that position?”
Again, Isabelle stared at him, this time utterly dumb-founded. She couldn’t have heard him right—could she?
The ensuing silence throbbed in his ears like a thunderous heartbeat. It was far from a comfortable silence. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. Well, I’m scared, too. We can be scared together,” he proposed. “And tell each other that there’s nothing to be scared about. Your father might have played around on your mother—”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him, stunned. “I never told you that.”
“No, you didn’t trust me enough to let me in on that,” he conceded.
She didn’t understand. “Then how—?”
“Zoe told me. Nice woman, your sister,” he said with approval. “I like her.”
How could her sister have betrayed her like this? Made things known about her without asking first? “Don’t get used to her. She’s on borrowed time.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unconventional, Isabelle, I’ll give you that. I guess it’s one of the things I love about you.”
The all-important phrase echoed in her head. “One of the things you lo—” She blinked, stunned beyond words. “You love me?”
“Hell, yes, I love you. What do you think we’re talking about?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. You lost me when you said you liked my sister.”
“I like your sister,” he repeated patiently. “But I love you.” He took in a deep breath. Waiting. Praying. “You have anything to say to me?”
Adrenaline raced through her like a gathering lightning storm. She was utterly surprised that she was still standing. “You’re crazy.”
He laughed, waving the words aside. “Okay, anything to say to me other than that?”
She couldn’t stop smiling. Her face refused to relax. “Maybe I love you, too.”
He eyed her. “Maybe?” It was going to be all right, he thought. She needed to take baby steps, and he was all right with that. As long as the steps ultimately led to him.
She felt as if her heart was bursting. As if what she had always secretly wanted was suddenly being granted after all this time. “All right, all right, all right. Yes, I love you. Satisfied?” she cried.
“Getting there. Now, about that vacancy that I mentioned. You know, the one for a daughter-in-law for my mother—”
There went her heart again. “Then you are saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I am if you think I’m proposing.” Right on cue, Isabelle’s mouth dropped opened. “I thought you deserved an unconventional proposal.” His eyes were already making love to her—asking her to give him the answer he needed to hear. “But if you don’t like that one, I can rewrite it until I find one that you do like.” Opening his jacket, he reached into his pocket for a small scratch pad and his pen.
She put her hand on top of Brandon’s, stopping him before he got carried away. “There’s no point in rewriting it. Why don’t you just ask me?”
Was that all it took? Just asking her? “Because I didn’t think it would be that simple. In a world of plain butterscotch pudding, you’re custard cream.”
That had to be the strangest compliment she’d ever received. But it was definitely a compliment, and she loved it.
Loved him.
Isabelle couldn’t help wondering what she was letting herself in for. And part of her could hardly wait to find out.
“Ask me,” she coaxed in a soft whisper.
God but he loved her. Even so, he couldn’t resist teasing her. “To be my physical therapist?”
Isabelle was beginning to catch on to the way his mind worked. She shook her head. “Ask me the other thing.”
He stopped teasing and grew very serious. “Isabelle Sinclair, will you marry—?”
“Yes,” she cried before he had all the words out. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, she knew she’d just given him the right answer. It was the right thing to do. The only thing she wanted to do with all her heart. Brandon wasn’t like her father. He wasn’t going to disappoint her. Wasn’t going to break her heart as her father had broken her mother’s. She was betting her own on it, but she’d always been a safe better, and this, she was certain, was definitely a sure thing. And now that she’d finally gotten out of her own way, she saw that clearly.
He smiled down into her face. “Right answer,” he told her before he kissed her and set his world back on track again. “Oh, by the way,” he said just as his lips had brushed seductively against hers, “I wasn’t just talking a minute ago. I really do love you. More than I ever thought possible. Hey,” he cried, upset by her reaction, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Happy tears,” she told him. “These are happy tears. Because I love you, too,” she added, then sealed her mouth to his before he could find another footnote to add to the occasion.
Epilogue
The applause was like life-giving water to a thirsty flower. She stood there, bathed in it, absorbing it as she and the rest of the cast took yet another curtain call. Their fourth.
But as wonderful as it was, as much as she had really missed the sound of instant, gratifying feedback, Anastasia had to admit, in the privacy of her own soul, that something, a small but viable component, was missing from her life these past three months that she had been on the road, touring with the play. A component that interaction with the other members of the cast and crew—some old friends, others brand-new acquaintances—as entertaining as it often was, could not adequately replace.
Which was why, as she sat in her small, private dressing room going about the task of turning herself back into Anastasia Del Vecchio, legendary icon, and her cell phone rang, she immediately stopped what she was doing and reached for it. Hoping.
A glance at caller ID as she flipped the phone open brought an instant wide smile to her lips. Love was evident in each word as she asked, “Hello, darling, how are you?”
“I’m good, Gemma,” the girl on the other end of the call answered. “Did you knock ’em dead again tonight?”
A deep, throaty chuckle met her granddaughter’s question. Grandmother though she was, she was also part living legend, a fact she never forgot. “Do you have to ask?”
“No,” Victoria readily agreed. “I don’t. You always knock ’em dead.”
“You were always my very best audience, sweetheart.” Anastasia looked at her watch. It was after eleven. “Forgive me for making grandmother noises, my love, but shouldn’t you be in bed, asleep?”
