to send Marlena back into DiMera’s twisted web.  “Stefano has men on the inside at every level of law enforcement in Italy.  This story will stall his search for a few hours at the very most before he discovers the truth.”

“Won’t it alert him of your involvement?  If he has any suspicion that the ISA is seeding these stories, he will know or at the very least, suspect, that you were sheltering us.”  Marlena looks worried.  Roman’s continued safety depends on Stefano believing whatever cover story Shane and his people concoct for her.  If he thinks they’ve been sharing information with the ISA, all bets will be off.

“It’s okay Marlena, we thought of that.  The story is legitimate enough that DiMera won’t have cause to think it was planted.”  Shane gives her a half-smile.

“You actually have bodies?” she asks, surprised, although she knows she shouldn’t be.  The ISA’s methods and means are often questionable, and she doesn’t really want to know where they came up with two bodies at such short notice.  

“You don’t need to worry about the details,” Shane says softly.  “We’ll discuss it more in the morning, but right now, I think you need to sleep, and I think we need to get out of here before Dr Rossi comes back and forcibly evicts us.”  

“I’m not going anywhere,” Roman holds up his hands.  “I’m going to sleep holding my wife and waking up holding her and no-one is going to stop me.”

“Roman… “ Shane wants Roman back out in the living area of the apartment.  He wants to discuss his concerns about Marlena and get his take on his wife’s state of mind.  But he can see from the mutinous expression on Roman’s face that persuading him that he should leave Marlena’s side is going to be an impossible task.  “The doctor said she needs rest.”

“I’ll rest better with him here, Shane,” Marlena says softly.  “You can speak to him in the morning while I’m convincing your psychologists that I’m mentally competent, okay?”

Shane looks at the pair of them as they look at each other.  He might as well not be in the room any longer.  With a sigh, he nods and beats a silent retreat from the room.

~

Stefano stares at the report on the desk in front of him.    DeGregorio had scampered in and thrust it at him before nodding his head and backing out of the room, looking altogether like a terrified deer, all eyes and gangly limbs.

On reading the first few lines of the story, Stefano understands why.

Two bodies have been recovered from the canal near the Palazzo Labia, the venue for the late lamented Allesandro Moretti’s ill-fated ball.  There are few details, other than the bodies are male and female and they appear to be dressed in clothes that would indicate they had been guests at the ball.

“No.”  It is little more than a whisper.

His Queen cannot be dead.  She can’t be.  He would know.  He would feel it if she no longer walked this earth.

He will not believe it, not until they bring him incontrovertible proof.  Until then, they will continue to search for Marlena and Roman.

Stefano reaches for the framed photograph of Marlena that sits on his desk and draws his thick fingertips over her lovely face.

“I will find you my Queen,” he tells her.  “I will find you and once I have you, I will never let you go.  Not ever again….”  

Chapter 20 – Tapdance al Limite

It is the early hours when Marlena awakes.  True to his word, Roman’s arms are curled around her, his breathing soft and steady against her ear.

She takes a deep, grateful breath and presses herself against him, wrapping her arm around his middle.  She wishes this moment would never end, or at the very least that she could bottle it and keep it with her for all eternity.  The intensity of the love she feels for him almost scares her it is so strong.  Maybe it’s the fragility of all this, knowing that it is coming to an end for her.  That this might be the very last night that she will ever spend in his arms, the last time she can touch him without fear, the last time that she can feel his warm body against hers, inhale his scent, feel his lips on hers….

Suddenly it is not just love she feels but lust.  She wants him so badly she can almost taste it.

“Roman,” she whispers softly.  When he doesn’t stir, she slides her hand inside his robe, threading her fingers through the warm hair on his chest.  “Roman, wake up.”

“Mmmmm?” he is still mostly asleep as she presses a soft kiss to his lips and slides her fingers down his back. 

“I need you,” she whispers in his ear.  “I need you, right now.”

“What?” he is suddenly awake and alert, looking around for the danger he assumes must be approaching.  “What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s okay,” she whispers, kissing him again.  “I’m safe, we’re safe.”

“You scared me, Doc,” he lets out a long breath.  

“Sorry, that wasn’t the reaction I was aiming for” she slips her hand down over his hip and he sucks in another, sharper breath.  “That was the reaction,” she gives a throaty chuckle as he groans.  “I need you to make love to me, Roman.”

“Marlena!” He grabs her wrist and removes her hand from where it is evoking extremely primal reactions.  “Honey, I can’t.  You’re hurt.  You’re supposed to be resting and healing.”

“I’m fine,” she smiles naughtily.  “Trust me, honey.”

“Doc, I don’t want to hurt you.”  He props himself up on one elbow and regards her in the low light.  He takes her hand and kisses her palm before placing it against his chest so that she can feel his still rapidly beating heart.

“You won’t hurt me,” she says softly.  “How could you hurt me?  Everything you ever do is to make me happy and take care of me.”

“Now you and I both know that’s not true,” Roman looks at her mournfully.  “I wish it was baby, but I haven’t always been the best husband to you.”

“You are now though,” she reassures him, “Roman, you have no idea how much I love you and how much I appreciate everything you do for me.  And you have no idea how much I want you right now.”  She takes the opportunity to kiss him again, snaking her tongue between his lips as her hand finds the back of his neck and she pulls him closer to her.

“Oh Doc,” he gasps as she kisses her way down his jaw.  “We can’t.  Baby, you’ve been badly injured, you need to rest.”

“I’ll be the judge of what I need,” she says throatily.  “Or maybe you can judge once…” she takes his hand and slides it between her legs so that he can feel how wet she is.  

He closes his eyes and groans again as she presses his hand against her and the breath hitches in her throat as his fingers slide inside her.

“Oh, Roman,” she throws her head back as he attacks her throat, his fingers sliding in and out of her slick warmth.  “Oh, God.  Mmmm, yes!”  It hurts as she moves but she ignores the pain and instead focusses on the sensation of Roman’s body moving against hers and the pleasure it brings her.

“More,” she gasps as the pleasure builds.  “Roman, make love to me.  I need to feel you.  Please…”

He sighs but she moans her desire once again and he’s lost.  Then he’s moving on top of her, ensuring his weight is supported by his elbows.  His fingers are gone and instead he’s inside her and it hurts but it feels so damn good.  And she is arching her back and then… and then the pain is so intense it is all she can do not to pass out.  She manages to cling to consciousness, but she shrieks in anguish, pushing Roman away from her.  

She presses her hands against her wounded stomach, and she rolls into a ball, moaning again, but this time in pain.  

“Marlena!” Roman is frantic as he looks from her to the door and then back at her again.  He doesn’t know if he should call for the doctor, or if he does whether Marlena will thank him for it.  “I knew it, I knew we shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t have….”  Oh god, what have I done?

“Stop!” Marlena sucks in stolen breaths between her words.  “Stop.  I wanted this.  I thought it would be okay.  I wanted….” she chokes back a sob, “I wanted so badly to be close to you.  I wanted…” she sobs again, and this time, she can’t stop.  She can’t stop crying and she’s not sure she will ever be able to.   It’s all too much.  No-one should have to face what she is facing.  No-one should be asked to make these kinds of sacrifices.

“It’s okay, baby.” Roman knows it’s not okay.  He knows his are empty words.  None of this is okay. 

Marlena continues to cry as though her heart is breaking. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out between fractured sobs.  “Roman, I can’t do it.  Please…”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says soothingly, enfolding her in his arms and kissing the top of her head.  “You don’t have to do it.  We’ll find another way.  We’ll talk to Shane in the morning, and we’ll figure something out.  I’m not letting DiMera near you again.  I promise you.”

He can feel the warmth of her tears as she buries her face in the curve of his shoulder and continues to weep.  He sighs silently, stroking her hair as he sheds his own tears for all the pain and fear they both live with every moment of every day.

Later, when her tears have burnt themselves out, she lays in his arms, his body curved around hers like they were designed to fit together.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  

“For what?” he nuzzles her ear.  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Doc.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” she echoes his words from earlier.  “I have so much to be sorry for.  I wanted to be close to you so much that I thought I could ignore the pain.  You knew the truth and I tried to convince you that you were wrong.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I understand, Doc,” Roman laces his fingers between hers.  “I get it.  We spend so much time telling ourselves that there’s nothing we can’t overcome, it comes as a shock when we have to admit that sometimes, we just can’t make things better with a kiss.”

“I’m so scared,” she admits.  She’s glad she can’t see his face right now.  Saying all this is somehow less dangerous when she can’t see him.  “I’ve never felt so out of control.  Not just the situation, but emotionally.  Roman, I’m a mess and I don’t know how to pull myself back together again.”

