Before I Do Amazon

by Freethy, Barbara

  Rhea offered an apologetic look. "I know it was shady, but when Ricardo told me about the Tylers and their new show, I really wanted you to audition. So did Ricardo."

  "So you coerced Nick into tricking me into going down there with him?"

  He didn't take a lot of coercion. Nick doesn't want to invest in the studio if it's not going to be the business you really want to run."

  "The only reason he has doubts about whether or not I want to run the dance studio is because of you and Ricardo. You two had no business going behind my back."

  "We love you. We want the best for you."

  "I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions."

  "You were making the wrong decision because you were scared. I couldn't stand by and do nothing. What kind of aunt would I be?"

  "I can't help thinking your motivation was not as selfless as you're making it out to be. You want to sell the studio to Karen Halley."

  "I think Karen will do wonderful things with the business I've created," Rhea admitted. "Karen has also thought long and hard about opening a West Coast studio. She's ready. I don't think you've had the same amount of time to really consider all your options. That's partly my fault, because Karen's offer came in, and then the plumbing broke. But we are where we are. I want you to be happy Isabella, and if I truly believed that running my studio would be your dream job, then I'd send Karen packing. But I just don't believe that this is the right time for you."

  "Again, it's my decision."

  "Have you made a decision? How was your meeting with the Tylers?"

  She hated to say it went well, because it would just prove her aunt right, but she also didn't want to lie. "It was all right."

  "Just all right?" her aunt said with disappointment.

  "Fine. It was good. It was fun to see them again, to hear about their production, and to be wanted."

  "They offered you a part, didn't they?"

  "I told them I'd think about it."

  "Is there really anything to think about?"

  "I have moved on, going from a dancer to a teacher, and I like teaching, watching the younger dancers find their feet."

  "But…"

  "But it felt amazing to be on the stage again," she admitted.

  "Honey, you can always teach. Maybe not for my studio, but you can open your own place one day. You only have a few more years left to be the dancer you always wanted to be. Don't waste them."

  "I need to think about it. You offered me until Monday. Is that still good?"

  "Of course," she said, frustration still evident in her voice. "But no longer than that."

  "I understand."

  "Can I buy you dinner?" Rhea asked as Isabella gathered up her things.

  "No thanks. I'm going to stop by Mom's house."

  "Will you tell her about Argentina?"

  "I will."

  "Then you're definitely going?"

  "Yes. It seems to be a week of big decisions for me. One down, two to go."

  * * *

  Looking at her mother, Kathleen, was a little like looking in a mirror, Isabella thought as her mom opened the door of her condo with a happy smile. Her mom had dark brown hair and brown eyes and they shared the same nose. The only think Isabella had really gotten from her father was his olive skin.

  "You're here. I can't believe I haven't seen you in almost three weeks," Kathleen said, giving her a loving hug.

  "It's been crazy busy," she said, following her mother into her home.

  "Rhea told me about the plumbing issues. I offered a small loan, but she said the problem was too big for a Band-Aid."

  "That's true." She took a seat on the sofa in the living room.

  "What can I get you to drink, honey?"

  "Nothing. I'm fine for now. What smells so good?"

  "Vegetarian lasagna. It's almost ready." Kathleen sat down on the couch next to her. "Bill and I have been traveling so much the past year that I feel like I'm never at home to cook."

  "How is Bill?" she asked, wondering if her mother's long-term boyfriend would join them for dinner. Kathleen and Bill Webber had been going out for almost eight years, but they still kept their own condos and didn't seem in any hurry to make a long-term commitment to each other. That didn't surprise Isabella. Her mother's divorce from her father had been so painfully brutal that it seemed to have put her mom off marriage entirely.

  "He's well. He's in Chicago this week visiting his sister and her family."

  "You didn't want to go with him?"

  "Actually, I was happy to have some alone time. I love that man, but he adores being on the go, and sometimes I like to just be quiet. Plus, I haven't seen you in a while. What's new? Besides the studio plumbing problems?"

  "I'm giving tango lessons to Nick Hunter, the owner of the Grand View Towers Hotel. He's also letting us use a portion of the ballroom for our dance classes while repairs are being made."

  "Rhea told me about the ballroom but not about the tango lessons."

  "Nicks needs to learn to dance the tango for a business deal. His company is trying to buy a beautiful piece of coastal property in Argentina. In order to seal the deal he has to dance the tango for the seller."

  Her mother stiffened at the mere mention of Argentina. Isabella drew in a deep breath, knowing there would be no better time to tell her mother about her trip.

  "Nick asked me to go with him to Argentina to perform the dance as his partner. I've agreed to go."

  Her mother's face paled. "Are you serious? You're going to see your father?"

  "No, I'm going to Argentina to dance the tango."

  "Then you won't look your dad up?"

  "I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm torn. I wanted to talk to you about it."

  "The man lost all rights to your love and attention a very long time ago, Isabella. Why would you want to see him now?"

  "I'm curious. I don't understand why he stopped talking to me. The last time I saw him was my eighth-grade graduation, and whenever I tried to talk to you about him, she shut me down. You never wanted to talk about him, to explain his behavior."

