Before I Do Amazon (15 page)

"So what did you think of the dance number?"

"I'm no expert, but I thought it was very clever and entertaining. You were amazingly good for just being thrown into a new dance."

"The steps were familiar to me. I've been dancing so long, it's more about changing up the order and adding variations than learning completely new steps. I did like Malcolm's ideas. He's one of the most creative and challenging choreographers working in dance today."

"What is the show about?"

"A girl who goes to New York to make it on the stage."

He smiled at the description. "Sounds like a part that was written for you."

"Or for any dancer who has dreamed of performing on the most important stage in the world. Donna and Hal are very good at creating storylines filled with emotion and drama. The characters, dialogue, dance and music create an experience that audiences love. They're a great team."

"So why are you hesitating, Isabella? Why wouldn't you want to work with them? Why didn't you just say yes?"

"The studio. My aunt is going to sell it, and if I don't buy it now, I'll never have the chance again."

"You might have another shot at it down the road. Or you might find you want to build your own studio from the ground up, when you're really ready, not just because your aunt is ready."

"I have some things to think about."

"Yes, you do," he said as he opened the car door for her.

"Nick," Isabella said. "Thanks for butting into my business. If I can ever return the favor, let me know."

"Actually," he began.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're inviting me to butt into your business?"

"No, I'm inviting you to dinner tomorrow night with my father. It's his birthday, and I've been ordered to make an appearance. I'd rather not go alone."

Surprise moved through her dark eyes. "You want me to meet your dad?"

"I could use a buffer, and my father is always distracted by a beautiful woman."

"A distracting buffer, huh?" she said with a nod. "Okay, I can do that. Do you think your father will like me?"

"Sure," he said, but as he closed the door he thought that his father would probably hate Isabella, especially as his date. His father had dangled heiresses and up-and-coming young lawyers in front of him the past few years. Most of those women had either been on his dad's payroll or had a reason to keep his father happy by spying on him. But Isabella was his—all his.

Well, at least for a few more days…

Chapter Twelve

Isabella finished off the day's dance classes a little after seven. When the last students left the ballroom, her aunt walked into the room, a wary expression on her face.

"You should be scared to talk to me," Isabella told her.

Rhea offered an apologetic look. "I know it was shady, but when Ricardo told me about the Tylers and their new show, I really wanted you to audition. So did Ricardo."

"So you coerced Nick into tricking me into going down there with him?"

He didn't take a lot of coercion. Nick doesn't want to invest in the studio if it's not going to be the business you really want to run."

"The only reason he has doubts about whether or not I want to run the dance studio is because of you and Ricardo. You two had no business going behind my back."

"We love you. We want the best for you."

"I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions."

"You were making the wrong decision because you were scared. I couldn't stand by and do nothing. What kind of aunt would I be?"

"I can't help thinking your motivation was not as selfless as you're making it out to be. You want to sell the studio to Karen Halley."

"I think Karen will do wonderful things with the business I've created," Rhea admitted. "Karen has also thought long and hard about opening a West Coast studio. She's ready. I don't think you've had the same amount of time to really consider all your options. That's partly my fault, because Karen's offer came in, and then the plumbing broke. But we are where we are. I want you to be happy Isabella, and if I truly believed that running my studio would be your dream job, then I'd send Karen packing. But I just don't believe that this is the right time for you."

"Again, it's my decision."

"Have you made a decision? How was your meeting with the Tylers?"

She hated to say it went well, because it would just prove her aunt right, but she also didn't want to lie. "It was all right."

"Just all right?" her aunt said with disappointment.

"Fine. It was good. It was fun to see them again, to hear about their production, and to be wanted."

"They offered you a part, didn't they?"

"I told them I'd think about it."

"Is there really anything to think about?"

"I have moved on, going from a dancer to a teacher, and I like teaching, watching the younger dancers find their feet."

"But…"

"But it felt amazing to be on the stage again," she admitted.

"Honey, you can always teach. Maybe not for my studio, but you can open your own place one day. You only have a few more years left to be the dancer you always wanted to be. Don't waste them."

"I need to think about it. You offered me until Monday. Is that still good?"

"Of course," she said, frustration still evident in her voice. "But no longer than that."

"I understand."

"Can I buy you dinner?" Rhea asked as Isabella gathered up her things.

"No thanks. I'm going to stop by Mom's house."

"Will you tell her about Argentina?"

"I will."

"Then you're definitely going?"

"Yes. It seems to be a week of big decisions for me. One down, two to go."

* * *

Looking at her mother, Kathleen, was a little like looking in a mirror, Isabella thought as her mom opened the door of her condo with a happy smile. Her mom had dark brown hair and brown eyes and they shared the same nose. The only think Isabella had really gotten from her father was his olive skin.

"You're here. I can't believe I haven't seen you in almost three weeks," Kathleen said, giving her a loving hug.

"It's been crazy busy," she said, following her mother into her home.

"Rhea told me about the plumbing issues. I offered a small loan, but she said the problem was too big for a Band-Aid."

"That's true." She took a seat on the sofa in the living room.

"What can I get you to drink, honey?"

"Nothing. I'm fine for now. What smells so good?"

"Vegetarian lasagna. It's almost ready." Kathleen sat down on the couch next to her. "Bill and I have been traveling so much the past year that I feel like I'm never at home to cook."

"How is Bill?" she asked, wondering if her mother's long-term boyfriend would join them for dinner. Kathleen and Bill Webber had been going out for almost eight years, but they still kept their own condos and didn't seem in any hurry to make a long-term commitment to each other. That didn't surprise Isabella. Her mother's divorce from her father had been so painfully brutal that it seemed to have put her mom off marriage entirely.

