Something to Prove. Cathryn Parry
“He talked to you?” Jeannie sounded breathless.
“Even more than I’d hoped for. He opened up to me, Jeannie.”
“Oh, my God, you like him, don’t you?”
Like in Jeannie’s vocabulary meant want to hook up with. Which was the last impression Amanda wanted to give her matchmaker sister. “Don’t even say that,” she chided. “We have a professional relationship. Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
“Hold on a sec, Massimo wants to listen in. I need to move someplace quiet so we can both hear you, okay?”
Amanda found herself smiling even as she shook her head. Jeannie and Massimo were so sweet together. She’d landed in Italy a week ago feeling exhausted and weepy, still so frustrated over fighting her mom’s illness and furious over her father’s lack of caring. But Jeannie and Massimo had made her smile again. Amanda had never blamed her little sister for being unable to visit Mom when she’d been sick—those days, Jeannie had been too often hospitalized herself. They’d talked by computer video connection almost every day, though, and Amanda had frequently thanked God for Massimo. This week, especially, he’d brought them around to his big, extended family, fed them pumpkin-filled pasta and goblets of Prosecco, shown her his and Jeannie’s new village apartment, and talked incessantly about their future together.
“You should call him, Amanda.” The line was calmer now, just Jeannie’s voice with no background cocktail chatter. “Since your work is finished, bring Brody down to the party. Everybody else is here, it’s only polite.”
It would be disastrous, only partly because Amanda hadn’t told Brody who she really was. But her sister just wanted to help her.
“And to think, a few hours ago you were setting me up with Massimo’s friend,” she teased.
“Marco? How can I fix you up with Marco when you’re interested in Brody?”
Massimo’s assenting murmur came through in the background.
Amanda poked at her one pedicured foot. The truly ridiculous part was, Jeannie and Massimo had bugged out of their own party to huddle over a mobile phone, plotting Amanda’s potential hook-up. “Have you two thought of starting a dating service? Because you’d be really good at it.”
“You have his number, right? Or do you need me to get it from Massimo? He has it right here.” Another murmur of agreement.
Amanda crushed Jeannie’s sweater closer. It was apparent Jeannie and Massimo weren’t going to let this one go. “Actually, Jeannie,” she admitted, “there is a small problem. Brody doesn’t know who my father is.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Jeannie fell silent. Because, as a consequence, Amanda had also hidden the fact that Jeannie was her sister.
Jeannie’s hurt radiated across the phone line, even without speaking.
“You need to talk to Brody and tell him who you are,” Jeannie said quietly, “because Dad just called me, and he’s on his way over.”
Amanda’s palm slipped on the silicone sleeve of her phone, nearly dropping it. Dad was coming here?
“Amanda? What’s going on?”
Cold beads of panic broke across her forehead. I don’t want to see him just yet. I can’t see him just yet.
She wasn’t prepared. Hadn’t thought this far ahead, because she hadn’t wanted to think this far ahead.
Amanda stood and paced the carpet. How could she explain the situation to her sister? It wasn’t fair to drag Jeannie into her problems. Above all, this was Jeannie’s big day, and it wasn’t Amanda’s place to ruin it. If anything, the bastard owed Jeannie an appearance on the night before her wedding, especially after causing her accident.
“I’m…sorry I couldn’t tell Brody who you are to me,” Amanda said. “He…quizzed me about my last name. Dad must have left a horrible taste in his mouth, because I could tell that if he knew who I was, he was going to shut down. And I couldn’t have that, Jeannie. Above all, I couldn’t have that.”
Her voice sounded pleading, and she felt ashamed of herself. If Jeannie hung up on her, she wouldn’t blame her.
“I understand,” Jeannie said firmly. “What you need to do is call Brody. Meet with him, tell him the truth, and then give him a chance to react. Afterward, you and I will get together and talk.”
No, they wouldn’t. This whole situation was too embarrassing to discuss with anyone.
Still, Jeannie was giving her a perfect excuse to skip the close encounter with their father.
“Are you sure you won’t mind if I miss your party?” Amanda asked. “How’s the dessert bar? Do they have the lemon cake and biscotti you wanted?”
“They do. Massimo’s mother smoothed the way between the pastry chef and the restaurant manager. It worked out perfectly.”
“I should have been there. I’m a horrible sister.”
“You’re the best sister ever. You deserve all good things. And right now, you deserve time on your own, without us. You’ve been smothered by me and the Coletti clan all week, now that I think of it.”
“I haven’t. They’re so adorable, they make me want to cry.”
“I’ll see you when I get back to the room tonight, okay? Call him, Mandy. Please.”
She murmured her assent, knowing full well she wouldn’t follow through. Jeannie disconnected the call.
Lovely. Now, in addition to skipping out on her sister, she was also lying to her. Because no matter what Jeannie said, or what Amanda had agreed to, there was no way she could call Brody. Her job was simply too important to risk.
On the other hand, there was no way she could face Dad tonight either, and of all the minefields she needed to avoid this evening, that one was the most important.
Her phone beeped, letting her know she had a text. It was from Chelsea, her traditionally terse, “Got it.” Not a phone call, not a make-these-changes-now directive.
From experience, Amanda knew that meant she approved of the profile. As of this moment, her assignment was officially over.
Amanda flopped back on Jeannie’s bed and let out her breath with a whoosh. At last, some good news. After all the hassles of the day, all the worry about the layoffs at work and coming face to face with her father, now she had one less thing to stress about. Maybe she should call room service and order champagne so she could celebrate her one small victory in private.
Closing her eyes, she dared to let herself remember the low, sexy timbre of Brody’s voice, his interview responses that she’d played over and over as she’d drafted her article. When she thought of him, she felt as warm and comfortable as when she’d held Jeannie’s familiar sweater.
She was on vacation now. No one from her office was present. Who would ever know or care if she did call Brody Jones?
Forget the champagne—what if she arranged a short drink with him in the hotel lounge, at the other end of the resort from her sister’s pre-wedding party, just to get her through the night and away from her father?
Rolling onto her side, she scrolled through her contact list before she could talk herself out of it. H for Harrison, his agent’s name…
The house phone rang insistently beside her, that jolting, Italian ring tone she still wasn’t used to.
The front-desk clerks were the only people who’d ever called them on this phone. She tucked the receiver between her ear and her shoulder. “Hi,” she said to the staff member before he could launch into his business, “are you serving drinks at the lounge yet, or do I have to go to the restaurant to get served?”
A familiar