grinned. “Tell me how you really feel, Brooke. At least she talks to you. I’m invisible to her.” Being a friend of Dylan’s sister didn’t rank high enough on Callista’s status scale to award Emma an iota of her attention.
“Be grateful. Be very grateful.”
Emma stood back from the arrangement, giving the presentation scrutiny. They’d draped the dessert table with tablecloths in varying colors and edged each platter with flowering vines. This is what they did. And they did it well.
“It’s none of my business, but Dylan’s on-again, off-again relationship with her isn’t good for him,” Brooke said.
Emma shot them another glance. Callista’s eyes flashed on Dylan’s bandage, one hand possessively on his arm as she reached up with the other to touch the injury. Emma watched the scene play out. Dylan was deep in conversation with Callista’s father and didn’t seem to notice her unabashed attention.
Sucking oxygen in, Emma glanced away and tamped down pangs of jealousy swimming through her body. She’d be ten times a fool to think she’d ever have a chance with Dylan. He was her friend. Period. “He’s a big boy, Brooke.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but thank God my brother doesn’t commit. She’s all wrong in so many ways.” Brooke lifted her hands in a stopping motion that was her signature move. “But like I said, none of my beeswax.”
Emma smiled at her friend and put the finishing touches on the dessert table. Maisey had made coffee and there was hot water and a sampler box of teas available.
Dylan approached, gorgeous in a tailored dark suit and tie. He’d changed his clothes from the jeans and black silk shirt he’d worn this morning on the yacht. “Do you two have a minute?” he asked quietly. His brows were gathered in question. Brooke and Emma nodded and he guided them to the far side of the kitchen, out of earshot of anyone. It was all so curious.
“You girls have done wonderful today. Thank you,” he began and then shook his head. “I’m figuring you’d give it to me straight. Callista and I...are we a thing again?”
Emma held her breath. She wouldn’t comment on her thoughts about the bottle blonde. Dylan didn’t exactly confide in her about his love life, but his earnest question made her stomach ripple in guilt. She had a truth to tell him, too, and maybe it would help spark his memory, but it could also make things weird between them, which was the last thing she wanted.
Brooke seemed eager to answer, but shook her head as if formulating her thoughts. “You don’t remember?”
“No. But she’s acting like we’re ready for the altar. From what I remember, that wasn’t the case. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re certainly not wrong,” Brooke shot back. “Not even close. Before...before your accident, you told me you were going to break it off with her for good.”
“I did? I don’t remember.” Poor Dylan was struggling. His gaze lifted to the wide windows that opened out onto the sea, as if he were searching for answers there. He seemed lost right now, not his usual self-confident, always-one-step-ahead-of-everyone, charming self.
“If she says it’s more, Dylan, I’d be careful,” Brooke offered. “She’s banking on your amnesia to worm her way back into your...”
Dylan turned to his sister, his brows lifting and a crooked smile emerging. “My what?”
“Your good graces,” Emma finished for her.
Dylan slid her a knowing look. “Always the diplomat, Em. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what Brooke was going to say.” He began nodding. “Okay, I get the picture.” He glanced at Callista, who was now surrounded by a few other actors in the film. She was deep in conversation yet constantly casting him furtive glances at every opportunity, sizing him up and staking her claim.
Brooke was right—Callista was all wrong for Dylan. How difficult it must be for him not to remember some things, not to have a grasp on his feelings. “You’re the only ones I can trust,” he said. He rubbed his brow, just under his bandage. “I can’t tell you how bizarre this feels. I see some things clearly. Other things are fuzzy at best. And then there’s a whole chunk that I don’t remember.”
Emma plunked three ice cubes into a glass and poured him a root beer, his favorite from childhood. “Here, drink up.”
“Thanks,” he said, “though I could use something stronger.”
“The doctor says not yet. You’re still on pain meds.” Brooke’s internal mother came out. It really was sweet seeing how close the two had become since the move from Ohio to Los Angeles years ago.
“One drink won’t kill me.”
“Let’s not find out, okay? I was worried enough when you were sent to the hospital. And Mom just went home two days ago. If I have to call her again to tell her you’re back in Saint Joseph’s, she’ll have a heart attack.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “You see how good she is, Emma? She knows exactly how to lay on the guilt.”
A chuckle rumbled from Emma’s throat. “I know all about Brooke’s tactics. I work with her.”
“Hey!” Brooke said. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Like I said, Emma’s a diplomat. Thanks for the drink.” He lifted his glass in mock toast and then pivoted around and walked away.
“He’ll be okay,” Brooke said, watching him head back to his guests. “We just have to do whatever it takes to help him along.”
Dread formed a tight knot in Emma’s stomach. She hated keeping secrets from Brooke. They usually shared everything. But how exactly could she come out and say, I begged your brother to sleep with me the night of the blackout and all I remember is his body on mine, heated breaths and sexy words whispered in my ear. She didn’t remember how she got in bed or when he left her that night. She couldn’t recall how they’d ended things. Were there parting words recognizing the big mistake? Or had he promised to call her? He had no knowledge of what they’d done, but geesh, she didn’t recall much of that night, either.
“Oh, brother,” she mumbled.
“What?” Brooke asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
* * *
“Brooke, you did a wonderful job today,” Callista said, leaning her arms over the granite island, spilling her cleavage and smiling her billion-dollar smile. The sun was setting and all but one guest had left the memorial service. “You helped make the day easier for your brother.”
“It wasn’t just me, Callie,” Brooke said. “Emma did her fair share of the work and we’d both do anything to help Dylan get through this day.”
Callista’s gaze darted Emma’s way as if she’d just noticed her standing there. Hello, I’m not invisible. “Of course, you, too, Emma.” She spoke to her as if she were a child. What was it with rich powerful women that made them feel superior, just by right of wealth? Emma could probably run circles around her SAT scores. “You did a marvelous job.”
“Dylan’s
