then remembered that it had been painstakingly arranged by Olga, his mother’s hairstylist these past ten years and the only one she would even allow to touch her hair. Ever tactful, Brandon dropped his hand to his side. “Okay, I count two. Where’s Isabelle?” he asked, glancing at his watch again.
“Right here,” Isabelle answered, addressing him from the top of the stairs. It was no easy feat considering that her heart was in her throat, as well.
“Good,” he declared, “because we have to get…going.”
The last word came out in slow motion because he’d just looked up, following the sound of her voice, and had completely lost the thread of his thoughts. And lost his breath as well, at least temporarily, as his eyes traveled up and down the length of her. The slinky black garment stopped several good inches short of her knees, caressing her thighs with each step she took down. Making him long to do the same.
She smiled, pleased at the expression on his face. “You’re staring,” she pointed out.
“That’s because I’ve never seen your legs before. I mean, without pants on.” That didn’t sound right. “Your pants.” That sounded even worse. “I mean—”
Anastasia shook her head. “Listen to the world-famous writer, tripping over his own tongue.”
Isabelle saw the mesmerized look in Brandon’s eyes, and it triggered an excitement within her she hadn’t been prepared for. “I don’t mind,” she said, her voice low as her eyes met his.
“Were your legs always that long?” he asked, still very much captivated by the image she projected.
“Always,” she assured him.
Brandon took in a long breath, then let it out again. Slowly. His pulse beat erratically, but mercifully, began to settle down. “Funny, I would have thought I would have noticed that,” he commented.
Anastasia was the one to finally break the spell. She let out a deep stage sigh. “Of course her legs are the same length as always. Really, Brandon,” the older woman chided, shaking her head. “Now, if you’re finished fantasizing, you have a signing to get to. The one you didn’t want to be late for, remember?” his mother reminded him with just a touch of sarcasm.
The venerable actress gave no indication that she was pleased at his reaction to the young woman she had already given her seal of approval to. Anastasia knew her son well enough to realize that if she appeared to be pushing Isabelle toward him or him toward her, Brandon would find a reason to suddenly take off, leaving the house and the vicinity for long, long stretches of time.
He refused to be manipulated, and in that, he was very much his mother’s son, she thought with pride. Fortunately, she was better at manipulation than he suspected.
So, for now, it would appear to be business as usual for her. That meant focusing on herself and the world as it revolved around her.
Not too much of a stretch, Anastasia silently granted. But Lord, she really did feel impatient. More than anything else, she wanted the blinders to be lifted from her son’s eyes so he could see for himself how very perfect this young woman was for him.
After all, he wasn’t getting any younger, and she wanted to make certain that both he and Victoria had someone in their lives who was looking after them while she was away.
She couldn’t be expected to put her own life on hold indefinitely, Anastasia thought. The public would grow weary of waiting and find someone else to adore. And she absolutely refused to be replaced so easily.
So she pretended to glance at Isabelle and gave her only a short, distracted nod of approval. “You look very nice, dear. As do we all.” She smiled at Victoria to make her point.
Her granddaughter looked so grown up, Anastasia thought. Where had that adorable, pigtailed little girl gone? And who was this mature-looking young lady who’d come in her place? Time went by too quickly.
“Now, can we get going before the people waiting on you decide that they like someone else, someone more punctual,” Anastasia emphasized, “someone better?”
“Yes, Mother,” Brandon murmured, amused since, for the most part, he and Victoria spent a great deal of time waiting on her.
With a gallant little bow, Brandon offered her the crook of his arm for support.
Anastasia sniffed and waved him away.
“I am perfectly capable of walking out the door on my own,” she informed him haughtily. “Besides, if I do need someone’s assistance, I have Victoria.” She smiled at her granddaughter. “If you really want to play the role of a gentleman and a scholar, offer your arm to Isabelle there.” The actress waved him toward the other woman. “She’s the one wearing impossibly high heels.” Even as she made the observation, the older woman critically narrowed her eyes as she looked down at the strappy footwear her physical therapist sported.
“You heard her,” Brandon said to Isabelle, moving to the side in order to offer his arm to her.
“If you’re waiting for a pratfall, I’m afraid you have a long wait,” Isabelle informed him as she slipped her own arm through the crook of his. “I’ve gotten pretty good at moving rather quickly in high heels.”
He was grinning at her before he realized it. “I’ll challenge you to a foot race after the reception,” he offered.
Amusement rose in her eyes. “All right, Brandon, I’ll just take that challenge.”
Anastasia hung back by several steps, observing what she considered to be her handiwork, even if it began by accident because she had complained to the right person. She had to remember to send more business Cecilia’s way, Anastasia told herself, making a mental note.
“They make a nice couple,” Victoria whispered to her.
The actress glanced at her granddaughter. There were times she forgot that the girl was actually as young as she was. But that was only chronologically. Anastasia was certain that, at birth, Victoria had been granted an old soul.
It was, she supposed, a consolation prize of sorts, to make up for the fact that the woman who had given birth to Victoria chose to turn her back on the small miracle she’d brought into the world.
The little witch has no idea what she’s missing out on, Anastasia thought, not for the first time. And she, for one, was glad that Jean was gone. Both Brandon and Victoria deserved better.
She smiled at her granddaughter. “Yes,” Anastasia whispered back. “They do.”
Isabelle had no idea that a bookstore this size—and it was by no means tiny—could actually pack in this many people. It seemed as if every possibly available space in the store had been taken up by adoring Brandon Slade fans.
For the most part, Isabelle observed, the crowd was comprised of women. And not just women of a certain age, but of all ages. Young ones, old ones, tall ones, short ones, fashionably dressed or looking as if they’d just jumped out of bed or had come running over from their local gyms, sweaty and eager—they were all here. Here and clutching Brandon’s newest hardcover to their chests as they stood in what appeared to be an extremely long, winding and seemingly endless line. They were all patiently—or not so patiently—waiting for their
