Romancing Miss Right (24 page)

“There,” Dinah said, pointing, and Marcy
followed her finger toward the fountain to one side of the lobby.
She was so fixated on her mother it took her a moment to identify
the figure seated beside her—asleep sitting up again.

Craig.

When they reached their mother, she held up a
finger to her lips to quiet them. “He just nodded off. Is there
news?”

“Should be soon. A nurse sent us to get
you.”

Katherine carefully unwound the hand that
Craig had been clasping in his sleep. “We should let him rest. I
don’t think he’s had much sleep.”

“How long have you been down here with him?”
Marcy asked.

“Since I finished freshening up after my
shower. I know I should have come right back up, but it was so
peaceful down here, just us and the fountain.”

Marcy never would have thought Craig would be
peaceful—but then she’d never thought he would stay long after the
benefit to him had passed. She was tempted to kiss his cheek as he
slept—right above where the two-days stubble was growing in—but
some instinct stopped her. “We should get upstairs.”

Dinah and Marcy flanked their mother and
together they walked to the elevators, each praying for the best.
Marcy hadn’t kissed him, but she did look back at Craig’s sleeping
sprawl as the elevator arrived. She was beginning to wonder if he
was a better man than even he gave himself credit for.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Awake. It was a glorious,
massive, shattering word.

When the doctor said it, her relief was so
big and profound she couldn’t even really feel it properly. He
would recover. He was awake. He was
alive
.

He’d had a severe heart attack and the first
surgery had apparently kicked something loose that had caused a
minor stroke, but thanks to the attentions of the doctors in the
ICU, they’d caught it almost instantly and thought there would be
only minimal effects. He would be fine. He was awake.

They cried and laughed and hugged and held
one another, rocking back and forth with pure happiness, and for a
flicker of a moment she missed Craig, wished he was there to fling
herself against—but then it was time to see him. Her father.

Awake.

Everything was a rush from there. The hours
blurred into a frenzy of activity and euphoria after all the
waiting and fear. Twenty-four hours of drawing back a sling-shot
with slow, agonizing tension stretching her every inch of the way
had released and she was flying, catapulting through life.

After she saw her father, saw him gruff and
irritated with all the attention, she went home and showered. Then
it was over to her parents’ house with Laurie to clean out the
fridge and completely restock it with heart-healthy
alternatives.

No more salami. It would be all turkey-bacon
from here on out.

She kept busy, back and forth from the
hospital a dozen times, leaping to do every little task that might
need doing—all the while ignoring Miranda’s calls and her very
patient and understanding voicemails which all ultimately asked the
same question.

When?

When would Marcy be ready to restart the
show? It didn’t have to be soon, they understood that her family
needed her, but if she could just tell the crew how long they would
be on hiatus…

But Marcy didn’t want to go back to the show
that had worried her father into a heart attack. Not now, not ever.
She didn’t want to re-enter that reality where nothing was real and
she definitely didn’t want to leave her family.

She missed Craig and even sort of missed
Daniel, but she wasn’t ready to go back—and she didn’t know when,
because she wasn’t sure she ever would be.

She entered her father’s hospital room on
Thursday to find him sitting up, his skin tone back to a healthy
shade and his big booming laugh filling the room. When he saw her
in the doorway, his grin broadened and he waved her forward.
“Marcy! Just the daughter I’ve been hoping to see.”

“Oh? You’re in a good mood,” she said, hoping
she didn’t sound too surprised—he was rubbish as a patient, always
insisting he was
fine, damn it
—so this cheerfulness was
particularly unexpected.

“They’ve told me I can be released back into
the wild on Saturday,” he bragged. “But that’s not what I wanted to
talk to you about. Sit.”

As Marcy pulled a chair next to his bed, her
mother rose from the one on the opposite side. “I’ve got some calls
to return. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Marcy took her father’s hand as the door
snicked quickly shut behind her mother. He wasn’t big on displays
of emotion—she probably hadn’t held his hand since she was a child,
but he let her now.

