For the Love of Family (8 page)

For a piercing moment she saw a different man in front of her. She saw the young Zorro, rippling muscles of newfound manhood covered in black satin, with a long, sparkling sword at his side.

The vision sucked the words right out of her mouth.

“When you’re here, you can see anyone you like,” he continued. “But…if you
don’t
want to see someone…”

He let the sentence dwindle. His gaze had slid to her left arm, and his message was clear. She tugged surreptitiously at the sleeve of her jacket, just in case. Her father hadn’t been terribly rough, but her fair skin bruised so easily.

“I understand,” she said. “And I appreciate it. All of it. Thank you.”

She moved awkwardly out of the window bay, needing a little distance so that she could catch her breath and regain her perspective.

It was silly, how warm and protected he could make her feel. No wonder she’d fallen at his feet all those years ago.

Forget how intimidated she was about the product-launch events.

The real challenge of working for Matt Malone would be preventing herself from falling for him all over again.

“
H
OW ABOUT THIS ONE
?” Belle’s mother, who had wandered away to a display rack of summer fashions, held up a white cotton dress with a full skirt and a daffodil-yellow jacket. “It’s professional, but has a dash of sex appeal.”

Belle looked up from the collection of navy, mauve, black and brown blazers she’d been halfheartedly flipping through.

“No. No sex appeal,” she said firmly. “My job is to sell pizzas, not myself.”

“Nonsense.” With a soft chuckle, her mother brought the dress over and, folding the hanger down, held it under Belle’s chin. Emily squinted, considering intently, then sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe matching your hair color is a touch precious.”

Belle shook her head and pretended to renew her interest in the blazers. But now they looked even more dreary. She’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors, which seemed to be everywhere in this upscale department store. The yellow dress had looked terrific. Light, feminine…and her mother was right about touch of sex appeal.

Especially if she wore her contacts…

She growled under her breath, annoyed with herself.

No. No sex appeal.

Not when she was at Diamante Pizza. Not when she was around Matt Malone.

Her mother slid the dress back onto the rod and kept looking. After a minute, Belle joined her there. She’d invited her mom along on this shopping trip for two reasons: Emily Carson had better taste than anyone Belle knew, and she wanted a chance to talk to her alone.

Her mother draped an elegant Prussian blue sheath over her arm, then continued flipping. “How many different outfits are you going to need?”

“How many do I
need
? Or how many can I
afford
?” Belle laughed. “I need at least four. We’ll have twelve different beach events, but they don’t all have media overlap. I figure I can get away with wearing each outfit three times.”

She grabbed the dangling price tag of the sheath and held it up for her mom to see. “At this price, I could afford exactly…zero. Come on. We need to find the sale rack.”

“Belle.” Her mother hesitated. “I’d like to help. To buy you a few things. It would make me happy to see you in—”

“No. Thanks, Mom. Honestly, I appreciate it, but this is my responsibility.” Belle eased the blue sheath from her mother’s arm and slipped it back onto the rod. She smiled. “And I can handle it. As long as we shop from the sale rack.”

Her mother cast a longing look at the blue dress. “If it’s about your father…” She lowered her voice. “We don’t need to worry about that. I’ve got some cash
from…well, from times when I didn’t need quite as much for the housekeeping.”

She touched her purse conspiratorially. “He doesn’t ever have to know.”

Belle recognized an opening when she saw one. She had intended to talk about this over coffee after the shopping, but she had to grab the chance that presented itself.

She took her mother’s hand.

“Speaking,” she said, “of things Dad doesn’t know…”

Her mother’s fingers tensed. If Belle had needed confirmation, that involuntary reaction was plenty.

“Joe Fraser came to see me the other day. We had lunch. He said you went by to see his father in the hospital.”

Once again Belle was struck by how different her mother was whenever she got away from the house and Sam Carson’s repressive influence. Out here in the world Emily Carson was a smart, capable woman. Nothing remotely resembling a doormat.

She didn’t blush or try to change the subject. She just sighed, then nodded.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t tell you, because I was hoping I wouldn’t have to drag you into it. It could get quite uncomfortable, if your father finds out. You know he doesn’t approve.”

“Yeah. That’s an understatement.”

Her mother smiled. “I didn’t plan to do it. I found myself near the hospital, after the museum board meeting. It suddenly occurred to me that if Adam Fraser were to die in there, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. He deserved better from this family, and if your
father couldn’t apologize for his behavior, then I could do it for him.”