“You’re not superwoman, Doc,” he reminds her.  “You’re a hell of a woman, I’ve never met anyone as strong as you, but you’re only human.”  He kisses the back of her head and slides his hand down her arm.  “Quite honestly, you astonish me every day with the grace…” he stops and allows himself a wry grin, “you exhibit under pressure that would crush most ordinary people.”

“Do you really think there’s a way out of this?” she asks, a little desperately.  “Roman, I’m afraid of what he’s going to make me do next.  I’m afraid that he will ask me to do something unforgivable and that I will do it because …”

“Because he has Carrie and Will.”  Roman finishes for her.  “I’m not going to let that happen, Doc.  There has to be a way.  And we’re going to find it.”

Marlena says nothing but shifts slightly, nestling back against him.  The movement is enough to make him suddenly very aware of her once again, the smell of her, the sounds that she makes and the feeling of her warm, soft body next to his.

It’s been so long since he’s been able to lie with her like this that for a moment it’s a little overwhelming.

He slides his hand over the soft brushed cotton of a nightgown that shouldn’t be sexy but because Marlena is wearing it, he finds it utterly adorable and quite arousing.

“Oh,” she catches her breath as he brushes his hand over her breasts and she feels the evidence of his arousal against her hip.  “Oh, Roman….”

“Shhhh Doc,” he whispers against her ear.  “Don’t move a muscle.”  He reaches down and slips his hand beneath the cotton, lifting it higher as he moves his hand upwards.  He avoids the cotton gauze that covers her wound but cups her breast in his hand, flicking his thumb across her stiffening nipple.

“Mmmmm,” she sighs and presses herself back against him.  He nibbles at her earlobe as he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, gently squeezing it, which elicits delicious whimpers from his wife.

“I love you Doc,” he whispers as he uses his left hand to administer similar treatment to her other breast while his right hand retreats to the cleft between her legs.  She is wet again, so wet and warm that he can’t help the guttural moan that escapes him as he slides his fingers inside her.

“Oh God,” she gasps.  “Oh Roman, oh… oh…”

“You feel so good Marlena,” he whispers into her ear.  “Don’t move now.  Just let me feel you.  Let me feel how hot and wet you are.”  He plunges his fingers into her and then slowly slides them out.  He knows just how she likes it, just how slow and how fast.  He concentrates on her breathing and the ragged sighs and moans that tell him just how aroused she is.

And then she is moving with him, her sweet ass grinding against him as he continues to fuck her with expert fingers and for a moment, he is almost undone.  

“Nnnnggg,” he closes his eyes and wills himself to concentrate on her and her pleasure.

“Roman,” her voice is horse.  “Please… I’m so close.  I need you to fuck me now.  Please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement.  He withdraws his fingers and bends her forward as gently as he can.  And then he slides inside her and he’s still for a long moment, just savoring the moment, the communion, the connection he feels with her.  Her breathing is still labored but she takes his hand and presses his fingers against her.  

He swallows as she uses her own fingers against his so that with her guidance, he is rubbing her in small, circular motions.  It’s almost too much for him to bear when she commands him in a throaty whisper to fuck her.

Carefully, making absolutely sure this time not to hurt her, he starts to thrust his hips, moving in and out of her, all the while letting her hand guide his as she starts to crest the wave of her climax.

“Oh, Doc!” All conscious thought has just about evaporated as they move together, completely in synchronization.  “Oh God, I love you.  I love you so much.”

Her hips rock faster as she presses herself into their linked hands and he matches her speed, thrusting into her each time she relaxes away from the intense sensations elicited by the ministration of his fingers.

“Mmmmfff, Roman,” she gasps.  “Oh Roman, oh Roman, oh God…”

He knows she is teetering on the edge, and he whispers in her ear. “It’s okay baby, you can come now.  Come for me, Marlena.  Let me hear you.”  At the same time, he uses his thumb to roll her nipple against his forefinger.

It’s all she needs.  He hears the sharp intake of breath and her whole body tenses and then she’s bucking against his hand, crying out, shuddering her way through a long, intense orgasm.  And then he is with her, falling over the edge, the sensations rolling through him like a torrential wave.

When at last it is over, Marlena rolls over in his arms so that she can see his face. “Thank you,” she smooths her fingers over his cheek.  

“Thanks?” he asks, “what for?”

“For understanding how much I needed that,” she smiles but there is a sadness in her eyes that breaks his heart.  

“Marlena, it’s going to be okay,” he reassures her.  “I promise you.  We will find a way to get Carrie and Will back.”

“Mmmmm…” she nods drowsily.  

“Go to sleep now, baby; we’ll talk about it in the morning.”  He pulls her close again and kisses her forehead.  “But whatever happens, I promise you, I’m not letting Stefano hurt you again.  Not ever again.”

~

“Good morning,” Shane shoots Roman a knowing grin as he stumbles out of the bedroom in search of coffee.  “I trust you slept well?”

“Yeah, great.” Roman reaches gratefully for the steaming cup of black liquid that Shane hands him.  

“Sure sounded like it,” Shane allows himself a wry smile as he takes a mouthful of his own coffee.  He’d attempted to sleep on the sofa, and halfway through the night he’d had to stop several of his colleagues from barging into the bedroom when they’d heard Marlena cry out in pain.  He’d halfway been expecting it. He’d reassured them that if there was a real problem, Roman would be the first person to call for help.  After a while, he had been proved correct and everyone had returned to their work or to trying to sleep with a low level of embarrassed discomfort.

“Uh…” Roman has the grace to look embarrassed, himself.  “Sorry ‘bout that, man.”

“Is Marlena okay?” Shane waves away the apology.  

“Not really,” Roman admits.  “Physically she’s battered, but emotionally…” he sighs, “Shane, I have never seen her so broken.  I mean, you know how strong she is.”

“Strongest woman I’ve ever known,” Shane nods.  

“Not right now, she’s not,” Roman takes a mouthful of coffee and puts the cup on the counter and leans on it with his elbows.  He rubs his hands over his face wearily.  “She’s terrified and she can’t see a way out of this.  We have to find a way out.  I can’t let her walk back into Stefano’s game.  It’s destroying her.”

“You’re sure… it’s Marlena, not Grace?”  Shane knows the answer before Roman offers it, but he has to ask.

“It’s definitely Doc.” Roman nods.  “No doubt about that.”  He sighs heavily.  “God Shane, this is such a mess.  I know Marlena doesn’t see a way out of it.  Neither do I, if I am honest.  I keep promising her that we’ll find a way, that we’ll get Carrie and Will back, that I’ll keep her and the children safe, but she knows as much as I do that they’re all empty promises.”

“Roman, all the resources of the ISA are on this,” Shane reminds him.  “Just because we can’t see a way out of it now, doesn’t meant there’s not one.  It doesn’t mean that we won’t find it.  We just don’t see it now.”

“Well, we have to find it, and fast,” Roman tells his old friend.  “Doc can’t go back into that nightmare.  He’s laid out this path and she’s going to walk straight into his filthy hands …  and Shane, we both know that once Stefano has her in his grasp, he’s never going to let her go.”

Shane frowns.  He has been over and over this with his ISA superiors for most of the night.  And he has wracked his brain, trying to look at it from every angle.  He wants to give Roman what he’s asking for.  He wants to give him a solution wrapped up in a neat little bow.  But the reality is, there is no way to guarantee any outcome.

“Roman, I’ll be honest with you.  I can get you both away from here, I can move the rest of your family into hiding, but what I can’t do, is find Carrie and Will for you.”  He shakes his head regretfully. They have tried and they are still trying to locate Roman’s child and grandchild.  But it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.  Stefano’s bolt holes are numerous and change regularly.  They could be literally anywhere in the world right now and there are no reliable leads to give them even a hint of where that might be.  “Not right now.   And while Stefano has them, he holds all the cards.”

“What about this plan to make him think Marlena was killed last night?” Roman asks desperately.  “Can’t we put some more weight behind the evidence?  Buy a bit more time while you work to track down Carrie and Will?”    

“It’s not going work, Roman.”  Shane shakes his head.  “I know you want to think it will work.  I’ve been going over and over it in my head, trying to think of a way to make it more believable, to buy us more time but the reality is that Stefano has too many fingers in too many pies here.  Even if we had the bodies officially identified as you and Marlena, there are too many inconsistencies in the story.   With his resources, all he has to bribe the wrong person in the right place, and he’ll learn the truth.  Law and order in Italy isn’t particularly orderly.  There’s a hell of a lot of corruption.  We could try but it wouldn’t be foolproof.  In fact, it would be a lot less than foolproof.  And the moment Stefano learns the truth and he knows Marlena has deceived him, you think he’s going to hand Carrie and Will an ice-cream and move on?”

“Do you really think he would hurt them?” Roman asks.  It’s something he’s been thinking about a lot, and he still doesn’t have an answer.  Stefano lives to hurt people, although not necessarily physically.  His primary means of torture is emotional, using secrets to destroy those that he hates.  Or claims to love.    “I mean, you know how important family is to Stefano.”  

