Five men immediately offered their arms. She took Brandon’s. Damian was still chatting with her.
“We listened to your CD today.”
“Did you like it?”
“I did. Do you think you might sing that ‘O Mio Baby’ song for me sometime?”
“O mio babbino caro?”
“Yeah.” The other guys smirked at him. He looked a little embarrassed, but continued. “I liked it.” He raised an eyebrow at Zach, who attempted to stifle a laugh.
“The most famous version of that song is sung by Luciano Pavarotti. Have you ever heard of him?” He shook his head. “You might like his CD’s, too.”
“I liked Phantom of the Opera. Do you know Sarah Brightman?”
“No. I don’t know her. I enjoyed her CD, though.” Emily thought for a moment. “I’m singing in a recital next week at Benaroya. I could get you some tickets.”
“Yeah. I’d like that. McKenna, you’re fine if I tag along?” Damian said.
“You’re bringing your own date,” Brandon said.
Greg interrupted him. “Now you’re an opera fan? Don’t get me wrong. I liked Emily’s CD. It’s pretty good. Some of that other one, though, sounded like—shit, it was like cats being run over or something.”
“There was no Mandarin Chinese opera in those CD’s,” she whispered frantically into Brandon’s ear. He let out a chuckle.
“Hey. Rappers are doing standards these days. We might as well branch out,” Damian informed Greg, who was attempting to contain his laughter and failing miserably.
Emily kissed Brandon’s cheek when they reached the seating area.
“See you guys in a little while.”
Everything was going well, maybe a little too well. Emily knew that her relationship with Brandon was outwardly accepted because of the publicity it brought to any production she performed in. Obviously, ticket sales were a good thing. At the same time, she heard the gossip. According to some of her colleagues, she had shamed the opera world and sullied her career. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there must have been endless rehashing of her breakup with James, too.
“Hello, Emily,” said a deep, all-too-familiar voice.
Her stomach lurched. Oh, no, please, don’t let it be him, she thought. She turned her head and looked up into the face of her ex, James Peterson.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
JAMES SAT DOWN next to Emily without asking permission. He motioned to a server for a glass of champagne and then turned to face her.
“Good to see you. How are you doing?” he said.
She fidgeted with the evening bag in her lap. “Fine.”
Nothing could be further from the truth, at least right then. In a world full of people, James was the last person she wanted to see. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to run. Even more, she wanted to disappear.
“Where’s Heather?” Emily said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m doing well. Heather’s at home. She’s . . . She’s feeling a little under the weather.”
“I’m sorry to hear she’s ill.” Emily’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away. Truthfully, she wanted him to go elsewhere. “I hope she’ll feel better soon.”
He took a long sip of champagne, and flashed his perfect, insincere smile. Too bad that she seemed to be the only one who knew what was behind the seemingly flawless display. “She’ll be fine. We’re having a baby.”
Obviously Emily was hearing things.
“I could have sworn you just told me Heather’s pregnant.”
“Yes. Yes, we are. It’s a girl. Heather’s in her second trimester.”
“You said you didn’t want children,” she blurted.
“I changed my mind.” He motioned to the server for another glass of champagne. “Where’s your fiancé?”
“He’ll be onstage in a minute.”
James licked his lips as his gaze traveled slowly over her. “You look lovely, Emily. Engagement obviously agrees with you.”
She swallowed hard, resisting the impulse to slap him into the middle of next week.
“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked. “We’ll look forward to receiving the invitation.”
Emily leaned forward. There was no way she wanted those seated around them to hear her comments. News traveled fast, but bad (or scandalous) news traveled even faster.
“You must be out of your mind. Leave me alone.”
James assumed the pouty, supercilious expression he’d always worn whenever he wanted to let her know she didn’t measure up to his expectations. In anything.
“I’d like to think we could be friends, Emily,” he said. “You insist on holding so much envy and bitterness toward us. Why can’t you be happy? We are.”
People in surrounding rows were swiveling around to hear what was being said. James was really putting on a show.
To Emily’s surprise, a big, warm hand took her arm and propelled her to her feet. “Sugar,” Brandon said. “I’ve got this.”
“I thought you were backstage,” she muttered.
Instead of responding, he faced James and said, “I’m Brandon McKenna. And you are?”
“James Peterson.” James stretched out his hand.
Brandon ignored James’s gesture. “Hey, Peterson, my fiancée asked you to leave her alone. Wouldn’t it be the gentlemanly thing to find another place to sit?”
“I wanted to catch up,” James whined. Emily watched his Adam’s apple bob as he tried to swallow. There was fear in his eyes. Brandon was at least half a foot taller than James, and outweighed him as well.
Brandon’s eyes narrowed to slits as he moved closer.
“No, you didn’t. You wanted to cause a scene.” His voice dropped. “If you don’t leave Emily alone and stay away from her, I will remove you from this event. And not gently.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” James sputtered.
Brandon smiled, but his eyes bored a hole through James’ chest. “Want to bet?” He waited a beat. “Leave, Peterson. Leave now.” He took a step toward James, who jumped up from his seat like it was electrified. It was all Emily could do not to laugh at the panic on James’ face.
