Blitzing Emily (8 page)

Tristan, the production’s lead costumer, emerged from one of the dressing rooms with an armload of costumes. He still managed to grasp both of Emily’s hands.

“Ah, my diva. How are you feeling today? And who’s this?” He looked Brandon up and down, lingeringly. One of Brandon’s brows arched a bit.

Brandon stuck out a hand. “I’m Brandon McKenna. Nice to meet you.”

If Brandon was going to flip out over this whole arrangement, he’d just been presented the best opportunity possible. Tristan enjoyed fashion, and every day was a new opportunity to give his closet a workout. Today he wore skin-tight red wet-look leather pants that laced on the outside seam from toes to hips, black leather pointy-toed high heeled boots, and a black silk t-shirt topped with a black silk jacket. His ornate silver belt buckle read “boy toy.”

Tristan dropped Emily’s hands to shake Brandon’s, winking at him. “I’m Tristan, and the pleasure’s all mine.”

Emily stifled a laugh. Jason
who
? Tristan was flirting outrageously. Of course, Brandon acted like this happened to him every day. Maybe it did.

“So, Tristan, Emily insists on going through with her rehearsal. Can’t divas call in sick once in a while?”

Tristan laughed like Brandon had said the wittiest thing he’d ever heard. Emily resisted the impulse to smack both of them, and settled for an eye roll.

“Well, the floor director knows she had an accident. Most of the company knows, too, and this morning, we were so thrilled with your happy news. When’s the wedding?”

“I want her to have the wedding of her dreams, so it may be awhile.” Brandon leaned closer, and his voice became conspiratorial. “We’re planning.”

“Certainly. It’ll take at least a year. Plus, my diva’s not getting married in some off-the-rack
schmatta
. I made some preliminary sketches this morning, and—”

It was time for Emily to break up the love fest. “Guys. I have to sit down. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Brandon.” She headed off toward the dressing room, only to hear two sets of footsteps behind her: The click of Tristan’s heels, and the “thump, thump” of Brandon’s heavier footsteps.

“Listen, T.” Oh, now they were on a nickname basis? Emily wondered if Tristan would start skipping down the hallway. “I have a few errands this morning, but I am worried about leaving Emily. She’s still not feeling well. Is there any possible way you could keep an eye on her? I’ll be back to pick her up in a couple of hours or so.”

She stopped in the doorway of the dressing room and whirled to face them. Suddenly dizzy, she grabbed for the doorjamb, but straightened up to fix them both with what she hoped was an intimidating stare.

“I am not a child,” she enunciated. “If I am too ill to continue, I will take a cab home.”

It was like she’d never spoken.

“I’ll take care of everything, Brandon.” The two men shook hands again. Brandon bent to brush his lips across her cheek. She resisted the impulse to turn into his kiss.

“Bye, sugar. I’ll be back to pick you up in a little while.”

Emily walked into her dressing room, dropped her handbag on the table, and fell onto the couch. “When Jason finds out you were flirting with him, your life won’t be worth living. He’ll lock you out of the house.”

“Do you know who that man
is
, cherie? Jason would be flirting with him, too.”

“He’s a football player—”

“No. He’s an
icon
.” Tristan let out a sigh. “Do you know how many websites are dedicated to him? You should see his practice photos. He’s beautiful. Imagine how many men would like to lick him dry.”

“And you’re one of them,” she teased.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then, it’s your lucky day. Have at it.” Emily rummaged through her purse for another ibuprofen. She’d left them at home. Damn.

“What do you mean?”

Emily had known Tristan since she walked out onto a stage and auditioned to get into the conservatory. They’d been friends for almost twenty years now, and she hoped they’d be friends for the rest of their lives. Tristan never wanted to sing. He dressed those who did, and his star continued to rise. She knew he should have been dressing opera companies in New York or Europe. She also knew that she could never, ever lie to him.

“We’re not dating. We’re not engaged.”

Tristan’s mouth dropped open. “So, what was today’s big announcement?”

“A mistake. We’ll correct it in a month.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It works for both of us.” She studied her manicure, or what was left of it. She had to get her nails done. Maybe later.