“I’m not convinced either way.” Shane admits.  “But what I do know is that he has stepped up his campaign against you and Marlena.  He’s never gone this far.  I mean, I know he took Sami and Eric many years ago but that was different.  He wasn’t obsessed with Marlena then.  This time… well, we know the lengths he’s gone to previously to get his hands on her.  This is a whole new level of manipulation and intimidation.”

Shane takes a deep breath.  He’s never seen Stefano this determined before.  His singular obsession with Marlena has taken on a whole new level of intricacy with his current plans and machinations.  Even the profilers who follow Stefano’s every move are finding it hard to predict what he will do next.  

Without knowing Grace’s entire history it’s hard to know where he will take Marlena next and what he might require her to do.  It’s also hard to anticipate his reaction to any infractions against his stated plans and stipulations.  The actions he is openly requiring of Marlena… Marlena, of all people, are extreme and there’s nothing to suggest that his reactions won’t be equally extreme if she doesn’t commit to the undertaking of his demands.

“Roman, I would love to tell you that I don’t think he would hurt the kids.  But I can’t tell you that, in all good conscience.  Stefano knows he’s got Marlena exactly where he wants her.  He has Carrie and Will as insurance.  If she doesn’t do what he wants, he might well decide one of them is disposable and use them as proof that he will carry out any and all of his threats.  You think Marlena could live with it if one of them was hurt or killed because she didn’t do what he ordered her to do?”

“Dammit!” Roman thumps the countertop.  He’d known that was the answer, but he’d been hoping against hope that Shane would try and convince him otherwise.  But the reality is that even if there’s a good chance that Stefano is bluffing when it comes to the kids, they must assume that he will carry out his threats.  Because Shane is right.  Marlena won’t survive being the reason something happens to them.

“Shane, we have to find a way,” he says frantically.  “She told me last night that she can’t do this anymore.  I promised her we’d find a way out.  That she wouldn’t have to go back and play any more of the old man’s sick mind games.”

“That’s not what the good Dr. Evans is saying this morning,” Alex Harper, the ISA psychologist assigned to this mission closes the bedroom door behind him and crosses the short space to where Roman and Shane still stand at the kitchen island, nursing their rapidly cooling coffees.  “She’s all gung-ho to trot right back into the DiMera quagmire… any chance of one of those coffees?”

“What!?” For a moment, Roman can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.  “But last night…” he stops as soon as the words slip from his mouth, and he realizes what he’s saying.  She’s slept since then.  Last night, she was in his arms, and she had allowed herself to be vulnerable and to expose her deepest fears and desires.  But now, in the harsh light of day and faced with the assessment of a stranger, she will face reality head on and insist on continuing to play the hero.  Even if she’s in no fit state to do any such thing.  Physically or emotionally.

“Is she…” Shane pauses, not sure how to ask what he wants to ask.  Namely if Marlena is in any fit state mentally to continue with this.  

“Is she mentally stable?” Harper finishes the sentence for Shane.  “Is she of sound mind?”  He takes a mouthful of coffee as Shane nods.  “Christ, this is good coffee.  One thing the Italians do know how to do, even if they can’t organize their way out of a political paper bag.  Yeah, well,” he slaps a notebook down on the counter, “here’s the thing.  My professional opinion is… it’s bloody hard to tell.  I mean, she’s a psychiatrist with decades of experience.  If anyone is going to be able to hide a mental breakdown, it’s your girl in there.”

“That’s not exactly helpful,” Shane frowns.  “I mean, I could have told you that.”

“You pretty much did,” Harper shrugs.  “What can I tell you?  I mean, I don’t think she’s suffering from any personality disorders, although it’s hard to tell that without having ever met her before and after only a thirty-minute session.”

“She’s not.” Roman confirms.  “We’ve already established that.”

“Right.”  Harper shrugs and downs the remainder of his coffee and then takes a deep breath. “The good doctor is extremely defensive.  She spent the entire time I was with her carefully controlling her reactions and her responses were very carefully measured.  For the most part.”

“What does that mean?” Roman asks irritably.

“It means that she wasn’t totally able to cover the fact that she’s struggling with post-traumatic stress.”  The young man sighs.   “Listen, I don’t need to remind you that last night was the second time in a matter of weeks she’s been almost murdered.  That’s going to freak *anybody* out.  And she’s faced with a psychotic madman who is holding her kid and grandkid hostage and who wants to control her every move.  She’s very, very frightened and she’s doing her best to hold it together and hiding the worst of her trauma responses but there are certain subjects that are triggering her.  Mainly the safety of her husband and her children.  Having said that, she’s sure about what needs to happen and that she’s the one to do it.”

“Do you think she’s up to it?” Shane asks, his misgivings deepening.

“Professional opinion?” Alex Harper waves his coffee cup idly at the three agents lined up at the counter behind them.  

“That is why we pay you.” Shane finds Harper’s manner incredibly irritating, yet, despite his pomposity and glib manner, he is one of the ISA’s most experienced and well-regarded psychologists.  Shane had deliberately requested his input on this case because he knows if anyone can see through Marlena’s defenses, it’s Alex Harper.

“Not a cat’s chance in hell.”  Harper gratefully takes the second cup of coffee offered him and wanders over to pilfer a couple of pastries from the plate on the table.  “That woman is tap-dancing right on the edge of a breakdown.  Can’t tell you what form it’s going to take… 

panic attacks, nightmares, dissociation, substance abuse, full blown psychosis – could be any or all of them.”  He stuffs half a pastry in his mouth and tears it away with his teeth.  He masticates and swallows as quickly as he can.  “Marlena is held together by adrenaline and sheer force of will at the moment, but that’s barely held together.  So no, if you have a choice, my advice would be, don’t send her back out there.  Take her home and get her some serious therapy.  But the question is, do you have a choice?”

Shane looks at Roman and then back at Harper.

“Didn’t think so.”  Harper stuffs the rest of the pastry in his mouth and points at it as he chews and speaks around it.  “These are really good.  I was bloody starving, there was nothing open when I went through Heathrow this morning.”  He swallows again and runs his fingers through his messy carrot-colored hair as he considers what he wants to say next.  “Pretty sure you’re going to have to lock her up to keep her from leaving here.  And if you do that, she’s not going to thank you.” He looks at Roman.  “Either of you.”

“If we did, and something happened to Carrie or Will?” Shane asks.  

Harper shakes his head.  “Can’t say.  But I doubt it would be pretty.  Look Donovan, I can’t tell you what to do… I mean given what she’s been through in the past year, I am bloody amazed she’s still halfway cogent.  But I’ve got to be honest with you.  You send her back out there and she either cracks or she hands herself over to DiMera to secure the safety of her family.  Or maybe both of those things.”

“And if I stop her…”

“If you can stop her.” Alex tears a second pastry apart with his fingers and offers half to Roman who looks at him askance.  The younger man shrugs and pops half into his mouth.  “When I suggested that maybe you might not want to approve the continuation of this mission… well she had a pretty colorful turn of phrase to describe what you could do with your approval.”

“Nevertheless, I could stop her.”  Shane considers the logistics of discontinuing this course of action.  Of his options when it comes to ensuring Marlena is kept safe and out of harm’s way.  “I could have her detained if necessary.  But then we’re simply hoping that DiMera won’t carry out his threats.  And if he does….”

“Doc would never forgive either of us,” Roman says with certainty.  “And she would never forgive herself.  Even if you physically detain her, lock her up, she’s going to blame herself for being the reason Stefano took the kids in the first place.  I think she blames herself for his sick obsession with her.  She thinks she’s somehow responsible for his delusion when it comes to her.”

“That’s crazy!” Shane is shocked at this assertion.

“No, he’s probably right,” Harper nods.  “She strikes me as having a bit of a savior complex.” He looks sideways at Roman and raises an eyebrow.  “She’s a very intelligent woman but even the best of us can make ourselves responsible for things that are in no way our fault.  Her history with DiMera is complex and there’s no doubt that his infatuation with her seems to have grown in leaps after particular encounters between the two of them.  She probably blames herself for actions and behaviors that she thinks might have encouraged his interest in her.”

Roman thinks of the night in Maison Blanche when she had pretended to seduce a drugged Stefano, stripping off pieces of clothing as she waited for the drugs to take effect.  There’s no doubt in his mind that that one evening, if it had not triggered Stefano’s fascination with his wife, it had certainly fanned it into a fire that has never since been extinguished.

“We know it’s not her fault,” he growls, “but it’s Marlena that has to believe it.  And if she thinks she’s in any way to blame, she’s going to do everything she can to make up for that.  And if anything happens to those kids in DiMera’s pursuit of her, she will make herself responsible for that.”

