What the Single Dad Wants... (13 page)

“Your wish is my command, Mother,” he murmured good-naturedly, bending over to pick up the scarf. Straightening, he offered it back to Isabelle. “I'll say one thing for my mother. She is nothing if not dramatically colorful.”

“I heard that.” Anastasia's voice echoed back into the room despite the fact that she was no longer in his line of sight.

Seeming to address Isabelle, he raised his voice so that it would carry. “Among other things she has in common with the nocturnal creatures, she also has the hearing of a bat.”

This time, his mother prudently said nothing. There was no way she was about to acknowledge his very flippant remark.

Isabelle's curiosity was getting the better of her. She supposed she could pretend that he hadn't initially said anything, but then she might miss out on being with him again. And fleeting though it would, right now she didn't want to pass up a single opportunity to spend some time with Brandon.

“You said something about dinner?” she prodded, even as part of her wondered if she really should. She didn't want to seem too eager. But then again, she was afraid if she remained too passive, he'd just move on that much sooner.

Brandon nodded, getting back to his initial question. “Right. I promised my friend I'd give his new restaurant a try and my date just canceled on me at the last minute. I hate eating by myself in public, so I was wondering if you were available.”

His date had canceled at the last minute.

He had a date. With another woman. After they'd made love together last night.

Talk about a fast operator…

Well of course he has a date. He didn't exactly pledge his undying love and loyalty last night, now did he? And for the record, neither did you.

Just take it for what it was, a wonderful evening with an extremely desirable man.

Okay, so it wasn't a wonderful evening, it was the best evening of her whole life, but that was no reason to lose sight of reality. Their time together had been special, unique.
Not
the start of something big.

“Sure. If you can't find anyone else to go,” she added, deliberately giving him a way out if his first choice called back.

Brandon picked up on it immediately. He detected a definite lack of enthusiasm in Isabelle's voice and manner. And he had a sneaking feeling he knew why.

He'd worded things better in his life, Brandon thought, upbraiding himself.

“I didn't look for anyone else,” he told her. “And that date that canceled—”

She raised her hand as if to physically stop the flow of words. “Wait. Brandon. I'm sorry if I made you think that—well, you don't owe me an explanation—”

This time it was his turn to interrupt her. “I know, I was volunteering information. I just wanted you to know that I made that date two months ago, when my friend gave me the opening date for his restaurant. I didn't even know you then.”

There was no reason for her to feel that burst of sunshine going off inside of her. After all, she
knew
this was just temporary and had just spent the morning telling herself over and over again that she wasn't expecting anything lasting from him.

And truth be told, if she suspected their friendship
could
last, she'd already be packing up and heading for the hills.

Because something like that, something that promised to be lasting, that promised her love for a lifetime,
had disaster and heartache written all over it in big, bold neon letters.

Even though she knew how she would react, and still, still she couldn't help herself. Right now, in this very moment in time, she just couldn't stop smiling.

As if she actually believed in love and “happily ever after.”

She
knew
better than that.

Isabelle kept on smiling anyway.

“A
re you sure you want to do this?”

Brandon sat on Victoria's canopied double bed, watching his daughter debating between which pair of almost identical white cutoffs to take with her to summer camp.

Was it his imagination, or were there fewer stuffed animals lining the bottom shelf of her bookcase in her ultrafeminine bedroom than usual?

It was official. His daughter was growing up much too fast.

Victoria never broke stride. She was only half packed and her best friend's mother was coming by soon to pick her up to drive them to the camp bus. She'd been adamant about her father not coming along. She didn't think he was up to watching her board the bus.

“Dad, I'm all packed and you paid for my two weeks
at camp way back in April. It's nonrefundable,” she reminded him.

Money was so not the point here. He was finally at a stage in his life where money no longer represented a concern of any kind.

He shook his head. “Doesn't matter. If you're having second thoughts or cold feet about going, don't feel as if you have to leave,” he told her.

Victoria paused to smile at him fondly. “My feet are as warm as the rest of me, Dad. I
want
to go. It'll be fun,” she promised him encouragingly. She crossed to the bureau to check if she'd left anything behind on the list she'd made for herself.

Victoria might not be having second thoughts, but he was. He liked having his daughter around, and this was her first time away from home. Victoria was well-traveled, but they had always done it together.

“All right,” he allowed reluctantly, “but if you get there and decide you want to come home—”

She closed her eyes and answered him, reciting the words as if they'd been drummed into her head. “I'll call you to come rescue me.”

“Right.” Well, at least he'd gotten that across to her.

After his daughter crossed back to the bed, she deposited three more items into the suitcase, then snapped the locks into place. This was it. She was really going. With a sigh, he got off the bed.

“You have your cell phone?”

“In my pocket, Dad.” She tapped the slight bulge in the pocket of her candy-striped shorts.