“When do you go back to California?”

Marcy shook her head. “You don’t have to
worry about that. I’m not going back on the show.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Dad…”

“Your mother thought you were leery of going
back but I told her she had you wrong. Not my Marcy. She’s too
smart for that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be the smart one this
time. Besides, what’s so wrong with staying here with you?”

“Nothing. As long as you’re not letting fear
stop you. That’s not who you are.”

There it was again.
Not who you are.
That compliment that was also pressure to be more, to be better.
She studied their linked hands, his much larger and age-spotted,
hers with nails bitten down to the quick from the stress of the
last week.

“Marcy.” He squeezed her hand until she
looked up and met his eyes. “Don’t stop being who you are because I
had a little heart flutter.”

“It was more than a flutter.”

“Whatever it was. You’re my clever daughter.
My brave one. And I’m so proud of you.”

“I sit at home writing stories. Hardly
brave.”

“You go after your dreams when other people
are caught up in dreaming about them. I liked you home writing
stories where you were safe, but I always knew you would leave
someday. Murphysboro was never going to be a big enough adventure
for you.”

“I’m not planning to move. Even if I went
back to the show, I’d come back here when we wrap filming.
Murphysboro will always be my home.”

“You need to go out and find the life you
want rather than staying safe here forever. And when you find it,
grab on with both hands.” He grimaced. “Even if it’s in San
Diego.”

She had been studying their linked hands, but
that brought her head up with a snap. “I thought you hated
Craig.”

Her father shrugged. “I still think Daniel is
a better choice, but your mother is talking me around. Some. Though
I still worry he’ll hurt you.”

Anxiety jumped in her chest. “Don’t
worry—”

“I’m always going to worry about you, kiddo.
It’s my job. But don’t you dare play it safe just to keep me from
fretting. Being with someone you don’t care for just because they
can’t hurt you isn’t a life, Marcy.”

“I care for Daniel.” In a way. She could grow
to love him. He was so much like her father, how could she not?

“It’s your choice. You know what I think, but
whoever you choose, we support you.” The words were gruff and
grudging and her heart clenched hard.

“I love you, Daddy.”

His cheeks flushed above his beard. “Yeah,
well, I think you’re pretty great too. Now when are you going back
to show biz?”

“I want to stay here while you’re
recovering.”

“I’ll keep you a few more days. I’m selfish
enough to want that. But not too long. Your adventure is
waiting.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Craig dodged a light
stand, barely missing getting brained by a tripod in the process,
and came to the realization that perhaps watching the crew set up
the confessional in the spare bedroom of his Verona hotel suite
wasn’t the safest place to wait for Miranda.

It was strange, being back in the world of
swarming camera crews and exotic destinations. Marcy was due to
meet him tomorrow for their two day overnight date. He’d overheard
some of the crew talking and knew she would be on a train down from
the Austrian Alps—which could only mean she was with Daniel there
now. A fact he couldn’t seem to get out of his head.

Daniel got the Alps. Craig got the city of
Romeo and Juliet—which he tried not to take as a commentary on the
doomed nature of his relationship. The location had probably been
scouted for Mark the Shakespeare scholar and they’d just kept it
for convenience when Craig accidentally made it all the way to the
finals.

From eavesdropping on the crew, he knew that
Miranda was due any minute, so he hovered, hoping to catch her. He
hadn’t had a chance to talk to her one-on-one since the hospital,
so he didn’t have a clue what the state of his job offer was. She’d
said it expired at the Elimination Ceremony and there hadn’t been
one, so it had to still be on the table—at least that was what he
was prepared to argue.

He’d decided—somewhere between hospital
waiting rooms and the zillion hour flight to Venice—that he was
going to take his mother’s advice. He wanted to have his cake and
eat it too. There was no reason why he couldn’t have the dream job
and
Marcy.