“So, you’re saying we can’t stop her?” Shane asks.  “Roman, half an hour ago you were begging me to pull her out of this.  You told me we couldn’t send her back into that nightmare.”

“I know, and I don’t want to Shane.  God knows, if there’s any way we can find to keep the kids safe while keeping Marlena safe also, then we do that.  Of course we do that.”  Roman digs his fingers through his hair, his expression betraying his deep concern and frustration.  “But what are we saying here?  We send Marlena out there and something happens to her… DiMera gets his hands on her or she has a breakdown.  But there’s a chance that neither of those things happen, right?”

“Riiigght…” Shane is less than convinced.  The way things have gone so far, that chance is so small as to be infinitesimal.  And the way things have gone to date, there’s as good a chance that Marlena will end up dead, as in Stefano’s hands.

“And if we keep her from going back out there, we’re at the mercy of Stefano’s rage and what he might do to Carrie and Will.  And then I lose Marlena to guilt and self-recriminations and probably a breakdown as well as losing one or more of the kids.”  

“And there’s nothing to say that DiMera won’t keep coming after your family after he’s done with Carrie and Will,” Shane adds.  “Marlena was clear that he’d threatened you and all of the children.”

“He’d have to get to us first,” Roman’s immediate response is to deny Stefano’s ability to hurt them.  But his second reaction is to swear and throw up his hands.  “God, who am I trying to kid here?  That old bastard can do whatever the hell he wants.  He’s proved that over and over again.  And this time, it feels like his plan is foolproof.”  He looks at Shane, his eyes pleading for Shane to argue that he’s wrong.  That he’s missing something.  That he’s being defeatist.  

He and Marlena have always known that their love was strong enough to withstand anything that DiMera could throw at them.  But that was before Grace.  Before he knew what Stefano had done to Marlena all those years ago.  Before Stefano decided that this time, he would use the one thing against Marlena that he knew would break her.  Her children.

Roman recalls all those years ago when he had walked into a restaurant and found Marlena on her knees, begging Stefano not to hurt her baby daughter.  The old man had already forced her into confessing her adultery in front of a public audience of friends and family.  But that had not been enough.  

Stefano had lost his patience with John Black and the Brady’s, and he had threatened Marlena, claiming that even her innocent baby daughter was not safe from him.  Then he had watched with undiluted pleasure as she had dropped to her knees and beseeched him not to hurt her children.  DiMera had been simply angry at her then.  Now, he will be furious if she opts to step out of his game.  Whether that is done willingly, or not.

To date, their love has been able to overcome Stefano’s machinations.  But all it will take is one time where their love for each other and their family is not enough. And what if this is that time?  Where Stefano finally finds a way to take their love and use it against them.  Uses it to destroy them.

“You’ve studied DiMera’s profile,” Shane turns to Harper.  He’s not the ISA’s foremost profiler, but he’s proficient and he’s familiar with Stefano’s personality and history.  “Do you think he’ll follow through on his threats to Carrie and Will?”

“Me?” Alex Harper fakes surprise at Shane’s question.  “Do I think a psychotic madman who will stop at nothing to finally possess the one thing he covets above everything else will suddenly develop a moral conscience when it comes to hurting a family that is not his?”  He gives a short mirthless chuckle.  “You did see what happened last night, yeah?  DiMera is trying to demolish your girl.  This isn’t a game to him anymore.”

“Oh, he’s set it up like a game, sure.  He’ll pretend this is all about him being clever and cunning.  He might even convince himself that’s a contest of wills, pitting his mind against hers.  But he’s set it up so he can’t lose.”  

Harper puts his coffee cup on the table and slides off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.  His flight from London was a redeye and he’d spent most of it going over the profiles on Stefano DiMera and Marlena Evans Brady.  He wishes now he’d spent more time on DiMera’s files, but his task had been to analyze the beautiful and damaged lady shrink and that had been fascinating enough. 

So, he’d familiarized himself with her history and the facts of the case.  But he’s read enough about DiMera before, and skimmed enough of his file, to form a hypothesis. 

“I could be wrong here, but you know I’m pretty much never wrong, so… probably not.”  He gives Shane an arrogant grin to which Shane just glares at him in response.  Harper ignores Shane’s annoyance and continues with his assessment of DiMera’s state of mind and likely intentions.     

“Previously, he convinced himself that she would give herself to him willingly if he could only convince her how much he loved her.  I mean, by all accounts, his charisma and power seem to be quite appealing to the majority of women he sets his sights on so he might be forgiven for thinking that your wife might eventually succumb to his dubious charms.”

“I’m not sure he’d kept any of those women comatose on an island or prisoner in a giant cage.” Shane murmurs

“Indeed.”  Alex Harper raises his eyebrows.  “I mean, we all know the man is a delusional sociopath.  His lack of self-awareness is legendary.  But for someone who is obviously very astute and aware of the motivations of others and how he can use them to his own advantage, he has clear blocks when it comes to understanding Dr. Evans.  Anyone with any kind of rational ability to assess the impact of their own actions would realize that it she was never going to feel anything for him but contempt and hatred.”  

He gives the two men a wry smile.   Marlena Evans Brady had not vocalized her feelings for Stefano, but her loathing had been evident in every facet of her bearing, her tone of voice, her expression when she said his name.  It was clear how much she despises DiMera and everything he has done and is still doing to her.

“Hard to know if he’s had any kind of Damascene conversion in that respect but it’s clear that where before he was willing to, on some level, let her have some free will, now he is giving her no choice.  I think on some level he realizes now that she is never going to choose to be with him, to love him.  Even when she was Grace, the personality he sculpted her to be, she still chose you, Mr. Brady.  That must have really hurt someone as egotistical and narcissistic as DiMera.”

Roman snorts at the idea that even as Grace, Marlena would ever choose to be with Stefano.  But then he remembers her, walking into the Brady Pub on Stefano’s arm and the way she had talked to him, touched, and looked at him and for a moment, he is not so sure how Grace would feel about Stefano if she was to reinhabit Marlena’s body.  Roman’s own relationship with her had been complicated but that doesn’t mean she would despise Stefano with the red-hot passion that Marlena does.

“So, DiMera wants her at any cost now. He’ll take her whether she consents to it or not.  I mean, sending her into the clutches of Alessandro Moretti off the back of what happened in Paris?  A woman he professes to love?  That’s desperate stuff.”  Harper looks grim now, his cavalier attitude finally put aside in favor of the seriousness the situation actually warrants.  “He’s willing to put the life of the woman he claims to love at risk.  Not once, but twice.  You really think he’ll balk at hurting anyone else?”  He shakes his head.  “If he thinks it will deliver him Marlena; he might have to hold his nose, but I don’t think he will hesitate.  I don’t think he has any kind of morals, and I don’t think he cares about anyone’s feelings but his own.  He covets her, she is the prize, something he thinks he deserves for being clever and powerful.  He’s not a man who is used to being refused.  And I think this time, he is determined she won’t refuse him.  He’s not leaving himself any risk of failure.  And that worries me.”

The three men are silent for a long moment as they contemplate Harper’s assessment of Stefano and the possible finales of this one last piece of theatre he has conceived for the object of his obsession.

“Mr. Brady!” Doctor Rossi comes stomping out of the bedroom and slaps a pair of scissors on the counter.  “Care to fill me in on what happened to your wife last night?”

Roman, just stares at the short, bespectacled Scotswoman, his mind refusing to make the leap from the track it is on in contemplating Stefano and his threat to Marlena’s emotional and physical safety to her current physical condition. 

“I’m wanting to know how, in God’s name, she tore her stitches when I specifically told you she needed peace and quiet.”  Rossi glares at Roman but hearing Alex Harper’s muffled snort of laughter, she turns her intense grey glower in his direction.  “And that’s enough from you, Alexander.  Patching her up after Moretti’s attentions is one thing.  I do not expect her to be further injured in our care.”

She turns back to Roman.  “Well?”

“I…. uh.  I mean…. I…. she….,” he trails off, not knowing to explain without disclosing details that are too intimate to share with friends, let alone strangers.

“Ach.  I’ll have you banned from her room if you can’t behave yourself,” Rossi snaps angrily.

“I’m sure it won’t happen again,” Shane reassures her.

“It won’t.” Roman shakes his head.  “Is she…?”

“She’s fine.  Or she will be, physically, with a couple of days of rest.”  Genevieve Rossi sighs.  “I don’t know what Alexander here has been filling your heads with, but your lassie is not mentally in any fit state to go back out there and go toe to toe with Stefano DiMera.  Physically she’s recovering but emotionally, she’s a liability.  Her judgement is questionable, she doesn’t seem to realize that if DiMera can find her, so can Moretti’s men and that going back to the hotel is out of the question.”