Brandon nodded, casting about for a way to stall and squeeze out an extra minute or two longer with his
daughter. “Good. And your charger? You didn't forget your charger, did you?”

“In my suitcase,” she answered patiently. “Next to the whistle you gave me to blow in case I see a snake charging at me.”

He'd have to be deaf to miss what the tone in her voice was saying. “Okay, maybe I'm being a little over-protective—” he allowed.

Victoria flashed him a very knowing, tolerant grin. “You think?”

Taking her suitcase off the bed for her, he slung his free arm around her shoulders as they made their way out of the room. “But you're the only daughter I have and it would be such a pain breaking in a brand-new one. Try to come back in one piece for me, okay?”

She pretended to take that as a serious request. “I'll do my best, Dad.” And then, as they came to the top of the stairs, she looked at him and softened. “It's going to be okay,” she told him as if she was the parent and he the child who needed reassuring.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, so proud of her it hurt.

They went down the stairs. Anastasia deliberately let them have a moment together and waited in another room until she could say goodbye.

Brandon turned toward his daughter as she reached the bottom step. “Victoria?”

She checked her purse one last time for the new essentials in her life: light pink lipstick and suntan lotion. “Yes, Dad?”

“You don't think I've been an unavailable father, do you?”

Victoria glanced up from her search, snapping her purse closed. She did her best not to laugh. “Dad, if
you were any more available, I'd have to run away from home.”

He saw a very real parallel in her reply. “Is that why you're…?”

Because she was his daughter, she knew where this was going. They had a very strong bond and often had the same thoughts.

“No! Dad, you're the best dad in the whole world. I'm a really lucky kid. You've always been there for me and I've never felt the lack of anything. I have no complaints. Except—”

“Aha, you
do
have a complaint.” Here it came. He braced himself.

When she spoke, she didn't say anything remotely close to what he was expecting. “I think you need a girl friend.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “What?”

Victoria explained patiently, “Dad, you're not getting any younger and neither am I. I'm going to start dating, going away to college. You need another hobby other than me.” She sighed and gazed at him. “How about Isabelle? She seems very nice. Gemma likes her and you know how hard
she
is to please. And I think Isabelle's great.”

Just then, a car horn beeped three times, then twice. Victoria grabbed her suitcase. “That's Marisol's mom. I've gotta go. Tell me you'll at least think about what I just said,” she implored.

He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about Victoria dating or going away to college. It was hard enough for him to let her go for a sleepover for a single night, much less a semester…or even longer. But for her peace of mind, he murmured dutifully, “I'll think about it.”

Victoria rose up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. Now, you're not going to worry, right?”

“Right,” he muttered, his heart clearly not in the lie he was parroting back.

In a rare display of sensitivity, Anastasia had deliberately remained out of sight in order to give her son and granddaughter time together. But now, as if right on cue, the actress swept into the foyer, her electric blue caftan billowing about her, and encircled her granddaughter with her arms to give her a huge hug.

“Have a good time, Victoria. Learn a craft for me,” she instructed.

Victoria flashed a grin at her grandmother as she extricated herself from the hug. “Will do, Gemma,” she promised.

Isabelle had been hovering just within the family room, waiting until Brandon and Anastasia were finished. She didn't want to interrupt a family moment, but she didn't want to miss an opportunity to say goodbye to the young girl, or to tell her to have fun.

Not that, Isabelle judged, she needed instruction for that. Victoria, an obvious product of her father's loving care and understanding, was the most levelheaded young person she had ever encountered. Love did that, she thought. Made a person strong and able to face anything.

In a way, she envied Victoria her secure upbringing.

“Have fun, Victoria,” Isabelle said, joining the small circle.

“I will!” Victoria responded with enthusiasm, eager to get going. Impulsively, she threw her arms around
Isabelle and took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Take care of Dad for me.”

Surprised by the request, Isabelle drew back and looked at Brandon's daughter. “I will.”

The answer came out automatically because taking care of people was both her vocation and her mission in life. A beat later, she realized how that must have sounded and hoped that Brandon hadn't heard what Victoria had said to her.

“Would it offend your independent sensibilities if I carried your suitcase to the car?” Brandon asked her.

Victoria pretended that granting permission was a huge concession on her part. “I suppose so.” Her mouth curved, giving her away.

Father and daughter went out the door. To Isabelle's surprise, Anastasia made no attempt to follow. She remained in the foyer. Her sniffling drew Isabelle's attention back to her.

“Why is there never a tissue around when you need one?” Anastasia demanded, annoyed.

Isabelle dug into her pocket and produced a small packet of tissues and silently passed it to the woman.

Taking the packet, Anastasia sniffled again. “Should have known you'd be like a Girl Scout. Always prepared.” She made the pronouncement almost longingly, as if she thought self-sufficiency had its appeal.