For a minute, Belle didn’t know how to respond. The first feeling that came through was an instinctive prick of guilt that she hadn’t done the same.

“How was he?”

“Weak. But clearly on the mend.” She absently stroked a stack of folded sweaters. “I think I like him. I think we could have been friends, if we’d met under other circumstances.”

Belle wasn’t so sure. “He seemed awfully quiet at the reading of the will, and he and his son don’t seem to have a very warm relationship. As you say, though, it might have been the circumstances.”

“I see the tension, of course. He’s had a hard life, and it’s taken a toll.” Another gentle stroke of the sweater, as if it were a kitten, or a child. “But I also see a lot of regret in those eyes.”

Belle’s stomach tightened. She felt the truth of her mother’s comment. Adam Fraser was a complicated man, and had undoubtedly known pain, disappointment and loneliness. Who knew what kind of strange family life this abandoned son had known? He didn’t seem to have learned much about love. He had no wife…and anyone could see that his relationship with Joe, his own son, was strained.

Her mother was always the first to understand the human need behind the facades. She was always the first to reach out and forgive.

And this was the woman Joe Fraser had accused of “upsetting” his dad.

“I’m glad you went, Mom.”

Belle decided on the spot that she was not going to try to prevent another visit. Joe could do his own dirty work, if he really felt her mother’s presence was a problem. Or he could take his blinders off and see that a dose of Emily Carson was better than most medicines.

“So…when are you going to tell Dad?”

Her mother glanced up, surprised. “I’m not.”

“But—”

“I don’t plan to tell him, Belle. And I’m going to ask you not to, either.”

“I won’t. But wouldn’t it be better to get it out in the open before he just…finds out?”

“How would he find out?” Her mother’s laugh had an edge. “He has no idea what I do all day, and even less interest. Oh, look…the sale section!”

Belle followed slowly. She couldn’t quite understand this. How could her mother be so resolute, even courageous, about the need to do right by Adam, and so craven about telling her husband the truth?

“What if someone else tells him?”

“Who?” Two seconds after arriving at the fifty-percent-off rack, her mother had already found a fabulous violet silk sundress. She pulled it out triumphantly. “Ah! This is it!”

Belle ignored the diversion, though it was a gorgeous dress.

“I don’t
know
who would tell him. It’s always the person you least expect.” Belle smiled, trying to soften her tone. “Remember the day Sue and I sneaked into the R-rated movie? Who could have guessed that Mrs.
Wickham’s daughter’s boyfriend would be selling popcorn? Believe me, someone always tells.”

Her mother sobered. She folded her arms around the sundress. “You were thirteen, Belle. You were doing the wrong thing. What I’m doing is right.”

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t get caught.”

“It means that if I get caught, I’ll deal with it. I won’t be ashamed of what I’ve done. But I don’t see any reason to invite trouble. Chances are your father will never find out. I’m not exactly going to camp out at Adam’s bedside. I’m not sure when, or even if, I’ll go again.”

Belle felt oddly checkmated. Her mother’s argument didn’t really make sense, but she wasn’t sure how to break into it. Perhaps, she thought as her mother held the violet dress out with a smile, the problem was that Belle wasn’t asking the right questions.

She took the dress. She looked at the price tag before she let herself fall in love with its soft, liquid fabric and its elegant cut. With relief, she saw that she could afford it.

She held the dress up against her breast. “Like it?”

“It’s marvelous.” Her mother’s eyes sparkled strangely. “You’ll make a great success of this job, Belle. I know you will. I just don’t—” with effort, she blinked away the mistiness “—I just don’t quite remember when you stopped being my little girl.”

“Mom.” Belle had a sudden vision of the house she’d grown up in, with her mother and father living in it, like two ghosts who weren’t really aware of one another. As if they lived in the same space, but in alternate universes. The isolation, especially for her mother, who craved intimacy more than her father ever had, must be almost unbearable.

“Mom,” Belle said again urgently. “I know you don’t like confrontation. But don’t you ever just want to be honest with him? Don’t you ever just want him to understand how you feel?”

Emily looked at her a minute and then slowly smiled. It was, Belle thought, the saddest smile she’d ever seen.

“No,” she said. “Not anymore. I know you still want to be understood. Whether you like to admit it or not, you still want to fight your way to a real relationship with him. But all I want…”

She shrugged and turned back to the racks of clothes.

