But my thoughts stray back to Izzy. Should I invite her to her brother’s wedding? She’s already invited, obviously, but what if I explicitly asked her to be my date? Mark seemed okay with the idea I might be hot for his sister, and I like to think I’ve got a solid rapport with the rest of the Bracelyn clan.
And Izzy isn’t repulsed by me. We ate our corndog dinner snuggled together on the sofa, Kevin at our feet snorting softly for handouts. For a few hours, it felt like we could be together. Iz and me, not Kevin, though I’d happily take him as part of the package if Izzy stuck around.
I glance out the window, half expecting to see Dante the hitman lurking in the shadows. He’s not there, of course, and maybe paranoia’s getting the best of me.
Bringing my gaze back to the chart, I flip to the next page. A notation jumps out at me, sparking an idea for a treatment route I hadn’t considered. I know just how to handle my patient’s condition.
If only my love life were this simple to manage.
Chapter 9
Isabella
“You’re sure this isn’t a hassle?” Bree sounds muffled over the phone line, but I hear the anxiousness in her voice. “Because if it’s a pain, I can just call Austin’s mom—”
“I’d be honored to do it.” I sound much too enthusiastic about changing diapers, but it’s the first time my sister has asked me to be solely in charge of her child. I’m nervous, but also flattered beyond words. “I love Brian, and besides—his daddy will be right next door.” That’s one reason I’m agreeing to watch my nephew this evening. “It’s only for a short time, right?”
“Exactly,” Bree says. “And I don’t even need you to put him to bed. Just keep him entertained until Austin comes to get him.”
“He won’t need a nap or anything?”
“Definitely not.” She laughs. “Honestly, I need you to keep him awake so he’s not a holy terror at two in the morning.”
“I can definitely do that.” I’m working hard to sound confident, but the truth is that I’m terrified to be in charge of Bree’s baby. “I just bought a bunch of new picture books for us to read together.”
“Perfect.” My sister laughs. “This is way better than having Austin keep him at poker night. The last time we did that, Brian came home with a toy cigar. No one fessed up, but you can probably guess which of our brothers did it.”
My brain skims the catalogue of possibilities, concluding Sean and Jonathan are the most likely pranksters. “I’ll take good care of him,” I assure Bree and myself at the same time. “I’ll head over as soon as I spot Austin’s car out there.”
“No rush,” she says. “Brian loves getting passed around to all his uncles, and it’s good for him to have adult interaction. I just want to make sure Austin has a chance to enjoy adult time, you know?”
“Absolutely. How’s the conference going?
“Ugh, never ending.” The phone goes muffled again, and I hear Bree saying something about influencers. Then she’s back giving me her undivided attention. “I can’t believe it’s already two hours behind schedule.”
“Just enjoy.” As much as anyone enjoys a marketing conference. That might be a lot in Bree’s case, since it’s her specialty at the resort. “Brian and I will have an exciting evening of Baby Shark and Peek-a-Boo.”
“I love you, Izzy. Thanks again.”
“Love you, too.” How easy it is to say that to all my siblings here. Those words, they’re a rarity back in the royal court. “Enjoy the conference.”
I’ve barely clicked off when my phone buzzes again. Glancing at the readout, I hurry to take the call. “Mother. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Honestly, Isabella. I’ve been busy. It’s arena polo season, you know.”
“Of course. I just—did you get my message?”
My mother sighs, and I picture her thousands of miles away studying her manicure. “You know how your father is. He’s being protective.”
Which doesn’t answer the question of what the hell Dante is doing here, though it does raise another one. “Does this have something to do with Cort Bracelyn?”
“Isabella!” She responds like I’ve cursed in church. “Of course not. I’ve asked you not to bring up his name.”
I roll my eyes, which feels good since she’s not here to chastise me for it. “I just thought maybe the Duke had concerns about me being here with all the other Bracelyn siblings. Feeling threatened or something.”
Could that be the reason he sent Dante here? It would be an extreme overreaction, but that’s hardly out of character for the man who once fired a butler for spilling water on my gown.
“Your father is not threatened by anything.” Her emphasis on my paternity makes it clear she’s eager to end this line of discussion. “Perhaps Dante’s merely vacationing. You said the resort is lovely this time of year.”
I don’t even try to keep the eye roll from my voice this time. “He’s following me around like some creepy stalker. I hate it, and I want you to summon him home.”
“Talk to your father about that.” A pause, a pregnant one at that. “Are you doing anything there that would be cause for concern?”
“For whom?”
She huffs out a breath. “For any of us. I’m counting on you to be good, Isabella. You know there’s a plan in place. If Oliver had lived, things might be different.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the pain that hits me square behind the breastbone anytime she brings up my dead baby brother. I touch three fingertips to the spot, recalling how softly Bradley kissed it the other day.
“I understand.” I force the words through a tight band of guilt, knowing it’s my own fault I’m in this position.
My mother is quiet on the other end of the line. “Do you recall our discussion right before you left for boarding school?”
I gulp back a second guilty wave, wondering if she knows I thought of that very conversation just days ago. If she knows Bradley’s hand was on my breast as I recalled our mother/daughter chat on the chaise back then. “Yes,” I manage to choke out. “You mean the one about not waiting for marriage to have sex?”
She makes a muffled sound of assent. “Be discreet.” She whispers it like the Duke is standing nearby. Maybe he is. “A lady employs good taste at all times.”
I open my mouth to protest, unsure if I’m about to insist I’m always discreet, or that I don’t want to be a damn lady. But the sight of Austin’s car pulling in next door pulls my attention to more important matters.
“I have to go, Mother.” I choose my next words with care. “Give my love to Father?”
“Of course, dear.”
I can tell by her tone I’ve appeased her. That I’ve bought myself just a little more time in America. The clock is still ticking, and I know there’s no stopping it. But perhaps just a little while longer…
“Be well, darling,” my mother says. “And above all, be discreet.”