“She wants to leave here?” Shane asks, his brow furrowing.

“As soon as possible,” Rossi plumps her rounded form down on a chair and takes the coffee that Alex Harper hands her.  “She’s quite insistent but I will not be signing off her physical release for at least another 48 hours.  I know her mental state is Alexander’s territory but I have to put on record my opposition to any notion that she should be allowed to resume this foolishness.  She is in no fit state.  She’s vulnerable and likely highly suggestible right now.  Stefano DiMera will have her for breakfast in her current state.”

Roman looks at Shane who looks in turn at Alex Harper.  Harper shrugs.  “She’s probably right.  Keep her here.  Send her back to the States.  Lock her up if you have to.  Don’t let her anywhere near DiMera.  He will break her into pieces and make those pieces dance to his tune.  But that action has its own consequences which will weigh heavily on her.”

“Keep her safe but sacrifice Carrie and Will.” The words stick painfully in Roman’s throat.  Marlena wouldn’t survive that.  And even if she did, their marriage wouldn’t.  She wouldn’t be able to look at him.  She would blame herself and she would blame him.  He would blame himself.  The guilt would eat both of them alive.

~

 Marlena eases her legs out from under the covers and swings them off the bed.  She needs to get her body moving if she wants to prove to everyone that she’s fit and healthy enough to get back out and let Stefano track her down.

She only wishes she hadn’t let Roman see that moment of weakness last night.  In the bleakness of night and feeling her body betraying her with its brittleness, she had succumbed to the despair that has settled deep inside her soul.  She had let her fear bubble up from the place she has mostly secured it inside herself, and she had let Roman soothe her with false promises and platitudes.  But the light of a cold, overcast morning has revealed the reality of those promises.  She doesn’t blame him.  He had only told her what she wanted to hear.  What they had both wanted to believe in the darkness.

But there is no escape.  No pretense, no sudden rescue for Carrie and Will.  No way to suspend Stefano’s reach or ameliorate his threats.  He had once told her that to win without risk was to triumph without glory.  It seems he is now willing to forgo the glory.  He wants to win now, at any cost.

She sighs, ignoring the soft throbbing in her side and pushes herself up from the bed.  Taking the IV pole with her, she makes her way slowly across the room to the window.  She pushes open the shutter and places her palm against the glass, looking out across the murky green water.  There’s nothing much to see, it’s a small back canal, lined on both sides by colorful buildings with paint flaking from walls and shutters.  A small speedboat is docked up against the building on the other side of the canal and an older man sits on a balcony above it, ostensibly reading a newspaper.  Marlena doubts that he’s a Venetian resident but she doesn’t waste her time watching him.  She’d known that the ISA would be watching all entrances and exits into their safe house.  It makes things more difficult, but not completely impossible.

She turns around and lowers herself into the chair next to the window.  She wonders how Carrie is, whether Stefano is ensuring that she has access to the prenatal care she needs.  The stress she’s under won’t be good for the baby.  She knows Carrie and how strong she is and how she will be taking care of Will and trying to soothe all his fears and worries.  But being a prisoner and at Stefano’s mercy will be taking its toll on her.

“Damn you, Stefano!” Marlena spits angrily.  If only she’d killed him all those years ago when she’d had the chance.  She had tried and she had failed, and her family had paid the price for that failure.  Back in Maison Blanche, she could have killed him then, when she was trying to save John.  She’d had every opportunity.  She’d had any number of opportunities over the years, and she had squandered them all.

“Next time,” she murmurs.  “Next time I won’t fail, Stefano.  Next time, I will finish the job.”

Part Vingt-Sept

I know I’m probably better off on my own
Than lovin’ a man who didn’t know what he had when he had it
And I see the permanent damage you did to me
Never again, I just wish I could forget when it was magic

Better Man – Taylor Swift

While Marlena busied herself making tea, Laura scribbled some quick notes on her pad and considered how to tackle the question of John Black and Marlena’s feelings for the man.  Feelings which quite clearly, had not dissipated.  Not that Laura had any expectation that they had, or indeed, ever would.  

Marlena Evans was quite clearly a one-man woman.  

Despite the unfortunate hitch of the real Roman Brady’s return to Salem, it was clear to Laura that Marlena had loved John Black almost from the moment she’d met him.  And despite everything that had happened since, including the surprise return of her former husband, she had not and would not ever be able to stop loving John.  She could no more stop loving him than she could stop breathing.  And Laura believed that whatever had gone on with Stefano, Hope/Gina, and this “brain-chip” device, John’s feelings for Marlena were equally as permanent and unfailing.

She just had to help Marlena reach that same conclusion.  

She knew it wasn’t her job to lead Marlena, her friend had to come to that realization on her own.  But Laura knew that was inevitable.  It might take some time, but she had faith that John and Marlena were meant to be together and neither of them would be genuinely happy until that happened. 

Marlena brought the tea out and placed the mugs on the table between the sofas before she sat down, clasping her hands together, her knuckles white as she leaned forward.  “Laura, I want you to know how much I appreciate you coming over today.  I know you didn’t have to.  I know I try and push you away and I’m not the easiest… subject in the world.”

“A little learning is a dangerous thing,” Laura quoted Alexander Pope as she leaned forward for the cup of steaming tea.  “I just want you to be happy honey.  You deserve that.”  She gave Marlena a radiant smile.  “I’m just glad I can help.  And doctors always make the worst patients… but honestly, you’re by no means the worst.  Far from it.  Now, where were we?”

She consulted her notes and then nodded.  “Okay.  I want to go back to what you said about John.  You said that you love him, but you don’t trust him.  Why don’t you expand on that for me?”

Marlena took a deep breath.  She knew exactly what she meant but when she thought about how to put it into words, it seemed so unreasonable.

“You’re going to think I’m being ridiculous,” she said defensively.  

“I’m not going to think any such thing,” Laura looked slightly offended.  “Please.”

“I feel…”  Marlena stopped as she turned the words over in her head.  Then she started again, the words coming slowly, seeming somehow traitorous coming out of her mouth.  “It seems like he falls in and out of love so easily,” she said, her voice low and uncertain.  “Sometimes I feel like I’m just one of any number of women that he’s loved and when he’s done with me, he’ll just move on to the next one.”  She sighed, thinking of walking in on John and Hope together at the Penthouse several months previously.  “That’s what I thought was happening with Hope.”

“What makes you feel that way?” Laura picked up her mug and blew at the steam rising off the surface.  “Anything in particular?”

“Isabella, Rebecca, Kristen,” Marlena counted them off on her fingers.  “Before Isabella, by all accounts, there was Diana Colville and several more women when I was ‘dead’.  And now Hope.  Or Gina, if that’s who she thinks she is.”

“Do you really think he was in love with all those women?” Laura asked.  She knew the answer to that, and so did Marlena.

“I think… he wanted to be in love with them,” Marlena replied.  He’d loved Isabella and he’d loved Kristen.  Beyond that, she hadn’t been in Salem pre-Isabella.  And Rebecca Morrison…?  Well, her own antipathy for the woman and her complicated feelings for John meant that she wasn’t the best judge in that particular case.

“By all accounts, he didn’t love Rebecca,” Marlena blinked at Laura’s assertion.  She shouldn’t really be surprised that Laura was following her train of thought.  That’s where she was directing her, after all.  “Rebecca, from what I’ve heard, was a means to an end.  He had to move on from loving you and she was a warm body in his bed to distract him from his feelings.”  Laura didn’t point out the parallel to what was happening in Marlena’s bed right now.  She didn’t need to.  “To that end, I’m pretty confident when I say his feelings for Hope don’t stray beyond friendship.”

Marlena considered Laura’s words.  She knew it was true.  She knew John had used Rebecca in the same way she was using Bo.  At that time, John had been trying so hard to stay away from her, to respect her desire to recommit to Roman and her marriage.  So, he had chosen the abrasive, ambitious Rebecca Morrison to provide him company and diversion.  A woman who couldn’t have been more different from Isabella and from Marlena herself.  And then almost as quickly as she’d appeared, Rebecca disappeared.  John had slipped easily from his marriage bed into Marlena’s and then just as easily into Rebecca’s.  And before she knew it, there was Kristen Blake, taking center stage in John’s life and almost as quickly, in his bed.

“That’s just as much of a problem for me though,” she admitted, at last.  “John’s inability to stay single for five minutes.  Sami’s referred to the succession of women he had through the house after I disappeared.  And then he went from Isabella to me, to Rebecca to Kristen.  Then from Kristen’s bed, straight back to mine.  And now… Hope.”  She chewed on her lip and looked away.  “I know he wants me back now, but who’s to say that in a few more months he won’t get bored again and take an interest in the next attractive woman that comes along?”

