by Patricia Kay
As much as she loved her granny Carmela, Joanna wasn’t blind to the fact that Granny Carmela thought her oldest child and only son could do no wrong. Nor could he do “a woman’s work.”
By college age, though, Joanna had realized other cultures also relegated their women to a much lower tier than their men. In fact, most did. But she had still believed Prince Charmings existed. Shoot, if she were completely honest with herself, down deep, she still did. At least she wanted to.
But maybe she’d been wrong to cling to this fantasy. Maybe the reason she still didn’t have her so-called Prince Charming and everything that went along with him was that Prince Charmings didn’t exist and she’d been unwilling to settle for less.
She sighed. Not everyone settled. Georgie hadn’t. Had she? Was Zach Prince, Georgie’s husband, really and truly as marvelous as Georgie made him out to be? How could anyone know the truth about a relationship unless they were part of it?
On and on Joanna’s thoughts went, getting more and more depressing and confusing, and the excitement she had initially felt over the upcoming visit—not a date!—from Marcus, faded a bit. Yet by the time she walked out the door a few minutes after four—and she’d been right, Chick had called to check on her at 3:55!— the butterflies were back, and she couldn’t wait to get home. Despite every reason she knew Marcus was wrong for her, she couldn’t tamp down the growing feeling that she was teetering on the edge of something unknown, something scary and exciting and amazing. Something she might not be able to resist, even though she was probably setting herself up for a huge disappointment...or worse.
* * *
Luck was with Joanna and the traffic going home wasn’t as bad as it could sometimes be. She even reached her parking garage early. It was barely 4:35 when she walked into her apartment.
As she raced around preparing for Marcus’s arrival, her qualms took a backseat to her anticipation and growing excitement. By the time her doorbell rang a few minutes after six, her heart was skittering right along with her stomach. Taking several deep breaths and telling herself to calm down—this is business!—she slowly walked to the door.
Today Marcus was dressed like the professional CEO he was in a dark suit, light bluish-gray shirt and matching silk tie. She couldn’t help noticing the shirt and tie were the exact shade of his spellbinding eyes.
“Right on time,” she said, smiling.
His answering smile did nothing to settle her nerves...or the rest of her body. Why did he have to be so darned sexy? And why did her heart have to betray her like this? Said traitorous organ was beating so hard, she was afraid he might be able to hear it. So much for telling herself tonight was only business, she thought wryly. Her brain might actually pretend to believe it, but the rest of her body was more honest.
“C’mon in,” she said, grateful she’d managed to sound so normal when she felt anything but. “I apologize for the clutter. Tomorrow my mom and I are looking at several places for me to relocate. Once I do that, I’ll have a lot more room to work.”
As she explained, she gestured toward the myriad items filling the room: the dress forms, the sewing machine, the large worktable covered with the materials she was currently using, her MacBook, the ironing board and iron set up in the corner, the built-in shelves crammed with supplies and the finished designs hanging on a luggage trolley she’d purchased from a hotel equipment supplier.
Wondering what he thought, she watched as Marcus slowly looked around the room. The memory of Chick’s casual disinterest in her design aspirations the one and only time he’d been there was a painful reminder of her past bad judgment. But in this, she knew Marcus was different. He’d once been an aspiring artist with his own dreams.
“Was this intended to be a living room?” he asked, now studying her large bulletin board crammed with notes, newspaper articles, reminders of all kinds and dozens of photos. Despite Pinterest—which often gave her ideas—Joanna was a tactile person, and she liked to be able to touch the physical evidence of her passion.
“Yes, which is another reason I need more space.” She’d turned her bedroom into a combination bedroom/living room. In fact, she didn’t even have a proper bed. She slept on her sofa. But he didn’t have to know that. This is business. Maybe if she told herself this enough times it might actually turn out to be true. Did she really want it to be true?
Marcus had moved to her worktable and was looking down at the pattern pieces she’d pinned and cut out last night. The work-in-progress emulated something Sue Wong—a designer Joanna admired—had said in an interview. It walked “a fine line between art and commerce” and was geared to Joanna’s dreamed-of customer: a young woman who was spirited, smart, independent-thinking, yet classical and romantic and elegant. Georgie, actually. Joanna smiled.
Marcus glanced up, catching the smile. He gave her a quizzical look.
“I was just thinking about my best friend, who inspired that design,” Joanna explained.
“What’s it going to be?” Marcus asked, picking up and examining a bit of the leftover jersey matte fabric that wasn’t pinned to the pattern.
“Evening pants and jacket.”
He nodded. “I didn’t think you’d use something like this for a daytime outfit. Then again...” He chuckled. “What do I know?”
Obviously, he knew a lot, whether he realized it or not. After all, he attended all kinds of charity dinners, balls, concerts, even the opera, because Joanna had seen a mention of his attendance recently at McCaw Hall. He had to have absorbed some fashion sense with all that exposure. But he was wrong about the daytime remark, because the jersey matte was sturdy, draped well, was more durable than it looked and could work beautifully for a certain type of dress or daytime occasion.