“You’re sure about this? After all, he may fall madly in love with me, cherie.”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take.” She stood up from the couch. “I need to get out there and see if I can sing right now. God, my head hurts.”

Tristan laid another armload of costumes over a table. “I want to see how the scene three costume fits one more time before you go.” He pulled it off a rolling rack and advanced on Emily. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I have no idea.” It wasn’t just the singing she wasn’t sure of, either.

“Well, let’s try this on first.”

E
MILY WALKED ONSTAGE
a short time later to a smattering of applause. The practice pianist launched into Lohengrin’s Bridal Chorus.

“That’s enough,” Emily joked.

“When’s the wedding?” a heavily accented voice called out from the audience. That would be Johann, the baritone playing Count Almaviva. Johann had asked Emily out. Even if she were interested, she would never agree to date anyone she worked with again.

“We’re still working on that.”

“Miss Hamilton,” the floor director called out. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Emily said.

He approached the lip of the stage. “Let’s try
Cinque, dieci, venti, trenta
from
The Marriage of Figaro.”
Johann rose from his seat and joined Emily.

“A marriage, is it? That was fast,” Johann muttered to her. “Simply because you didn’t want to date me?” She ignored him. The pianist began playing, and Emily tried to sing. What was typically so effortless for her now brought waves of pain. This wasn’t going to work. She stopped, and everyone on stage was silent.

“I—I don’t think I can do this today. I am so sorry.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and laid a hand on Johann’s arm to brace herself. She wasn’t as dizzy as she’d been yesterday, but she knew she couldn’t practice until the headache subsided.

The floor director was running down the aisle from the seats. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No. I need to sit down. And some water might be nice. Again, I’m sorry.” Emily was helped offstage to a front-row seat. Tristan arrived with a cold bottle of water and a couple of pain relievers. Once she was settled, the group onstage assembled once more. Anna, Emily’s cover, soared into the aria Emily could not finish, and the rehearsal continued.

Other than the typical colds and flu over the past twenty years, this was the first time Emily had been unable to practice. Watching Anna was a special kind of torture. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. If she wasn’t well by next week she would not be singing in the performances, which would be disastrous. She wasn’t sure how quickly anyone recovered from something like this, but it had to happen now. Applause—the love of an audience—was the drug she needed to survive. There was nothing else in her life but music and her career. She had worked for so long to get to where she was now.

A large, clean-smelling body sat down in the seat next to her. “Hey, sugar. Taking a little break?”

She opened her eyes. “You’re here?”

“Where did you think I’d be?” Brandon wrapped one arm around the back of her seat. “Had to come back here and pick you up.”

“Thanks.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“So,” he continued in a stage whisper, “let me guess. You tried to sing, and it didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t.” She stared at the floor in front of them. “What if I don’t get better?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He leaned closer. “Now you’re being silly. You bumped your head. It’s going to hurt for a couple of days. The doctor didn’t see anything that indicated permanent damage, or he never would have let you out of the hospital.”

Emily’s stomach was a cold knot of fear, but as Brandon talked the knot loosened a bit. “I’ve worked so hard. I really need to sing this role. I can’t take a week off to recover.”

He caught her chin in his fingertips. “You will be fine. I promise.”

B
RANDON INSTALLED
E
MILY
in his Land Rover a few minutes later, swung himself into the driver’s seat, and pulled out into traffic. “We’ll get you some lunch, and then it’s back home. You need some rest.”

Emily was about to respond, but her phone was ringing again. At least she’d be able to find out where her parents had been last night.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Emily Anne Hamilton, what have you done?” her mother cried.

“Mom?”

“You’re
engaged?
My phone’s ringing off the wall. Reporters are calling. They want to know when the wedding is. When did you meet this Brandon? Your father says that he’s . . . What have you done!?”

She saw Brandon glance over out of the corner of her eye, grin a little, and focus on the road again.

“Mom, it’s fine. Really.” Emily swallowed hard. “He’s a nice guy, and I—”

“This is not Las Vegas, young lady.” She heard the catch of tears in her mother’s voice. “I can’t believe that you would take marriage so lightly. Didn’t I teach you better than this? You’re going to marry a man Daddy and I had no idea you were even dating. When did this
happen
?”