“Oh honey, he is never going to get bored of you!”  Laura laughed at the absurd irony.  “You know the one thing all those other women had in common?”  Marlena shook her head, genuinely unsure what Laura was going to say.  “Honey, they weren’t you.  It’s always been you for John.  He desperately tried to fill the massive hole you left when he thought you were dead and then when you came back and he had to watch you move on with Roman, he did his best to try and whitewash his feelings for you with other women.  But honey, he’s crazy about you.  He has been for thirteen years, and I don’t see that changing.”

“Then how do you explain Hope?” Marlena demanded petulantly

“I rather think John has explained that quite adequately,” Laura pointed out.  “He didn’t choose to leave you, Marlena.  He didn’t choose to hook up with Hope, if indeed, that’s what he did.”  Laura still wasn’t sure, from what Marlena had said, whether John and Hope had been together, in the biblical sense, when they’d been in Europe, but she would get to that in the fullness of time.

“No, it was Stefano’s machinations, if John is to be believed.”  Marlena still sounded skeptical about the whole story.  “But even if it’s true…. There’s never a moment that I can trust that Stefano won’t come in and take John away from me.  I don’t know when he got this chip or how… how will I ever be able to be sure of and trust that John’s choices and behavior are entirely his?”

“So, because of something that might, or might not happen, you’d choose to spend your life alone and miserable?” Laura challenged.  “Because you’re afraid that he might hurt you again?”

“I don’t have to be alone,” Marlena pointed out.  “I have Bo.”

“For now.” Laura raised her eyebrows and tried, but failed, to keep the disapproving look off her face.  “Oh, look Marlena.  Bo is a really great guy and all, but you don’t love him.  You love John.  And Bo might have feelings for you, he might even love you, but Hope is out there somewhere, and he has been in love with her for most of his adult life.  Are you telling me that when she comes home and wants him back, you think he won’t go back to her?”

“Maybe he will,” Marlena shrugged carelessly but Laura’s question stung to a degree that she was not comfortable with.  “But Bo’s not the only good man out there.”

“Right.  So, you find another body to keep your bed warm?  To distract you from your feelings for John?”  Laura’s remarks were laser-sharp, and they hit Marlena hard.  “Now, where have I heard that before?”

“Laura, that’s not fair!” Marlena started.  

“Isn’t it?” Laura raised her eyebrows again.  “If you believe it’s not the same, then fine.  But I’m just calling it as I see it.”

Marlena’s jaw clenched as she tried to control her emotional response to Laura’s accusations.  She was simultaneously shocked, hurt, and angry.  She hadn’t meant it like that.  She hadn’t.  Sure, she couldn’t claim to love Bo, or at least be in love with him.  But that didn’t mean that there were no other men out there that she was capable of loving.  John didn’t have a stranglehold on her heart.

He didn’t.

“What did you expect John to do?” Laura asked, still laser-sharp in the way she zoned in on the gaps in Marlena’s logic.  “When he found out he wasn’t Roman, when he lost you and his children… his job and his identity.  Was he just supposed to sit around and pine after you while you tried to make things work with Roman?  He was just supposed to be alone and miserable while you moved on with your life?”

“No, that’s not fair either, Laura.” Marlena’s cheeks flamed.  She’d said Laura would think she was being unreasonable, and Laura had assured her that she wouldn’t.  And now it seemed like that was exactly what Laura was saying.  “I didn’t want him to be alone.  I’m so glad he had Isabella during that time.  I was so… it was so very unfair that he lost her.  But he did lose her.  And then Roman left me.”

“And you were still pining after Roman even though he’d left town.” Laura reminded her.  “You let your guilt take over and close you off to the possibility that you could have something with John.  You gave him no reason to think that you wanted him back because the feelings of your children and Roman’s family were more important to you than your own happiness.  But I’m pretty sure that if you’d given him even the slightest indication that you were interested in more than just friendship, he would have dumped Kristen so fast her head would have spun.  You can’t really blame John for just trying to be happy when you weren’t prepared to be the one making him happy.”

Marlena stared at Laura.  She really wasn’t pulling any punches.  She was too stunned to be upset or angry.  She was just numb.

“Sweetie, I’m not trying to say you don’t have a right to be upset but I think you need to own your part in the decisions that John made.”  Laura reached for her tea and took another mouthful.  “But the thing about that is that you’re playing a different part now and Stefano’s intrigue not-withstanding, John doesn’t have any reason to take any interest in any other woman that comes along because he’s got the only woman he’s ever really been interested in, right in front of him.”

“I was right in front of him for months when I was living at the DiMera mansion,” Marlena pointed out to Laura.  “It didn’t stop him from cavorting all over the place with that woman.”

“Yes, well….” Laura had a harder time explaining away John’s stupidity after they had all returned from Aremid.  It had been clear to everyone how Marlena felt about him.  Everyone, that is, except John himself.  

They had engaged in a painful dance of each trying to protect the other from being hurt by uncontrolled feelings being revealed and sweeping them away again.  Marlena had become aware of her undimmed love for John when he had been facing a death sentence in a dingy cell below a pub in Aremid.  John, likewise, had realized the truth of his own feelings while facing down that death sentence.  And then Marlena had risked her life to find the truth that would save him from the gas chamber.

And yet, somehow, despite everything they had been through and everything they had risked for each other, they had missed the opportunity to be honest about their feelings.  And they had fallen back into old safe and familiar patterns, both longing for each other but thinking they were the only one that felt that way and in seeking to protect their own hearts as much as each other’s, they had remained silent. 

Until Marlena had found the letter John had written the night before his near execution.  The letter that Kristen had found before her and had hidden.  The letter that had ultimately changed everything.  It had sent Kristen over the edge into psychopathy and when Marlena had found it, it had made her determined to tell John the truth about her feelings.  And it had set Marlena and Kristen on a crash course which had resulted in Marlena ending up in a giant golden cage in the catacombs of Paris and then latterly locked in a secret room hidden behind the DiMera wine cellar.

Laura could understand how frustrated Marlena felt that John had been so unaware of her feelings.  And that he’d not been able to see through Kristen who had been so hell-bent on destroying Marlena, the woman he really loved.

“I know it’s hard for any of us to understand where John’s head was at for all those months,” Laura frowned.  “You did talk about it after he found you in the secret room though.  You told me you did.”

“We skirted the issue,” Marlena admitted.  “I was so grateful to be alive and safe, and in his arms, I didn’t want to spoil it by rehashing what I thought was all over and done with.  He said he was so afraid of hurting me again, after everything that happened after our affair, he couldn’t admit his feelings.”

Laura nodded and then seeing the conflict in Marlena’s eyes, she asked “you don’t believe him?”

“We always… we’ve always had a connection, Laura.  It’s like, I can walk into a room and know where he is the instant I step through the door.  I can be across the room and feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck and I just know that he’s looking at me.   But I don’t understand… where was that connection when we were living in the same house, and he didn’t have a clue how I felt about him?”  Marlena could feel a deep ache inside her.  She loved and respected John so much, and she’d made an abundance of excuses for him to explain away his insensitivity and ignorance as Kristen had flaunted their relationship in front of her.  The malevolent woman had manipulated the both of them day after day with her lies and her expertise at playing on their moral convictions, and the need each of them had to protect the other.  But now, after he had flown to Europe with Princess Gina von Amberg in the guise of Hope Williams, there were things she couldn’t explain away any longer.  Things she was struggling to accept and to forgive.

“More than him not knowing how I felt… Laura, I was missing, he thought Stefano had me and he still went ahead with Kristen’s wedding plans.  He damn well married the woman he thought was Kristen, while I was only yards away and he had no idea.  He said he loved me, I heard it on the monitors and yet he went through with a wedding to Kristen.  And I think about all that and I wonder if I’m just fooling myself about how special our love is.  It makes me question everything about us and about him.  Maybe I could more easily accept all the rest of it if it hadn’t been for those eighteen months but after he put up such a poor fight when I ended things and immediately left town with Hope, I’m just having a real hard time with it.”

Laura shook her head sadly.  “I went through all that with you Marlena.  I know how hard it was on you and I was equally as shocked that John went through with that farce.  But you know he thought he was already married to Kristen, and he was trying to keep her happy.  I know it’s not really a good excuse but…” she shrugged.  “I think this is a conversation that you need to have with John, honey.”

“Oh, what’s the point?” Marlena demanded, throwing up her hands in frustration.  “What could he say that would possibly justify him marrying Kristen while he thought Stefano had me?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Laura shook her head.  “But I did see him while you were missing, and he was frantic with worry about you.  Maybe he just didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Kristen and argue with her when he was so worried about you.  Maybe it was the path of least resistance for him.  Honey, you really need to ask him.  If it’s bothering you so much, you need to ask him why he thinks he did it.  You need to let him know how much it hurt you.  I can come up with a dozen possible explanations but really the only explanation that matters, is the one that John can give you.”