Something had shifted in him on a tectonic
level when Marcy had needed him. It hadn’t been all fun and games
anymore. The cameras stopped rolling and life became real again.
All too real. At the time he had just reacted, but now, when he
thought back to why he hadn’t been able to leave her, he could only
come up with two possible explanations: pity and love.

If anything happened to his mother, he would
be a wreck—and he would face it completely alone. He didn’t have
anyone who would stand by him then—so he had needed to stand by
Marcy. Anyone would in that situation, wouldn’t they? It didn’t
mean he loved her. Though he did feel for her. And lately those
feelings had been different—seismic, tectonic shifts.

Perhaps it was an illusion, what he wasn’t
quite ready to admit to himself he might be feeling. Their
relationship had been all about different kinds of emotional
stress—that could create a false positive in the love department,
couldn’t it?

Of course it could.

But that didn’t stop him from thinking
forward. Thinking about what his life could be like after the show.
What it might be like with her.

They weren’t the picket fence type—even if
she was from the world’s cutest small town. No. They would have an
apartment. He would work television hours—early to bed, insanely
early to rise if he was on a morning show. They’d be in LA or New
York—bustling, active cities with a million things to do. He’d come
home to her and when she was done spinning tales for the day, they
would explore their new city together, finding their favorite
restaurants, figuring out which bars had the best specials on hot
wings during football games. He could see it and it was better
because he was doing it with her.

Was that love? Maybe not yet. But it was an
opportunity worth fighting for.

“Craig. Just the man I was looking for.”

Miranda’s crisp, direct voice brought him out
of his lovesick musings. “Funny. I’ve been looking for you
too.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Her ubiquitous
tablet was tucked under one arm. “Why don’t we go up to the roof?
I’d like to check out the view for some possible establishing
shots.”

“Sounds good.”

The luxury hotel where he’d been installed
featured every modern luxury, but was housed in what had once been
an eighteenth century palazzo, so the act of getting up to the roof
took a convoluted route of narrow hallways and twisting staircases.
He trailed after Miranda who seemed to know the way and was
rewarded when she opened a final door onto the rooftop, revealing
the stunning panorama of Verona sprawled around them.

The sun was bright and high, with only a few
puffy white clouds providing an accent to the piercing blue of the
sky. The breeze on the roof was cool enough to remind him that
summer hadn’t started in earnest, but not so cold to send him
running back inside.

Miranda strolled to the edge of the roof,
craning her neck to take in every view, studying each one for the
best shot.

“So you made it to the finals,” she said
eventually, without turning to face him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Not really according
to your plan, was it? Or did you bring me up here to toss me off
the edge and replace me with Darius or Mark?”

“They were easier to manage,” Miranda
commented. She turned to face him, clasping her hands in front of
her. “Didn’t you want the network job?”

“I couldn’t very well take myself off the
show while Marcy’s dad was in the hospital—even if it wouldn’t have
been a complete dick move, the cameras wouldn’t have seen it. If
drama happens on a reality show but there’s no camera there to film
it, does it still happen?”

“Cute,” she said dryly.

“Besides, you said I had until the
Elimination Ceremony and there never was one. Marcy just got rid of
Darius. So if I bailed on you, you’d only have one guy in the
finals—where’s the suspense in that?”

“You’re right. I’m actually glad you stuck
around.”

He frowned. “You just wanted to force me to
defend myself?”

“I wanted to hear what you would say. Sounds
like you still want the job.”

“Of course I do.”

Miranda studied him for a long moment, her
short blond hair whipping against her forehead from the wind.
Finally she nodded, coming to some unknown conclusion. “All right.
New deal. The job is still on the table and it’s yours on two
conditions. One—you can’t tell Marcy about it. I need you to play
along, stay until the final choice, and be the perfect Suitor, but
you can’t tell her why.”

It wasn’t bad, as conditions went. He could
always tell her about the job later. She didn’t need to know about
it before she made her choice. “Fine. And the second
condition?”