Joanna let him continue to browse around on his own. She was enjoying watching him and the thoughtful way he inspected her workplace and was in no hurry to steer him to the finished pieces she intended for the show. He had now walked back to the bulletin board and was studying an article about Sarah Burton, who had taken over the house of Alexander McQueen when the famed designer had died.
“She’s a designer I admire tremendously,” Joanna said, walking over and joining him. “She’s the one who designed the Duchess of Cambridge’s wedding dress.” Chick would have asked who the hell the Duchess of Cambridge was. The fact that Marcus hadn’t vividly underscored how different the two men were.
“And she?” He pointed to a photo of Stella McCartney.
“I love her work, too. She created a line that’s wearable and appealing, according to the critics. Do you know who she is?”
He met her gaze. “Paul McCartney’s daughter?”
Why, his eyes were actually twinkling! Joanna grinned. “So your sister was wrong. You have joined the twenty-first century.”
When he laughed, Joanna finally began to relax. The man might be a lot of things and he might not be the man for her, but he had a sense of humor and he didn’t mind being teased. Any man who could laugh at himself was all right. More than all right. He might even turn out to be a Prince Charming after all. For someone, anyway.
After a few more minutes, he walked toward the finished designs. “Are these the ones you have ready for the show?”
“Yes, I think so, although I reserve the right to change my mind. Um, why don’t you sit in that chair?” She gestured to a white wicker chair she sometimes collapsed in to think. “And I’ll show you the garments as if you were a customer in a high-class salon.”
The first designs she brought over for him to see were the ones he’d already seen in photographs. There were six in all.
“They look even better than they did in the photographs,” he said.
Next she showed him the green velvet one-shoulder gown she’d adapted for Georgie and her pregnancy, even though it would not be a part of the show because Georgie want
ed to wear it before then. “My best friend is pregnant,” she explained. “And she commissioned this for the holidays.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Are you planning to do maternity clothes?”
“I hadn’t been. But while I was working on this piece for Georgie, I did think it might be fun to eventually do some designs for pregnant women who want a couture look.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just toying with that idea. Right now my entire focus is on the upcoming show.”
Next she showed him the most tailored piece in her collection—a gray moire skirt and jacket with a narrow silver belt and white satin pleated shell that would be worn under the jacket. “I see a woman wearing this for afternoon tea in a nice hotel, or some women might even wear it to work, depending on what kind of work they do,” she explained.
“I like that a lot,” he said.
There were two others remaining: a cocktail dress in a shimmery gold charmeuse and a softly flowered chiffon at-home outfit with wide pants and a snug, flocked, cap-sleeved top.
The last outfit she brought out was the one Vanessa would model: black satin tapered pants that would be altered to fit Vanessa like a second skin, paired with an ivory lace halter top lined in sheer ivory silk.
“That’s the outfit Vanessa wants to model?” he said. For the first time since he’d arrived, he didn’t look or sound pleased.
“Yes. Don’t you like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just think it’s a bit...revealing...don’t you?”
Joanna sighed inwardly. Oh, Lord. He was going to go all conservative and protective of his sister. There wasn’t a thing wrong with the pants and top. It was sexy, yes, but in a young, completely acceptable way. Good grief. He was a sophisticated man. Surely he saw the way young women dressed nowadays. The only thing this outfit would reveal of Vanessa was something that couldn’t be hidden anyway—the fact she had a terrific figure and was a beautiful, sexy young woman.
“If you’re worried about the halter top,” she said, “it’s fully lined.”
“Let me see that,” he said, reaching for it.
Joanna handed the garment to him, and when she did, their hands brushed, and she felt a jolt of something very like electricity. It seemed like an omen. Or a warning: Danger Ahead. Had he felt it, too? He must have, yet he said nothing, just took the top.
When he said nothing, just kept looking at it, she said, “I know you still don’t want her to do this. I’m really sorry I initiated this problem with you and Vanessa, but I had no idea you’d be against her modeling in the show.”
“I know. And she even wants to buy the outfit. I know that, too.” Joanna wasn’t sure what to say, so she said nothing.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.” His smile was rueful. “None of this is your fault. My sister is stubborn and seems to delight in doing the exact opposite of anything I might want.”
“You’re not alone. I think all twenty-year-olds are the same. I used to give my father fits at that age.” She laughed. “At times, I still do.”
“But as my sister has pointed out more than once, I’m not her father, and I won’t even be her legal guardian after her twenty-first birthday.”
“Does that worry you?”
“A little.”
Joanna knew, from reading about him, that his mother was alive. Yet he was Vanessa’s guardian? That was interesting. She wondered what was behind that story. “I realize I don’t know Vanessa very well,” she said carefully, “but from what I’ve seen of her, she seems to have a pretty level head.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.” He seemed about to say something else but didn’t. Instead, he frowned.
“My mother always says it’s best to allow people to make their own mistakes because it’s the only way they learn.” Joanna grimaced. “But when it comes to his children, my father doesn’t agree.”
“That doesn’t seem to work with my family,” he said, rising and avoiding her eyes.
