“What the fuck?” I pick up my letter opener with a passing thought to an old Army sergeant who showed me six ways to kill with a four-inch blade. Then I remember Izzy’s hitman pal, and my inside joke with myself becomes a lot less funny.
“I’ll go see Mom tomorrow,” I assure my sister. “If I can’t get her to delete the app, I’ll at least give her some pointers for safe online dating.”
“Thanks. I tried, but your brand of protectiveness always works a lot better than mine does.”
“No problem.” A selfish, scheming part of me regards visiting my mom as an opportunity to grab Kevin for another excuse to visit Izzy.
Something must show on my face because Julia studies me like she’s trying to peer into my soul. “Mom says you’ve been borrowing that pig to hit on the girl you’re hot for. Nice strategy. How’s it working for you?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
Julia grins. “So you haven’t gotten to kiss her yet?”
“That’s really none of your b—”
“Oooh, so you have kissed her.” She gives a hoot of delight. “Come on, dish. It’s been so long since I made out with anyone that I’m not sure I’d remember how to do it. Do I get to meet this girl?”
“Woman,” I mutter, not sure why I’m taking her bait. “And no, you don’t. She’s going back to her home country, so there’s really no point in getting serious.”
Julia cocks her head and studies me. “There’s always a green card marriage.”
“For her or for me?”
“I meant for her, but now that you mention it, you do love travel.” She flips her blonde ponytail over one shoulder. “Wasn’t that the thing you dug about the Army?”
A flash of nostalgia zings through me, reminding me of what I gave up to come back here. Not that I regret it, but I do sometimes wonder how life would be different if I’d stayed the course with my military plans. There was a point where I imagined my life, my career path, going a very different direction.
“I don’t see myself going to Dovlano anytime soon,” I tell Julia. “Iz and I are just hanging out. It’s not serious.”
“Yeah, but do you want it to be?”
I recall the last time I lied to my sister. Maybe when our father—angry that Julia left her ballet shoes in the hall again—yelled at her that the tooth fairy wasn’t real. She was four, maybe five, not much older than Jordan is now.
Julia came to my room crying, and I petted her hair and promised that if she believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, they were as real as those damn dance shoes.
I clear my throat now as I meet my adult sister’s eyes. “Maybe.”
She breaks into applause like I’ve gotten a question right on Jeopardy. “Good answer. So is she your date to Jon Bracelyn’s wedding?”
That’s right, it’s coming up. A romantic winter wedding, just before the holidays. “I wasn’t planning to take a date. Besides, Izzy’s in the wedding party.”
“So? She still needs someone to dance with at the reception.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The thought of twirling Iz around the resort’s ballroom sends my stomach reeling, but the excitement’s mixed with something else. An unease that’s been there since she told me about Dante.
I hesitate, not wanting to dredge up unhappy memories for my sister. “How crucial do you think it is for couples to tell each other everything?”
“That depends.” Julia looks thoughtful. “If ‘everything’ encompasses stuff like how much she spends on shoes or the name of her favorite sex toy, I think you can let that stuff slide.”
“Obviously.” And now I can’t stop wondering if Iz has a sex toy, or possibly more than one. I clear my throat. “So what sort of stuff would you say is crucial to share?”
“A penchant for punching women, for starters.” Julia’s eyes go icy. “Pretty sure that’s not an issue for you.”
“Absolutely not.” I look down and see my right hand clenched in a fist. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m sorry I brought it up.” She waves a hand to keep the conversation going. “Let’s see…it’s important to share whether you’re playing slap the salami with other people, of course.” She tilts her head to study me. “You’re not, are you?”
“What—being intimate with someone besides Izzy? Of course not.”
My sister grins. “Ah, so you admit you’re being intimate?”
“I admit nothing.” Goddammit. “What else would be a deal breaker?”
“For secrets?” She shrugs. “I guess anything that could impact the other person, especially if it’s in a negative way. Why?” She leans forward clearly smelling blood in the water. “Are you keeping secrets from someone?”
“Plenty of people,” I mutter. “I’m a doctor. There’s this thing called HIPAA—”
“Wait, no.” Julia frowns. “You think Izzy’s hiding something?”
I sigh. Part of me regrets going down this path, but another part doesn’t. This is what I wanted, right? An outside party to assess my concerns?
Laying down the letter opener, I lean back in my chair. “I think Izzy’s trained to be circumspect about her life.” About her bodyguard, about the royal family, about countless other things I can’t begin to grasp. “It’s not like she owes me the total, unvarnished truth about everything she’s been through in her life.”
“Of course not,” Julia says. “But there’s a difference between holding things back and flat-out lying. Which do you think you’re up against?”
“I’m not sure.” I might be ready to change the subject.
Fortunately, Julia does it for me. “So about Jon and Blanka’s wedding.” She grins. “Since you and I are sitting at the same table, I’ll get a chance to chat with her that way. You should definitely ask her to be your date.”
“And you should definitely get going.” I glance pointedly at the clock. “My next patient arrives in five minutes.”
“All right, all right.” She stands and makes a big show of dragging me to my feet with her. “Give me a hug, jerk. I miss human contact with someone who didn’t emerge from my vagina.” She frowns. “Or someone whose vagina I emerged from, I guess, if you count Mom.”
I squeeze her tighter and try not to hold on to that mental picture. “How about we ixnay the vagina talk?”
“Please.” She pulls back and pushes against my chest. “You’re a doctor. Body parts aren’t supposed to make you squeamish.”
“And they don’t. I’m happy to talk with you all day about the condition of your gall bladder. Or your pancreas. Or your small intest—”
“Goodbye, Brad.” She blows me a kiss as she heads out the door. Moments later, I hear her chatting with the front desk staff. I sit back down and grab the patient chart, flipping through to remind myself where I left off with treating Carmen Sanderson’s elevated thyroid.