given boat-driving lessons, too, she thought, hysterical laughter starting to bubble inside her. Her nerves were seriously fraying.
“What now?” she asked.
Malcolm nodded to the floral bag dangling from her arm. “You could answer your phone.”
She looked down fast, the chiming surprising her until she almost jumped out of her skin. “I didn’t even hear it.”
Fishing inside, she dug through until her hand closed around the phone. She pulled it out and saw her father’s number blinking on the screen.
“Hello, Dad. What do you need?”
“Just checking on my baby girl,” he said, concern coating every word, “making sure you’re all right. I, uh, saw the newspapers this morning.”
She grimaced, avoiding Malcolm’s eyes. “I’m fine. The pictures were … staged. It’s all a part of making sure everyone knows I’m very well protected here in Malcolm’s entourage.”
“Staged, huh?” her father answered skeptically. “I never knew you were a theater person, because that was some mighty fine acting in the photo.”
Her chest tightened with every word from her father. “I don’t know what more I can tell you.”
“Well, I’ve been fielding calls all day.”
“From the press?” The thought of them hounding her dad made her swallow hard—not easy to do when she was finding it tougher and tougher to breathe.
“My number’s unlisted. You know that. The calls are from your friends at school, even that high-school principal you went out with a couple of times.”
“I didn’t go out with him.” She glanced at Malcolm quickly as the enormity of this washed over her. Being with Malcolm now had changed her life in ways she could never undo. Her ordered existence was falling apart. She was losing control—but for once, that didn’t seem to be such a bad thing. “We just happened to sit together at events we both attended for work.”
“Who drove?”
“Stop it, Dad,” she snapped, then backtracked, guilt pinching her. She started pacing restlessly in the small cabin. “I love you, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m an adult.”
“Malcolm’s standing there with you, isn’t he?”
“Why does that matter?” And why couldn’t she bring herself to just end the call? God, she hated being caught between them again.
Her father sighed through the phone lines. “Just protect yourself, Celia. You’ll always be my baby girl.”
His voice stirred more guilt as she thought of his pain over losing his oldest daughter. She pressed a hand to her head, dizzy from lack of breakfast and, yes, pangs of guilt. She thought of her own ache for the baby she’d given up, but at least she knew her child was alive somewhere, growing up loved. Worrying for her father heaped on top of her nerves, which were already stretched to the max by trying to sort through her feelings for Malcolm.
“Dad, I promise I’m being very careful.” She measured her words carefully, trying not to let her perceptive father hear the quaver in her voice. “And you? Are you okay? Have you gotten any threatening messages?”
“I’m fine. Blood pressure is in the good zone, and there hasn’t been so much as a peep of a threat.”
“Thank God,” she said, praying that wouldn’t change. “I really do appreciate the call. Love you, Dad.”
Her heartbeat sped up, new worries crowding her head and making her chest feel tight. Oh, no. She knew the old symptoms. Knew what might happen next if she didn’t pull it together.
She thumbed the off button and dropped her phone back into her Vera Bradley bag with shaky hands. “Well, your plan is working. The whole world—even my father—thinks we’re having an affair.” She gasped for air, trying to fight down the encroaching panic and not succeeding all that well. “Do you think we could just go back to the hotel?”
“Are you okay?” Malcolm asked, just before she could have sworn the boat began listing to the side.
Ah, hell. She reached for Malcolm’s hand just before she blacked out.
Disoriented, Celia pushed through the fog back to consciousness, confusion wrapping around her. Was it morning? Was she at home? No … She was in a car.
With each deep breath she inhaled, she drew in the essence of Malcolm. She knew he was beside her.
The past merged with the present, bringing memories of another time she’d fainted. When she was sixteen, she’d snuck out of her room at midnight to meet Malcolm when he finished at the burger joint where he worked after school. She’d been skipping meals because of nausea, and it had been all she could do to stay awake to meet him as promised. But talking to him had been so important. She’d needed to tell him before her parents saw the signs. Before she started to show. But before she could finish telling him, she’d passed out.
Malcolm had rushed her to the emergency room, where of course the doctor called her parents. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter even now over the explosion of anger that had erupted in that E.R. over her pregnancy. Malcolm had insisted they get married. Her father had lunged at Malcolm. Her mother had sobbed.
Celia had wanted to die….
Well, at least she knew for damn sure she wasn’t pregnant now. She’d blacked out for an entirely different reason.
Slowly, she took in the feel of the leather seat of the limousine. She must have been carried and put inside. The sounds of the voices around her steadied and the cause of this fainting spell gelled in her mind. She’d been freaking out and gasping for air until she passed out on the boat. Her eyes snapped open. She was inside a limousine with Malcolm and his entire entourage of alumni pals.
He leaned over her, stroking back her hair. His buddy Dr. Rowan Boothe had her wrist in his hand, taking her pulse. The rest of their friends loomed behind them, her world narrowing to this stretch limo with tinted windows and a lot of curious, concerned faces.
How incredibly embarrassing.
She pushed up onto her elbow, sitting. “What time is it? How long have I been—”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on …” Malcolm touched her shoulders and glanced at Rowan. “Doc?”
“Her pulse is normal.” Rowan set her hand aside and tucked himself back onto a seat. “I don’t see any reason to go to the E.R. I can check her over more thoroughly once we’re on the plane to Germany.”
Malcolm moved closer again, looking unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay? What happened back there?”
“I’m fine.” She sat up straighter, blinking fast as she tried to regain equilibrium. “Probably just low blood sugar from skipping breakfast.”
The