  "There was no explanation, and I told you many times that he had problems."

  "Yes, you hinted at some issues, but you always clammed up when I asked questions."

  "It was painful to talk about him," her mother admitted. "And I didn't want you to look back, only forward. I tried to make up for his absence, to make sure that you had everything you needed."

  "I did have what I needed," she reassured her mother. "You were always there for me, and that's why I never tried to contact him. I didn't want to be disloyal to you, to make you feel like you weren't enough. But I've always had questions. He is my father. I have a biological connection to the man."

  "That's all you have." Kathleen stared back at her through angry, dark eyes. Her lips were set in a tight, tense line. Finally, she continued. "When I met your father, I thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. He was warm and outgoing, everyone's friend. He was doing well in his job as a diplomat. He was very sophisticated and cosmopolitan. He swept me off my feet. It wasn't until you were two or three years old that I began to realize that his partying lifestyle was out of control. And when your father drank, he got mean. He would say terrible things to me and to you, and then the next morning he would forget what he'd said. But I couldn't forget how hateful he'd been."

  Her mother paused, then went on. "I asked him to get help, and he said he would stop drinking, but while he'd be good for a few weeks, something would always happen. Sometimes when he drank, he also took drugs. It was part of his social scene. But I wasn’t in that scene. I was at home with a small child and worried that my husband wasn't going to be able to provide for me. As his problems increased, he started having trouble at work. Finally, it all came to a head. He lost his job, and he went completely out of control. I tried to hang on to the marriage, but I couldn't. Finally, I said I was leaving. He was drunk at the time. He said he was happy I was going, that I
'd made his life hell and that he didn't think you were even his daughter. He accused me of cheating on him with one of his friends. I didn't cheat, Isabella. You are his daughter."

  She nodded slowly, feeling a little sick to her stomach that her father would have tried to disown her in such a way. She was beginning to feel sorry she'd pressed her mother to finally explain what had happened. But while her mother had been reluctant to start talking, there seemed to be no stopping her now.

  "Your father came to the States a year later," Kathleen said. "He told me that he'd cleaned up his act and gotten sober. I wanted to believe him. I let you see him. I let him write to you. And I had some hope that maybe he could turn his life around. I wanted him to be well, to be the man I'd fallen in love with and had a child with. But when he came to your eighth-grade graduation four years later, I saw that he was slipping back into the old ways. Later that year, I heard from his sister that he'd gotten into legal trouble and had been arrested. He ended up going to jail for embezzling money from his employer."

  "What?" she asked in astonishment. "You never told me that."

  "I thought it was best that you just think he was a neglectful father, not a criminal. I also believed it was even more important at that point to keep the two of you apart."

  "I don't understand how you could keep something like that from me. Is that why he didn't write to me, because he couldn't?"

  "No," her mother said quickly. "He had access to mail. I think he was probably embarrassed to write you while he was in jail."

  "How long was he there?"

  "I think it was three or four years."

  Isabella studied her mother's face. There was something she wasn't telling her. "Did you hear from him while he was in jail?"

  "I heard from him about a year before he got out. He told me that he'd had time to reflect on everything he'd done and he was sober and he was going to start over."

  "Did you answer him?"

  "No, I didn't," her mom said flatly. "I was done. Maybe you can't understand that. Perhaps it seems harsh to you, but I had wasted too many years worrying about that man and trying to fix him for you. I couldn't do it anymore."

  "Was that the last time you heard from him?"

  "Yes."

  "So that was how long ago?"

  Her mother sighed. "About seven years I would say."

  She silently did the math. "Then he was in jail while I was in high school and my first two years of college."

  "Does it really matter, Isabella?" her mother asked wearily. "Do you think seeing him now would change anything for you?"

  "He might have gotten his life together."

  "I hope he did. I don't wish bad things for him—at least not anymore. But he hasn't contacted me, nor has he reached out to you. Everyone has moved on, Isabella. You're not going to suddenly get the father you never had. That man doesn't exist. I honestly believe that trying to see him will only hurt you."

  Her mother's passionate words rang through her head. She didn't want to get hurt again, but she might have to take the risk.

  "I want you to know that I've heard everything you've said, and I really appreciate your finally telling me the whole truth." She paused. "That was the whole truth, wasn't it?"

  Her mother nodded. "Yes, it was."

  "You mentioned before that you'd heard from Dad's sister that he was in jail. Do you still keep in touch with her?"

  "No, I don't. Carlotta wanted me to write to him, and I refused. That was the end of our relationship. His family always felt like I didn't do enough to keep him happy, as if it were my fault that he drank too much. I think they were in as much denial as he was."

  "They must have been, because Dad's drinking was not your fault. You were an incredible mother to me. You worked two jobs to give me a good life. I need you to know that I know that. Whatever Dad's family had to say means nothing, because I was there. I saw what you did for me."