"He's well. He's in Chicago this week visiting his sister and her family."

"You didn't want to go with him?"

"Actually, I was happy to have some alone time. I love that man, but he adores being on the go, and sometimes I like to just be quiet. Plus, I haven't seen you in a while. What's new? Besides the studio plumbing problems?"

"I'm giving tango lessons to Nick Hunter, the owner of the Grand View Towers Hotel. He's also letting us use a portion of the ballroom for our dance classes while repairs are being made."

"Rhea told me about the ballroom but not about the tango lessons."

"Nicks needs to learn to dance the tango for a business deal. His company is trying to buy a beautiful piece of coastal property in Argentina. In order to seal the deal he has to dance the tango for the seller."

Her mother stiffened at the mere mention of Argentina. Isabella drew in a deep breath, knowing there would be no better time to tell her mother about her trip.

"Nick asked me to go with him to Argentina to perform the dance as his partner. I've agreed to go."

Her mother's face paled. "Are you serious? You're going to see your father?"

"No, I'm going to Argentina to dance the tango."

"Then you won't look your dad up?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm torn. I wanted to talk to you about it."

"The man lost all rights to your love and attention a very long time ago, Isabella. Why would you want to see him now?"

"I'm curious. I don't understand why he stopped talking to me. The last time I saw him was my eighth-grade graduation, and whenever I tried to talk to you about him, she shut me down. You never wanted to talk about him, to explain his behavior."

"There was no explanation, and I told you many times that he had problems."

"Yes, you hinted at some issues, but you always clammed up when I asked questions."

"It was painful to talk about him," her mother admitted. "And I didn't want you to look back, only forward. I tried to make up for his absence, to make sure that you had everything you needed."

"I did have what I needed," she reassured her mother. "You were always there for me, and that's why I never tried to contact him. I didn't want to be disloyal to you, to make you feel like you weren't enough. But I've always had questions. He is my father. I have a biological connection to the man."

"That's all you have." Kathleen stared back at her through angry, dark eyes. Her lips were set in a tight, tense line. Finally, she continued. "When I met your father, I thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. He was warm and outgoing, everyone's friend. He was doing well in his job as a diplomat. He was very sophisticated and cosmopolitan. He swept me off my feet. It wasn't until you were two or three years old that I began to realize that his partying lifestyle was out of control. And when your father drank, he got mean. He would say terrible things to me and to you, and then the next morning he would forget what he'd said. But I couldn't forget how hateful he'd been."

Her mother paused, then went on. "I asked him to get help, and he said he would stop drinking, but while he'd be good for a few weeks, something would always happen. Sometimes when he drank, he also took drugs. It was part of his social scene. But I wasn’t in that scene. I was at home with a small child and worried that my husband wasn't going to be able to provide for me. As his problems increased, he started having trouble at work. Finally, it all came to a head. He lost his job, and he went completely out of control. I tried to hang on to the marriage, but I couldn't. Finally, I said I was leaving. He was drunk at the time. He said he was happy I was going, that I'd made his life hell and that he didn't think you were even his daughter. He accused me of cheating on him with one of his friends. I didn't cheat, Isabella. You are his daughter."

She nodded slowly, feeling a little sick to her stomach that her father would have tried to disown her in such a way. She was beginning to feel sorry she'd pressed her mother to finally explain what had happened. But while her mother had been reluctant to start talking, there seemed to be no stopping her now.

"Your father came to the States a year later," Kathleen said. "He told me that he'd cleaned up his act and gotten sober. I wanted to believe him. I let you see him. I let him write to you. And I had some hope that maybe he could turn his life around. I wanted him to be well, to be the man I'd fallen in love with and had a child with. But when he came to your eighth-grade graduation four years later, I saw that he was slipping back into the old ways. Later that year, I heard from his sister that he'd gotten into legal trouble and had been arrested. He ended up going to jail for embezzling money from his employer."

"What?" she asked in astonishment. "You never told me that."

"I thought it was best that you just think he was a neglectful father, not a criminal. I also believed it was even more important at that point to keep the two of you apart."

"I don't understand how you could keep something like that from me. Is that why he didn't write to me, because he couldn't?"

"No," her mother said quickly. "He had access to mail. I think he was probably embarrassed to write you while he was in jail."

"How long was he there?"

"I think it was three or four years."

Isabella studied her mother's face. There was something she wasn't telling her. "Did you hear from him while he was in jail?"

"I heard from him about a year before he got out. He told me that he'd had time to reflect on everything he'd done and he was sober and he was going to start over."

"Did you answer him?"

"No, I didn't," her mom said flatly. "I was done. Maybe you can't understand that. Perhaps it seems harsh to you, but I had wasted too many years worrying about that man and trying to fix him for you. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Was that the last time you heard from him?"

"Yes."

"So that was how long ago?"

Her mother sighed. "About seven years I would say."

She silently did the math. "Then he was in jail while I was in high school and my first two years of college."

"Does it really matter, Isabella?" her mother asked wearily. "Do you think seeing him now would change anything for you?"

"He might have gotten his life together."

"I hope he did. I don't wish bad things for him—at least not anymore. But he hasn't contacted me, nor has he reached out to you. Everyone has moved on, Isabella. You're not going to suddenly get the father you never had. That man doesn't exist. I honestly believe that trying to see him will only hurt you."

Her mother's passionate words rang through her head. She didn't want to get hurt again, but she might have to take the risk.

"I want you to know that I've heard everything you've said, and I really appreciate your finally telling me the whole truth." She paused. "That was the whole truth, wasn't it?"

Her mother nodded. "Yes, it was."

"You mentioned before that you'd heard from Dad's sister that he was in jail. Do you still keep in touch with her?"