“All I want is peace.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING AT THE
Ferry Plaza Farmers Market was the most beautiful kind of insanity, with hundreds of people thronging through row upon row of gorgeous flowers, artistically arranged food and elegant wines. Belle and David used to come here every weekend, and they’d sit for a couple of hours drinking coffee, eating fresh-baked fruit Danishes from their favorite vendor, and watching the wind ruffle the bay.

Toward the end, when David began pushing for commitment, and tensions had run high, he’d begged off, saying he had briefs to write, or precedents to research. She’d continued coming alone, and had been strangely saddened to realize she didn’t miss him at all. It was much more peaceful to read the paper in silence, without knowing he was on the other side of the table, watching her with those sad eyes, wondering why she didn’t love him.

Since the breakup, she often wondered whether she’d run into him here, but she never had.

Until today.

She’d just claimed the only empty table, her coffee and pastry still precariously balanced on top of her
Chronicle
, when she saw him coming toward her, the collar of his windbreaker turned up, and the breeze romantically tousling his blond hair, as if he were arriving at a
GQ
photo shoot.

She forgot how handsome he was. The first time she’d met him, she’d assumed he must be one of the alpha bastards she’d sworn to avoid. But then she’d discovered the brains, the decency, the humility, beneath the looks. David Gerard was that romantic miracle, a beta-sweet boy-next-door who just happened to be movie-star gorgeous.

And she’d refused to marry him.

Maybe her father was right. Maybe she needed to have her head examined.

Belle wasn’t sure how to handle this. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He’d obviously come here specifically to see her. She arranged her things on the table, but remained standing, waiting for him to reach her.

As he drew closer, she could see that he looked somber, slightly awkward. Her mind darted through the possibilities. When he’d offered her the ring, he had sworn that, if she refused it, he would never ask her again. She had believed him. He wasn’t here to beg for another chance.

Besides, this meeting seemed carefully chosen to provide face-to-face time without true intimacy. He’d
opted out of the more impersonal phone call, as well as the more dangerous knock on the apartment door.

“Hi,” she said, for want of anything else to say. She smiled, because she really did like him very much and was glad to see him, in spite of everything. She had been heartsick when she finally had to face the fact she couldn’t turn all this admiration and affection into love.

“Hi.” He looked as if he wasn’t sure whether they should shake hands, hug…or what. Finally he just gestured to the other chair. “Is it okay if I sit down for a minute? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Of course.” She edged her newspaper out of the way, so that his spot was clear. Then she sat, motioning for him to do the same. “Want to split the Danish? I shouldn’t eat the whole thing, anyhow.”

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

She nodded, wishing she could help him relax. That last day, she had told him she hoped they could go back to being friends, but he’d just laughed. That laugh had been the most brittle sound.

Clearly, judging from the tension in his voice and posture, he still wasn’t ready for friendship.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?” She took off her sweater and bunched it up on the tabletop. She leaned back in the chair and turned her face up to the nearly cloudless blue sky. “It’s heavenly. We don’t get many days like this.”

“No. No, we don’t.” David cleared his throat. “Look, Belle. I hear you went to work for Diamante Pizza.”

She sat straight again. So much for neutral chitchat. “Yes.”

He toyed with the edge of her newspaper, folding
down the corner, then opening it up again. “I’m sorry. I know that must have been a tough decision to make.”

“Yes. It was hard, at first. But…” She hesitated.

“But what?” His fingers paused on the newspaper. “Don’t tell me you
like
it.”

Something in his tone irritated her, though she knew that wasn’t fair. He was only reacting to what she’d always told him—that public relations was a snake pit she hoped to God she’d never fall into.

But so far, her job hadn’t been anything like the hypocritical, back-slapping, good-old-boy hellhole she’d imagined. So far, work at Diamante had been honest, creative, strategic and fun.

Of course, tonight she would attend her first major social event, a fund-raiser at the Moorehead Museum, an organization Diamante sponsored heavily. Tonight, when drinks and power were flowing, and everyone was busy trying to keep it flowing in their own direction, she might see a different side of things.

“I wouldn’t say I like it. But maybe my attitude before was a little extreme. You know, the kind of blind prejudice that is really ignorance in disguise. The Malones are businessmen and pizza makers. They don’t have time to sort out the intricacies of the press. What’s wrong with hiring professional communicators to help them communicate better?”