Chapter Five
* * *
“COME ON, SUGAR,” Brandon shouted up the staircase. “Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Chill out,” Emily yelled back, and clutched her head. Ow. She moved as quickly as she could. Some people had no respect for the recently concussed.
She stepped into a pair of flats. No high heels today, she thought mournfully as she surveyed the destroyed Italian leather boots lying on the bedroom floor, a constant reminder of how much those damn things cost.
The ponytail she’d gingerly brushed her hair into might disguise the stitches. She swallowed a couple of pain killers before pulling on a pair of pants, a soft yellow silk and cotton sweater, and a strand of pearls. She spent fifteen minutes searching her bathroom for the silver circlet of hearts ring she wore on her left middle finger. She had misplaced it somewhere.
She was off to rehearsal, whether she felt like it or not. Of course, this brought another argument with Brandon.
“You are not going,” he told her. “You are going right back to bed.”
“I have to be there, even if I don’t think I can sing.” She pulled the car keys out of her purse. He took them out of her hand.
“You are not driving. Are you nuts? Did you even listen to the doctor?”
“This is my job. I—”
He cut her off, as usual. “I’ll take you. If you insist on going, we’ll go, but if you get worse, we’re going back to the emergency room.” He glanced down at himself. “We’ll need to stop at team headquarters so I can change my clothes and pick up my car, too.”
“Fine,” she said. She shut the door hard, even if it hurt. Door-slamming hadn’t been her preferred method of communication since junior high, but right now, it was working for her. She heard the soft sound of his laughter in response.
She knew he was just trying to help, but she hadn’t had to answer to anyone but David regarding her life and her schedule for a while. Perhaps she could be a little more gracious right now.
Brandon wore a playful smile as he stood in the entryway of Emily’s house. “There she is,” he purred as she made her way downstairs. He’d evidently forgotten the argument they just had. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
She was still sore from yesterday. The headache was under control, thanks to her new best friend Mr. Ibuprofen, but nobody could tell her she had wimped out by not showing up at rehearsal this morning. She grabbed her handbag. Brandon pulled the front door open, they walked out onto the porch, and she heard, “Miss Hamilton!” Emily saw flashes and TV cameras—what the hell was going on? She reached out for a handful of Brandon’s t-shirt.
“Where did all of these people come from?” she asked as his arm slid around her waist.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“Brandon, why are they here?”
“I have no idea,” he insisted, but he wouldn’t look at her. He looked at everything (and everyone) but her. He was lying.
Emily pretended like she was cuddling shyly in his arms. She said into his ear, “Did you call someone?”
His lips grazed her cheek. “My agent may have had something to do with this.” She tried to bring her shoe down on his toes. He was too fast for her. “Be nice, sugar.” Reporters were approaching them.
“Congratulations, Brandon,” one of the reporters called out to him. “Another one bites the dust, huh? How about a smile?”
His arms tightened around her. “Do you know Emily?”
“Hello,” she said to the people currently sticking microphones in her face.
“Miss Hamilton, Shelly Case from MSNBC. How long have you and Mr. McKenna been seeing each other?” The look on the woman’s face made the hair stand up on the back of Emily’s neck. “Unfriendly” was an understatement.
“A little while,” Emily spoke over the din.
“How long?” Ms. Case persisted. Maybe it was better not to answer her question.
“Emily. You must be thrilled. When did he propose?” another woman called out.
“A few days ago.”
“How did it happen? What did he say to you?”
She felt Brandon stiffen a little against her, but the brilliant smile hadn’t left his lips. Those same lips touched her forehead. Emily resisted the impulse to gasp. Pretend or not, she was starting to wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
“We’d rather keep that private,” Brandon interrupted.
“Were you surprised?” another female reporter asked Emily.
“Yes, you could say that.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Brandon murmured, “Good one,” into her ear.
“Let’s have a look at the ring,” someone else called out.
“We’re picking it up this morning,” Brandon assured the guy. Emily remembered the small silver ring she’d worn for the past couple of years, and resisted the impulse to flinch. Hopefully, it hadn’t fallen down the drain in the bathroom sink.
“Anastasia Lee says that you’re on the rebound, Brandon. What are your thoughts on that?”
“No comment.” His expression didn’t change.
“When’s the wedding, Emily?”
“We’re still discussing it. Maybe you could help us with that.”
The reporters laughed again, and Shelly Case spoke up once more.
“What are your thoughts on Brandon’s recent off-the-field incident, Emily?”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”
Luckily, Brandon interrupted her. “Listen, folks, I could stand here for hours and show off my beautiful fiancée, but we have things to take care of. Thanks for coming out,” he said, and walked Emily to the passenger side of her Escape. She waved goodbye to the reporters and got in. Brandon was still talking to the group outside the car, but Emily couldn’t quite hear what was said. She heard another wave of laughter, though. He jumped into the driver’s seat, snapped his seatbelt on, and they drove away.
Emily was stunned into silence at the sheer number of news trucks that lined both sides of the quiet street she lived on. He glanced over at her. “You okay, sugar?”
“I’m fine. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Okay. You got me.” He flashed Emily a naughty-little-boy grin. “I talked to my agent while you were in the shower. He asked if we’d pose for some pictures and maybe a little interview. I thought they’d catch up with us later today, but hopefully, they’ll leave us alone now. You’re not mad, are you?”
“I wish you would have told me.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” She shook her head. “C’mon. It wasn’t too bad,” he coaxed. “There’ll be a nice picture of you on the news.”
“I haven’t even told my family.”
Speaking of family, it might be nice if she gave them a call, despite their unavailability up to this point. Amy was going to freak out. Her parents were going to lose their grip—especially her dad, which was why she hadn’t called him from the hospital yesterday. She loved her dad, but she didn’t depend on him for help, and she hadn’t for a long time now. What was she thinking? Maybe she could avoid telling them.
“Oh, they’re about to find out,” he interrupted. Brandon patted her thigh with one big hand. “I have to pick up my stuff, we’ll go to your rehearsal, and then we’ll have some lunch.” His voice dropped a bit. “Are you up for this?”
“Sure.” This must have been one of those “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it” moments.
Brandon pulled up in front of the team headquarters a short time later. The debris from yesterday’s parking lot misadventure had been cleared away. Someone had even shoveled the lot. Maybe Emily should have waited a day.
“Listen. I don’t think you want to spend time in the locker room while I’m getting dressed. I’ll take you to the lobby, where you can have a seat.”
“No. I’ll wait
out here.”
“I’ll be back.”
He sprinted through the front doors of the facility, and Emily pulled her phone out of her purse. She left more messages. Her mom still wasn’t home, and Amy must have been sleeping in after yesterday. Even if it was cold outside the car’s interior was toasty warm, and she drifted off for a few minutes.
Emily awoke to a blast of freezing cold air and Brandon’s voice. “Hey. Let’s get in my rig, and we’ll pick yours up later.” A black, late-model Land Rover was idling in the parking spot next to her. “We gotta go, or you’ll be late. Come on.”
They arrived at McCaw Hall after the fastest trip across the bridge to Seattle she’d ever experienced. He wasn’t reckless, but he made it clear he was getting to his destination as quickly as humanly possible. He also insisted on walking her inside.
“Brandon, I am fine. I can do this myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time. Really.”
“Let me make sure that you’re going to be okay.” He pulled the auditorium door open for her, and she made her way to the backstage area. Their footsteps echoed down a long parquet hallway.
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.”
EMILY 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 bott
le 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.”
BRANDON INSTALLED EMILY 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.
Blitzing Emily Page 6