James half-ran from the seating area.
Brandon turned to Emily. “Sugar. Shall we?” He picked up her evening purse and her wrap, cupped her elbow in his other hand, and walked her from the auditorium.
“You okay?” he asked as they hurried down a corridor.
“You scared the crap out of me, bruiser.”
“I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again,” he said, steering her backstage. “We’ll be done with our auction in a minute. Let’s get out of here afterward.”
“That’ll be fine. I greeted people, so I can go.”
“Good. I’m going to have to hurt him if he comes near you again.”
He draped Emily’s wrap around her shoulders, gave her a reassuring squeeze, and walked onto the opera house’s stage with his four teammates when their names were called to thunderous applause.
The spray-tanning auction went for ten thousand dollars.
Ten minutes later, Emily swept onstage to applause. The bidding was spirited and fierce, but Mrs. Tollifson prevailed. The fifteen thousand dollars bid on post-performance drinks with her was probably the equivalent of a parking ticket for her grandson.
One hour later, Emily and Brandon sat in his Land Rover at Burgermaster. He draped her in a combination of napkins and his tuxedo jacket while she ate. He had a patty melt with extra tomato, and managed to keep his evening clothes immaculate.
“I never knew I’d be visiting a drive-in wearing an evening dress,” Emily said.
“Stick with me, and you’re going to do a lot of things you’ve never done before.”
BRANDON TRIED TO concentrate on the road in front of him, but the distraction currently sitting in the passenger seat of his Land Rover was presenting a significant challenge. Considering the fact they’d barely made it out of her driveway due to m
utual lust earlier this evening, maybe it was time to take things to the next level. Maybe? Hell. If he didn’t kiss her again in the next few minutes, he was going to spontaneously combust.
He let go of her hand for a moment to make the turn onto her street. He tried to keep his voice casual.
“So, are you inviting me in for a nightcap, sugar?”
Emily leaned forward in the seat, peering through the windshield. “Amy’s van’s in my driveway.”
“Maybe she’s dropping by for a visit.” He wanted to meet Amy, but he wondered what he could bribe her with to visit Emily at a later date. He pulled into Emily’s driveway next to the brightly painted van.
“No, something’s wrong.” He shut off the ignition. Emily already had her seat belt off.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, but she was out of the car and hurrying toward her front door. Luckily for him, he could keep up with her shorter steps. He reached out for her hand. It seemed his plans for the rest of the evening had just cratered in a spectacular fashion.
Emily was tugging on his hand. “Come in with me,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on with her right now, but I want you to meet Amy. Plus, I’ve got beer.” She paused in front of the door. “Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Brandon.” She stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck.
“I’m not saying goodnight to you yet, sugar,” he said. She was warm and soft against him. She slid her fingers into his hair, touching his mouth with hers.
“Good,” she said. She took his hand again, and opened her front door.
BRANDON SPOTTED A tall blonde with a tear-streaked face; she was wrapped in a blanket on Emily’s couch. She must have stopped at the grocery store on the way over. Various types of junk food were sitting untouched on Emily’s coffee table, including three different flavors of Ben & Jerry’s. He liked her style.
She got to her feet. “I—I didn’t realize you guys had a date. I’m so sorry—”
Emily crossed the room at the speed of light and threw her arms around her sister. “What happened, Ame?”
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were Amy’s sobs as she held onto her sister. The smartest thing he could do right now was excuse himself and leave, but Amy seemed to remember they weren’t alone. She mopped up a little, and glanced over at him. “You must be Brandon.”
“Yes, I am,” he said. He crossed the room. “I think you need a hug,” he told Amy.
EMILY EXCUSED HERSELF a few minutes later to change her clothes, and Brandon sat down on the couch next to Amy. “So, squirt, how can I help?”
A few more tears escaped. He handed her another tissue.
“I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. She wasn’t meeting his eyes. He’d bet his next contract bonus that the guy dumped her. Women didn’t cry like this over telling a guy to hit the road. They put on some spike heels, called their girlfriends, and hit the club instead. In the meantime, the guy in question was an idiot.
“It wasn’t working, but I can’t figure out why I’m crying like this.” Amy sniffled a few more times, and reached out to pat him on the knee. “I’ll get myself together and clear out. You’d like to be alone with my sis.” She started to get up from the couch, and Brandon reached out for her elbow.
“No. You need some girl time right now. That Ben & Jerry’s isn’t going to eat itself, you know.”
Amy gave him a watery smile. “Want to split it with me?”
A FEW DAYS after the opera benefit, Emily was on a plane again. Her performances with San Diego Opera went well. She stretched to do Turandot, and the outcome was worth it. These were the greatest performances of her career so far, in a venue that would get international notice in the opera world. To say she was happy about this was an understatement. There weren’t words to describe how it felt. It also didn’t hurt that she had a wonderful and tragic death scene, too. She didn’t want to leave the stage afterward, and she didn’t come down from the adrenaline high of having an audience fall in love with her and her voice for hours afterward.