  Her mother's eyes filled with moisture. "It's what mothers do for their children. My jobs sometimes got in the way of us being close, but I felt it was important to give you a stable home. I didn't want you to lack for anything because your parents were no longer married. Thankfully, Rhea picked up the slack. You two had so many interests in common. Sometimes I felt a little jealous, but mostly I was relieved to have the help."

  "I was lucky to have both you and Aunt Rhea. I am going to Argentina, because I promised Nick that I would, and he's doing a lot for me in return. I don't know if I'm going to look Dad up or not. At this point, I doubt it, but to be completely honest, I probably won't decide until I get there."

  "You're an adult now. You can do what you want. Just promise me one thing…"

  "What's that?"

  "If you do see him, don't let your father try to rewrite history with his charming smile. You always like to think the best of people, even when they don't deserve it."

  "I like to give people a chance to be good, but I'm not a fool. I know what's true and what's not."

  "I hope so. You have a big heart. That makes me proud but also makes me worry."

  "Well, right now all you have to worry about is feeding me. Time for lasagna?"

  "Absolutely," her mom said, getting to her feet, relief in her eyes that their painful discussion was now over.

  "Great. I missed lunch, so I'm starving." She followed her mom into the kitchen.

  "While we're eating, you can tell me what else is new. Did I hear something about you trying out for a new musical?"

  She groaned. "Rhea has a big mouth."

  Her mother laughed. "Of course she does. So are you thinking of going back on the stage?"

  "Maybe, but if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it tonight."

  "That's fine. In that case you can tell me what is really going on between you and Nicholas Hunter," her mother said with a knowing gleam in her eye.

  "I told you. We're dancing the tango together."

  "Is that all you're doing together?"

  "Not exactly," she admitted. "There is something between us, but it can't go anywhere."

  "Why not?" her mom asked as she pulled the lasagna out of the oven and set it on the stove.

  "We're very different people, and we don't want the same things in life."

  "Wanting different things from life is okay as long as you also want each other. Maybe you could complement each other."

  "Or we could drive each other crazy," she said with a laugh. "Nick is very complicated. He's hard to get to know and he's carrying some baggage from the past that I don't completely understand. But I know there are family issues."

  "You can relate to family issues."

  She nodded. "True. Nick's parents didn't divorce, but I think they were unhappy for a while. Nick's mom died when he was about eighteen, and he doesn't seem to have much of a relationship with his father, although I may learn more about that tomorrow night.

  "What's tomorrow night?"

  "Nick is taking me to his dad's birthday party."

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Nick is introducing you to his father?"

  "Don't get too excited. He basically said he'd like me to be a buffer between him and his dad."

  "Oh, honey," her mom said with a laugh. "You're lying to yourself if you think all you are is a buffer. The man likes you and you like him. The real question is—what are you going to do about it?"

  "That is the question," she agreed. "I just wish I had an answer."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick felt remarkably tense as he double-parked in front of Isabella's apartment building just before seven on Wednesday night. It wasn't just his father's upcoming birthday party that bothered him; it was also Isabella. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about her. He'd never felt so distracted or unfocused.

  After his mother died, he'd always had goals, things he needed to achieve for her and for himself. He'd had a plan, a purpose, and he'd gone full steam ahead toward that purpose every day of his life until the past week.

&nbs
p; Now, he found himself humming Latin tunes, subconsciously tapping out steps in the elevator, thinking about kissing Isabella, running his fingers through her hair, taking off her clothes, seeing every naked inch of her beautiful, graceful, athletic body.

  Damn! He shifted in his seat as his thoughts made him once again uncomfortable.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't get this worked up about a woman. Or if he did get worked up, he worked it out in bed fairly quickly. But that wasn't an option with Isabella, at least not right now. He needed to get her to Argentina, dance the tango, and then decide whether or not he could risk screwing things up with probably the most fantastic sex he would ever have.

  Isabella opened the car door and gave him the smile that jump-started his heart every single time.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "As you've probably guessed by now, I tend to run a little late. I'm always trying to squeeze in one more thing."

  "It's fine. I'm not in a hurry to get to my father's place." In fact, he didn't know why he'd given in to his father's demand that he show up for his birthday. It wasn't like they had any kind of a real father-son relationship, so why even pretend they did? But he knew the answer why—because his father liked his friends to think he'd done well as a father and a family man, not just as a businessman. It wouldn't look good if his son didn't show up for his birthday.

  "Tell me about your dad," Isabella said as they headed across town.

  "What do you want to know?"

  "What's he like?"

  He tried to think of the right words to describe his father. "He's tall."

  "That's it?" she asked. "Come on, Nick, you can do better than that."

  "He is really tall—six foot six. He's always used his height to intimidate people."

  "Okay, he's tall," she said with a little laugh. "What else?"

  "He can be charming, smooth. Women usually like him. He loves golf. He makes more deals on the golf course than he does in the office."

  "Do you play?"

  "Once in a while. It's not really my game."

  "Because it's your father's game?"

  Isabella was very perceptive, something that he both liked and disliked, because she seemed to read him better than most people. "That's part of it," he admitted. "But mostly it's because it's slow. I'd rather play basketball or bike."