“And if it’s not good enough?” Marlena asked weakly.  “I’m almost scared to ask.  If I don’t give him the opportunity to come out with a pitiful excuse, then at least I can fool myself into thinking there might be a good one.”

“That’s the risk, I guess.”  Laura’s voice was soft and soothing.  “On the other hand, what if he can explain it in a way that you can understand, and you don’t give him that opportunity?  Marlena, there’s one thing I can say with absolute certainty.  That man has never loved anybody else like he loves you.  That’s why the endless stream of women when he thought you were dead, or he thought he couldn’t have you.  He was trying to keep his mind off what he’d lost.  Maybe it wasn’t the way you’d prefer he did that, but are you telling me that if you really had died, you would prefer that he spent the rest of his life alone and mourning you?”

Marlena shook her head almost immediately.  She knew for sure she wouldn’t have wanted that.  John had so much love to give that she couldn’t have borne the thought of him spending the rest of his life grieving her.  It would have been a life half-lived.  She had even written him a letter during her time with Orpheus, urging him to celebrate her life, to never forget her but also not to grieve her too long, and to find another woman to love.    

“What if this time, it’s the time that he really understands what it is he’s got and how close he’s come to losing you?  But because you’re hurt, you don’t give him the opportunity to show you how much he loves you and how steadfast and honorable he can be?”  Laura asked.  “Because I know that about John and deep down, you know that about John.  He is deeply honorable and deeply loyal, which is why he stayed with Kristen so long, even though he had realized that you were the woman he really loved.  And I am sure he never would have done what he did this year without interference or manipulation from Stefano.  Honey, you need to get back to the place where you believe that in your heart and you can stop doubting him and his love for you.  And just as importantly, you stop doubting yourself and your love for him.”

“Oh Laura,” Marlena pushed herself from the sofa again and paced across the room.  “I thought I’d got past all this.  I thought I was done with the whole Kristen thing but this last go-round with Hope has just re-opened old wounds and I just don’t know if I can get past it, whatever explanations John can come up with.”

“What actually happened between John and Hope in Europe?” Laura raised an eyebrow.  “Has he offered any details?  Have you even asked?”

“Well, I…”  Marlena stopped mid-pace, wrapping her arms around her middle as she stood at the base of the stairs.  She wracked her brain.  He hadn’t said anything at the loft yesterday and he hadn’t said anything about Hope when they’d been at the Salem Inn, other than to say how much he regretted leaving with her.  And she was pretty sure there had been no discussion of John and Hope’s intimacies at the pub.  She’s pretty sure Bo would have actually strangled him had that happened.  

She had, she realized, just assumed that he and Hope had become lovers in Europe, if not before they’d left Salem.  It had been an assumption she’d made almost as soon as Bo had told her they’d left Salem together, and one that had helped propel her into Bo’s arms, she realized in retrospect.  She looked up at Laura, the surprise registering on her face.  “I don’t… I didn’t ask him.  I just assumed and he hasn’t said anything that would lead me to think anything different.”

“Don’t you think you should be sure before you rush to judgment?”  Both of Laura’s eyebrows lifted expressively.   “If your anger at him is because he went from Kristen’s bed to yours to Hope’s, don’t you think you should be sure he actually did climb into Hope’s?”

Marlena felt confused.  She had been so sure in her mind that John and Hope had slept together, that she had hardly given it a second thought.  But now… now the thought had been unleashed inside her head, she was assaulted by images she did not want.  Images that made her feel physically sick.  John touching Hope.  His fingers in her hair, his lips brushing against hers.  The thought that John could have touched Hope in the same way he touched her was excruciating.

“What difference does it make?” she demanded angrily, her hands clutching at her upper arms tightly.

“I think it makes a big difference, looking at your reaction.”  Laura leaned her head on one side.  “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it damn well bothers me!” Marlena snapped uncharacteristically.  “He’s my-” She stopped short.

“He’s your what, honey?” Laura suppressed a smile.  She had a fair idea of what Marlena had been about to say.

“He’s… he’s the father of my children,” Marlena replied defensively as she turned away from Laura.  She didn’t want to see her friend’s knowing look as she saw through Marlena’s flimsy lie.

“If you feel like that, just thinking about him with Hope, what do you think it did to him, seeing you with Bo?” Laura pointed out.  “Maybe you need to know about him and Hope because maybe you can put his reactions to you and Bo into a different context.”

Marlena reached out for the banister of the staircase to steady herself.  Her head was swimming.  Laura was right, of course.  She had just made assumptions and she had acted, in part, on those assumptions.  What if John hadn’t slept with Hope?  She hadn’t actually asked, after all.  And his shock and anguish at seeing her with Bo was making her wonder.  If he had slept with Hope, wouldn’t he at least have a smidgen of guilt and regret at driving her into Bo’s arms, rather than just this wild jealousy and anger?

What would that mean?  Would it make a difference?  Would Stefano have wanted John to sleep with Princess Gina?  She had no idea at this point what Stefano’s game was, but she was sure that Gina herself had designs on John.  Of that, she had no doubt.  And if John had declined her attentions, if he had fought Stefano’s manipulations, did that change things?

Maybe, she thought, with a little hope in her heart for the first time in weeks, maybe it just did.

“Marlena, you need to talk to John,” Laura leaned over the back of the sofa with a speculative air.  She knew Marlena so well and she could see the spark of something within her.  As though a door had opened a crack and a trickle of light was filtering in.  “You need to ask him what happened in Europe.”

Marlena thought of John’s impassioned speech in the foyer of his building yesterday and her heart fluttered nervously.  No baby, we’re great for each other…   She couldn’t put herself in that position again.  She couldn’t make herself vulnerable with him.  He knew all her fault lines and he knew how to widen them.  If she let him, he’d split her asunder, and then she would be forever broken, like the proverbial Humpty Dumpty.

“I can’t…” she said haltingly.  “I can’t talk to John.  Laura, I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can,” Laura shook her head disapprovingly.  “I don’t believe for a moment that you can’t find a way to ask him what happened.  He’s your best friend.  He’s the love of your life, Marlena.  You can talk to him.”

“I can’t!” Marlena cried.  “Laura, when I was there yesterday.  I… I thought we were doing okay.  We were talking.  He told me he wanted me to come and talk to him when I was ready, and he was being… he was being John.  The John I fell in love with all those years ago.  Honestly, I was… it was…” she sighed.  She couldn’t put it into words.  There was a disconnect between what she needed emotionally right now and the way their bodies naturally reacted when they were in the same space.  

She needed him to respect her space, her autonomy, her sense of self.  And yet, when he was close, she found herself enmeshed with him, unsure of where he ended and where she began.  He had a magnetic pull on her and that magnetism seemed to empty her head of logic and rational thought and her reaction to him happened on a purely physical level.  She couldn’t risk that right now.  She was already too shattered, she needed to focus on putting herself back together, not let John Black take her further apart.

“Take your time,” Laura was so gentle and reassuring.  The empathy and love conveyed in her tone almost reduced Marlena to tears.  

“I want to talk to him.  I want to sit across from him and tell him everything.  But I can’t.  I don’t trust him to hear me.  All the things he said yesterday, they were all the right things.  But then he got too close.  Physically I mean.  I was crying and he brushed away my tears and the next thing I know, I’m in his arms and he’s kissing me and… Laura, I can’t stop him.  It’s like I get hypnotized and that sounds stupid and completely like I’m abdicating all responsibility for my own actions.  I’m not.  I’m consenting.  I’m one hundred percent consenting and that’s the problem.  I should be able to control my own reactions to his advances and I just can’t and it makes me appalled at myself and it makes me angry at him for making me feel that way.  I’m so tired of it.  Feeling that way, I mean.”

“What way, exactly?” Laura pressed.  “Let’s talk about this.  Your feelings about John.  You said you love him.”

“Yes,” Marlena couldn’t deny that.  She’d said it clearly earlier.  There was no point pretending her feelings were anything other than what they were.  She loved John to distraction and that was part of the problem.  “Laura, you said it yourself.  I’ve loved John since I thought he was…” she shook her head.  It had started way before that.  Before she thought he was Roman.  Before they’d been on the run in West Virginia when she thought he was Stefano.  Before she’d suggested he move into Roman’s old apartment.  Before the hospital rapist and that damn sign-in / sign-out sheet.  Hell, she’d probably loved him since the moment he’d saved her from that would-be mugger at Shenanigans and she’d shaken his hand.  She can still remember that moment, those bluer than blue eyes and his warm, firm handshake which had sent crackles of electricity fizzing through her, to pool between her thighs.  “I’ve loved him since the moment I laid eyes on him,” she amended

“And honestly, it’s probably worse now than it’s ever been, the intensity of my feelings for him.  I had to wait such a long time to get him back and it was such a mess when Kristen brought Roman… or that guy we thought was Roman, back to Salem.  We were finally together and then we were denied that.  And then finally I thought it had all come together, and then he just… lost interest.”