She scheduled additional practices and worked with others in the production to make sure everything was seamless. She got wonderful reviews, and David was fielding even more calls from opera companies hoping for holes in her schedule. The media was also interested in the diva with the NFL-playing fiancé. She spent every post-performance evening on the phone with Brandon. He wasn’t able to be there. He was ramping up his lifting and required practices before training camp.
“So, you miss me?” he asked every night, with laughter in his voice.
“Yes, I miss you. Do you miss me?”
“Hurry home, sugar.”
No matter how long they talked, there was always more to talk about. He never said a word about ending their engagement, and she wasn’t going to bring it up. She was having too much fun with him. Obviously, it was really helping her career . . . or so she kept telling herself.
EMILY ARRIVED BACK in Seattle just before Memorial Day weekend. She missed the routines of home, but mostly, she missed Brandon. The slow progression of their relationship was about to undergo its first big test. Brandon was coming to Sunday dinner to meet her parents. When the day arrived she broached the subject at the breakfast table.
“Good job, sugar.” Brandon pushed his empty plate away and patted his stomach.
“All it took was a phone call.” Restaurant takeout was a modern miracle. Emily was still attempting to master the basics of cooking without supervision. She took a deep breath. “Baby.”
“Hey, where’s my latest nickname?”
“For today, you’re Godzilla.”
He laughed, and squeezed her hand. “You look a little apprehensive.”
“It’s my parents. I don’t even know how to explain them.”
“Try me.”
“They’re still really mad about the engagement.” She gripped her hands together. “They accepted James because they thought he understood my schedule and my goals. I’ve told them they need to meet you before they make up their minds about who you are and why I’m with you.”
He let out a chuckle. “I wish I cared about James, but truthfully, sugar, I don’t. Right now, though, what you’re trying to tell me is that I may not get an especially warm reception from your parents.”
“I—I’ve talked to them about you. They’re freaking out.”
“I spend all day Sunday from September to February dealing with people who don’t necessarily like me.” Emily felt herself relax at his amusement. “Listen. I’m going to dinner. I’ll do my best to show them I’m not a jerk.”
“Everyone else loves you.”
“You’re good for my ego.”
“It’s true,” she said. Everywhere they went, women were helpless in the face of his charm. Emily should know. She was one of them.
The ride to Emily’s mother’s house was quiet until Brandon murmured, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous,” he said, but his lips curved into a teasing smile. “It’s going to go perfectly.”
Emily’s nerves increased as she reflected on the fact Amy wouldn’t be at dinner today. She was delivering and setting up wedding flowers. She might stop by later.
Brandon pulled into a parking space in front of her mom’s house. As Emily reached down to pick her handbag up off the floorboard, he slipped his arms around her.
“Everything will be fine. I’m right here.”
“I know you are.” She rested her head against his shoulder, and pulled in a long breath. “I’m right here, too.”
He chuckled. “Protecting me from the big, mean parents, are you?” Emily concentrated on the warm, solid man in her embrace. “You’ll kiss it and make it better.”
She couldn’t stop the snort she made. He grinned again. “I know you want to see your mama and daddy. Now, give me a kiss.”
&nbs
p; She reached up to kiss him. His mouth was gentle on hers. He kissed the corner of her lips, and she smiled against his mouth. “Now, that’s what I want to see. Let’s go.”
It occurred to her that they were co-conspirators, instead of two people tied together by fine jewelry and career aspirations. The feeling of being a team happened slowly over the time they were together. She couldn’t imagine facing most things now without him.
He reached into the backseat, grabbing the bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine he’d stopped on the way for. He took her hand as they walked up the steps to the front door.
“Mom?” Emily called out as she crossed the threshold.
“Smells good.” Brandon said.
Emily’s mother emerged from the kitchen with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
“You must be Mrs. Hamilton,” Brandon said, and extended his hand. “I’m Brandon McKenna. It’s great to meet you. Emily’s told me so much about you.”
“Hello, Brandon. It’s nice to meet you, too,” her mother told him. Brandon presented her with the bouquet of flowers. “Thank you. They’re lovely. I’d better get these in water.” She turned to vanish into the kitchen again.
“My dad will be in the family room,” Emily said.
Her father was half-asleep in his chair. He didn’t live in her house anymore, but her mother made sure there was a recliner for him in the family room. He used it when he came for Sunday dinners. The Mariners game was on TV.
“Dad?”
He sat up with a “Hmph.” He didn’t look especially happy, either.
“This is Brandon. Brandon, this is my dad, Mark Hamilton.” Her father got to his feet and shook Brandon’s hand.
Emily kissed her dad. His returned kiss was less than attentive. He glared at Brandon, who handed him the bottle of wine.
“Mr. Hamilton, I brought this along. I thought maybe you and Mrs. Hamilton would like some wine with dinner.”
“I’ll ask her.” Mark’s voice was gruff. “Sit down.”
Brandon and Emily moved to the love seat across from his recliner. Her father set the bottle on the coffee table, and sat back in the chair.
Blitzing Emily Page 16