“Mom. Please don’t cry. We’ll have dinner together and you can meet him. Everything is fine. We just sped things up a little, that’s all.” Emily was surely going to Hell for lying to her mother, but just thinking how she was going to explain this one away made her wonder if her head would explode.

Brandon glanced over at Emily. “Sugar. What’s happening?” She held up one hand to signal she’d talk with him in a moment. He reached out for the phone. “Let me talk to your mama.” She turned slightly so he couldn’t grab it out of her hand.

“Sweetheart,” her mom finally choked out, “Are you pregnant? If you’re pregnant, you know your dad and I will stand by you. You don’t have to marry him. Of course, he’ll want to see the baby, but we can get a custody agreement.”

Emily’s mother had never missed an opportunity to panic since Emily was very young. She was in rare form today. Emily closed her eyes, and took the deepest breath she could in order to calm herself. Her parents were total opposites. Her excitable, passionate, affectionate mother and her calm, controlled, stoic father complemented each other, unless they locked horns. Emily’s mother took any argument as an excuse to increase the volume and dramatics. Emily’s father responded with silence, which made things worse.

She’d lived away from home for the most part since she was fourteen and started her training. She’d had to grow up fast as a result. She loved her parents, but she wished at times they understood each other a little better.

“Mom. Mama. I’m not pregnant.”

Brandon let out a low chuckle. Of course he’d find this hilarious.

“I could help you with that. Just let me know.” His voice was so soft that Emily’s mother couldn’t hear him, but Emily could. She turned in the seat, giving him a look she was sure would melt flesh. His response was to raise one eyebrow.

“This is going to kill your father.” Her mother heaved a huge sigh. “Will we see you before the performances start? How are you feeling today? Amy said you got hurt on that delivery.”

“I have a headache, but I’ll be fine,” Emily said. “The opera company wants me to get a doctor’s release. If I’m feeling any better, I’ll be over on Sunday for dinner.” Emily could still hear her mother sniffling on the other end of the phone.

“Okay. Hopefully, we’ll see you then. If we can’t, we’ll see you when you’re back from Chicago.” Mrs. Hamilton blew her nose. “Promise me you won’t sneak off and get married.”

Chapter Six

B
RANDON STROLLED INTO
Daniel’s Broiler like he owned the place. Daniel’s was an institution on Seattle’s Eastside, located on the twenty-first floor of the Bank of America Tower in Bellevue. The restaurant featured dark wood, plush chairs, soft music, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a dazzling view of Lake Washington, and amazing food. The service was even better than the food, if that was possible. It wasn’t cheap, but a meal at Daniel’s was something to be savored and remembered.

“We’d like to sit in a booth,” he said to the hostess, who’d just called him “Mr. McKenna” and asked if he’d like “the usual.”

“No, thank you,” he said to the hostess.

“What’s ‘the usual’?” Emily asked him as they followed the hostess.

“A big steak and an ice-cold vodka martini with olives. Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian,” he said.

“No. I eat meat. I just don’t eat that much of it.” She passed a glass case with steaks the size of someone’s head.

They were seated, and Brandon opened the menu. “We have to drink a little champagne to celebrate.”

“I’m concussed, and you want to celebrate.”

“Maybe I should rephrase that. We’ll drink a little champagne. Other than that, you should order whatever you’d like.” He lowered his voice. “Are you feeling better?”

“It comes and goes. What’s good here, besides meat?” Emily laid her menu on the table and glanced around. Brandon had slid into the booth next to her, so they could (hopefully) talk without being overheard. It was a cold but gorgeous day, and the view of Lake Washington was breathtaking. The water looked like blue glass.

“I’m going for the penne with lemon-thyme chicken.”

“I’ll have some, too.”

Brandon leaned against the padded back of the booth. “The server will be along any minute now. I know
I’m
hungry.” Oddly enough, he appeared somewhat nervous. They’d spent the last twenty-four hours together, they’d slept in the same room, but she still knew almost nothing about him. Speaking of “knowing nothing,” she dug through her purse, extracted a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him.