“I think those are the Boy Scouts,” Isabelle corrected gently.

“We're not supposed to discriminate these days,” Anastasia replied, waving a hand in wide, concentric circles in the air. She blew her nose, then wadded up the tissue. Looking just a tad uncertain, she slanted a glance in Isabelle's direction. “Victoria'll be all right, won't she?”

Isabelle was surprised the woman asked her that question. Anastasia Del Vecchio always projected such a strong, confident image on and off the screen. Seeing this vulnerable, uncertain side to the woman took her aback. It also, Isabelle thought, made the woman exceedingly human in her eyes.

“I think that, interestingly enough, out of the three of you, Victoria's the one who is the most ‘all right.'” The look in Anastasia's eyes told her that the woman struggled very hard not to cry.
Very human,
Isabelle thought. “You and your son did a great job raising her. She's mature and secure and very, very levelheaded. More than I was at her age.”

Anastasia was instantly her old self, waving away the assessment. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Isabelle. I think you were born old.”

Isabelle examined the comment. “I'm not sure if that's a compliment,” she said, bemused.

Over the past few weeks, Anastasia had grown exceedingly fond of her physical therapist. Setting aside her bombastic persona for a moment, she took Isabelle's hand in hers and patted it.

“It was meant as one, dear.” Releasing her hand again, she glanced back toward the room she'd been in. “Well, I think I'll go lie down and absorb all this. Saying goodbye has taken a lot out of me.”

Isabelle smiled to herself. The drama queen had returned. In this case, it was a good sign.

“Fine. I think we're about done for the day, anyway.” She regarded the woman warmly. “You deserve some time off for good behavior.”

“You're only saying that because you want to get ready for your night out,” the actress responded intuitively, giving her a knowing look.

“Well, having more than five minutes to throw on a dress and put my makeup on would be nice, yes,” Isabelle agreed.

Anastasia paused to regard her for a moment, as if to scrutinize her more closely.

“Oh, my dear, you're still so very young—don't you know you don't need any help?” As she said the words, there was a note of longing in the actress's voice for the years that had gone by.

There were times when she felt old and other times when she felt invisible. Now was not the time to argue about either. “I guess I am young at that,” Isabelle agreed, then winked playfully at Anastasia. “Almost as young as you are.”

Anastasia laughed. She knew that Isabelle was neither pandering to her ego, nor being sarcastic. Her words were tendered with affection. As a rule, the actress did not like many women, feeling, instead a sharp sense of competition whenever she was in the company of another female. Such was not the case with Isabelle. She genuinely liked her.

Moreover, she hoped that Brandon would have the good sense to snap her up before some other man did.

“You'll do, Isabelle Sinclair,” the actress told her, not bothering to appear regally austere, an image she ordinarily projected for the benefit of those outside the parameters of her own family. “You'll do.”

Just as Anastasia left the foyer, Isabelle heard the front door behind her open and close again. Turning around, she saw Brandon standing just inside the doorway. In her opinion, the writer had looked a lot happier than he did right at this moment.

Casting about for something comforting to say, she
waited for him to speak first. She didn't want to intrude into his private moment.

Brandon sighed deeply as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, she's gone.”

“She's going to have a wonderful time, Brandon,” Isabelle assured him. “Someone with Victoria's level-headedness needs to be able to kick back a little, have some wholesome fun. Otherwise, I have a feeling she might just spend the whole summer reading books and never even venturing outside the house.”

“Yeah, I know. You're right. Camp was a good idea. She'll have fun.” A small sigh escaped, and he looked as though he had a momentary lapse of control. “She probably won't even miss—home,” he said, substituting another word for the one he meant at the last minute.

Not that he fooled her at all. Isabelle struggled not to smile, even though she thought it rather sweet that he was so protective of his daughter. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky Victoria was to have such a relaxed relationship with her father. He was both her friend and her protector. Most of the time, you got either one or the other.

And sometimes, she thought with a pang, as in her case, you got neither.

“I'm sure she'll miss ‘home,'” she told him with the proper emphasis on the last word. “But you know, it's also nice to have the opportunity to miss ‘home,' instead of always hanging around ‘home' and not knowing what a day without being ‘home' is like.”

By the time she took a breath, it was utterly obvious just what she meant each time she'd said “home.” He hadn't really been trying to be subtle when he'd switched his words at the last minute.

Brandon frowned. “Are you through?”

Rather than answer him, she asked, “Do you want to cancel our dinner date?”

He had no idea what one thing had to do with the other. If he lived to be a hundred and twenty, he just
knew
he'd never understand how the female mind worked. “No.”

Isabelle smiled, relieved. She really liked the idea of going out with him. To her, this was an unofficial “date.”

“Then I'm through.” She began to walk away and head for the stairs.