Now, why had she said that? She wished she could take the unasked-for advice back. Joanna wanted to kick herself. She’d stepped over the line, and now he was probably wondering how he could get out of the dinner invitation. Maybe that would be for the best, though. She ignored the disappointment that filled her at the thought. To cover it, she made her voice brisk. “I’ll just hang this back up. Did...you want to see my sketches for the other pieces I’m planning for the collection?”
He roused himself out of whatever he’d been thinking and said, “That’s not necessary. I’d rather wait until they’re completed.”
“All right.” Joanna was relieved. She often changed her mind from initial sketch to finished product. Sometimes ideas simply didn’t work the way she envisioned them, and she had to change direction.
She hung up the pants and halter top, took a deep breath to steady her nerves and turned around. He seemed deep in thought again.
She’d been right. He no longer wanted to take her to dinner. But just as she was about to ask if he’d mind if they skipped dinner because she felt as if she might be coming down with a cold, he looked up, smiled and said, “Are you ready for dinner?”
Joanna wasn’t sure what she was ready for where he was concerned. She’d never felt so conflicted about anyone or anything in her life as she felt about him. This isn’t a good idea. Tell him you can feel the onset of a migraine. Tell him anything but yes. “Actually, I’m starving,” she said lightly. “Lunch was a chicken sandwich at my desk.”
“Let’s go, then. I’m starving myself.”
This time when his eyes met hers, there was some emotion in them she couldn’t identify. Her heart picked up speed again. Why hadn’t she said no to this dinner to begin with? Why had she ignored all the danger signs? Why was she still ignoring them? Did she want to get her heart broken? For she already sensed the inescapable truth, that if she let down her guard, if she allowed herself to become involved with Marcus on a personal level, and he eventually dumped her, she would be hurt in ways she could only imagine.
It’s not too late. Don’t go. Just make up an excuse.
Still she said nothing.
And as they walked out into the hallway and she locked the door behind them, she knew that she had crossed over more than her apartment’s threshold.
Chapter Nine
Joanna suggested Giacomo’s Ristorante, a family-owned, small restaurant two blocks away. “I discovered it shortly after I moved into my apartment, and it’s been a favorite ever since.”
“Wherever you want to go.” He just wanted to be with her.
“They have great food,” she went on, “a decent wine list, wonderful service and they’re not overpriced.”
“Sounds good.” She was the first woman he’d ever taken to dinner who had mentioned price. Marcus wasn’t sure whether to be amused or impressed. He decided he was impressed and that she’d just gone up another notch in his estimation. Too often over the past years he’d felt as if the women he’d dated cared more for his bottom line and family position than they did for him. Unless Joanna was an extremely good actress, she didn’t seem interested in either one.
The two of them covered the short distance to the restaurant in less than ten minutes. Marcus was surprised to discover Joanna walked fast. He hardly had to slow his stride. Amazing, considering how short she was, which meant she probably was taking two steps to his every one. Plus her black leather boots had those ridiculously high heels she seemed to favor, with platforms no less. He figured she wanted to give the illusion of being taller, but how she could navigate in those things was beyond him.
She did look nice, though. He’d thought so from the moment she’d opened her apartment door. She was dressed in a just-above-the-knee flared dark gray skirt and a long black turtleneck sweater worn with a silver belt studded with black onyxlike stones
.
At first, he’d wondered if she was going to be warm enough. The evening had turned colder and it felt as if rain was on its way. None was forecast, but this was rain country. Once they were outside, he had even suggested she might want to go back and get a raincoat.
“You don’t have one,” she’d pointed out. “Besides, I’m fine. We don’t have far to go.” Then she grinned. “If it rains, it won’t be the first time I’ve gotten wet.”
Marcus liked the look of the restaurant the minute they walked in the door. It was small, but warm and cozy and softly lit by wall sconces and candles on each table. He also liked that there were white tablecloths and cloth napkins. Lilting accordion music played faintly in the background. A smiling older man with thick white hair and an even thicker accent welcomed them, saying, “Buonasera, Miss Joanna and her gentleman friend.”
Joanna gave him a warm smile in return. “Giacomo, this is Mr. Barlow.”
Giacomo bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barlow.”
“Thank you.” Marcus absorbed the atmosphere. The restaurant was almost two-thirds full, and the diners were dressed casually. He was sorry he hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes to the office today.
“For you, beautiful lady,” Giacomo said, “I have a very nice table.” He led them to a vacant spot at the front windows that a waiter had just finished clearing and resetting.
“I’m not beautiful,” Joanna protested.
“To me you are.” Giacomo reached for her hand and kissed it.
To me you are, too, Marcus thought. “You must come here often,” he said after they were seated facing each other.
“About once a week, sometimes more than that.” She looked sheepish. “I get tired of frozen meals and tuna, and I hate to cook. Besides, who has time?”
Marcus thought of his privileged life. Franny was a terrific cook, and she pampered him. He could always count on having a healthy, delicious meal with no effort on his part. Or his mother’s, for that matter.