Tears filled her eyes again.  Even though there was potentially an explanation for it, that he wasn’t the ‘John’ she loved, his slow turning away from her still hurt like hell.  She wasn’t an insecure woman; at least, she didn’t think she was.  But it had made her wonder what was wrong with her that his attention had strayed in the direction of Hope Williams, of all people.  And why it was, as a renowned psychiatrist, well versed in human behavior and now well into her forties, she was still seemingly unable to hold down a successful, healthy relationship.

“I just don’t understand why, when he’s hurt me so much that my feelings for him are still so overwhelming.  I don’t understand why I can’t just walk away from him.  I know none of this is healthy so why do I insist on hanging on to every word he says?”

“Have you considered that your perspective may be skewed because of the trauma you’ve been through?” Laura suggested gently and she patted the sofa next to her.  “Come back here and sit down, honey.”

Marlena looked askance at her as if she was asking something completely impossible, but Laura held her gaze, challenging her to change her position, her stance.  She was not immutable.  Her point of view was simply that.  A point in space and time.  A way of looking at things that might not quite convey the whole truth of the situation.

“Come and sit down,” Laura reiterated.  “I’m not saying you’re wrong to see things the way you see them.  I’m just saying that maybe your view is a little distorted by everything you’ve been through. Quite frankly, how could it not be?  You’ve been through hell and that’s bound to make anybody cranky, at the very least.”

A small smile twitched the corner of Marlena’s mouth upwards at Laura’s words and after a moment, she found herself moving back to the sofa where she had been sitting.  But Laura patted the seat next to her.  “Sit here.” She suggested.  “Sometimes we just need a slightly different perspective, hmmm?”

Marlena paused and then sat next to Laura and let the other woman take her hands.  “I think there’s something about the way you see John right now.  You’ve suffered so much pain over the past decade that you’re preparing yourself for more pain.  And understandably you’ve set John up as the figure that is going to deliver this pain, because he’s the one who you know can do the most damage.  So, to protect yourself you’ve designated him that part in the story you are telling yourself.  You have set him up to be the antagonist in your story, the figure that is set to trample all over your heart.  And maybe he’s not that at all.” She gave a small shrug that seemed careless but was anything but. “Maybe he’s just a victim of circumstance, and the DiMera’s of course, in the same way you yourself are.  Maybe he’s made mistakes, because he’s a human being and that’s what we human beings do, as you and I both well know.”

“Are you saying I’m being paranoid?” Marlena asked.  She wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.

“I’m saying you’re running scared, and you have every right to be, given what you’ve been through.  But I’m concerned that you see everything as a threat right now and that’s not good for you physically or mentally.  Your judgment is off, Marlena.  And instead of looking at your reaction to John as you being out of control because he’s a threat to you, perhaps you need to consider that you feel like that because you’re meant to be together.  Because you’re two parts of a whole; soulmates, if you will.  And maybe, just maybe, your future together could be everything you’ve hoped for if you could just find a way to trust him again.” She squeezed Marlena’s hands.  “I know that’s not something you can contemplate right now.  Trusting him, I mean.  He’ll need to earn your trust, I understand that, but can you at least think about what I’ve said and consider if there might be a small iota of truth in it?”

Marlena took a deep breath.  Her head hurt.  There was too much to think about. Laura had turned everything upside down in a matter of less than an hour.  Nothing had changed and yet…  She wasn’t sure she could see a way through it, she wasn’t sure if she was less or more confused than she was yesterday.  But she knew Laura had a point.  Her head and her heart were saying different things.  And maybe her head was overreacting, and she was letting a lifetime of hurts get in the way of what was real and true.  And then again, maybe her head was protecting her for just and valid reasons.  All she knew was that she was still tired and scared.

“I’ll… do my best,” she said slowly.  It was all she could offer right now.

“That’s all I can ask,” Laura smiled.  “Okay, I think maybe that’s enough for today.  What do you think?”

Marlena nodded gratefully.  She didn’t think she could take any more right now.  

“Listen, I’m going to finish this cup of tea and then relieve you of that Vicodin and then I think perhaps you should have a rest or even a nap before you go and pick up the kids, what do you think?” Laura suggested as she sat up and picked up her cooling tea.

“You’re not going to tell me I have to tell Bo it’s over?” Marlena asked in surprise.

Laura gave a chuckle.  “Marlena, honey, I’ve already figured out that it’s pointless to tell you what to do where Bo is concerned.  I can see that you need the safety and security that you feel he provides right now and while I don’t like it, I understand.   There will come a time when we need to have that conversation again, but we’ll do it when I think you’re ready, okay?”

“Thank you,” tears filled Marlena’s eyes again.  She had been anticipating a battle with Laura over her continuing liaison with Bo and she was unspeakably relieved that she didn’t have to have that argument yet again.

“I just need you to be okay honey,” Laura told her lovingly.  “Please, please promise me that you’ll call me if you need me.  If anything happens that makes you feel uncomfortable or upset.  Any reason at all, just call me.  Day or night, okay?”

“Okay.”  Marlena nodded with a soft and grateful smile.  “Laura, you are such a good friend.  Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me too quickly.”  Laura grinned.  “Because I’m going to give you some homework.  Before I see you again you have one task.  I want you to talk to John and ask him what happened in Europe.”

“Oh Laura,” Marlena looked crestfallen.  “I can’t.  I already told you I can’t.”

“You can Marlena and you will.”  Marlena could tell from Laura’s tone, and by the steel glint in her blue eyes that she wasn’t going to put up with any arguments.  “I’m just asking you to do this one thing.  I know you can do it.  I know you’re strong enough to do it.  You don’t have to see him if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she said, knowing that was exactly what worried Marlena.  “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him.  There are these things called telephones.  You can dial a number and talk to another individual.  Imagine that!” 

“Alright, smarty pants!” Marlena couldn’t help but laugh at Laura’s wicked smile.  

“You can do that.  Pick up the phone and call him.  Just ask him what happened.  Then you’ll know and we can figure out what comes next, okay?”  Laura leaned in and cupped Marlena’s cheek with her palm.  “Do you trust me, Marlena?”

“I do,” Marlena nodded, feeling inordinately lucky to have this woman as her best friend.  She would trust her with anything.  She would trust her with her life, and it felt rather as if she was doing that at this moment.  But if Laura said she could do this, then she knew she could.  Even if she didn’t quite believe it, knowing Laura had faith in her gave her the confidence that she could.

“You can do it, sweetie.  I have every faith in you.  We’re going to get through this.  I’m with you every step of the way.”  Laura flipped the top of her notepad closed and clicked the nib off her pen.  “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Marlena looked confused for a moment.

“We still have a scheduled session tomorrow.  I want you to keep it.  We have a lot of work to do and the sooner we get on with it, the sooner you’ll feel more in control and able to deal with this whole situation,” Laura reminded her as she stood.  Marlena stood with her and followed her to the door.

“But if you want me to talk to John before I see you again that doesn’t leave me much time!” Marlena suddenly felt panicked.  

“It’s not until mid-afternoon so you’ve got more than twenty-four hours,” Laura reminded her.  “I think that’s more than ample time.  And hey, no time like the present, right?”  she shrugged.  “You know where I am if you need anything.   I’m just a phone call away, I can be back here inside thirty minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Marlena suddenly looked lost and uncertain.  

“It’s going to be okay, honey.  Please trust me.  Even if it feels like the world is upside down and everything is a disaster, it’s going to be okay.”  Laura pulled Marlena into a hug.  “Oh, before I go, where are those meds?  Let me get them out of your way and we’ll both feel better.” 

Marlena directed her to the bedroom ensuite and left her to it, wandering instead to the doors that opened onto the terrace, this time stepping out into the fresh air.  It was still gray overhead and the air felt full of moisture, but she ignored the few small splashes of rain to stand by the railing and look out over her adopted home, the city of Salem.

She had so much to think about, to mull over.  Was she really allowing her view of John to be tainted by a decade (or more) of trauma?  She had reflected on this when she had sat alone with a bottle of whisky the night she’d spent with Bo at the boat.  She had known then she was making bad decisions and allowing all the collected suffering she’d endured to shape her thoughts and reactions.  Was it really too far-fetched to say that her pervading anxiety and fear were coloring her perceptions of John and his actions?  Was she really self-sabotaging to the extent Laura was suggesting?  And if she was, was she at risk of turning her back on the best thing ever to happen to her with no real good reason?

All she had were questions and no actual answers.  All she had were these confusing feelings and no real way forward.  And all she could do was take things moment by moment and hope to God she didn’t screw things up any more than she already had.

To be continued…