by Tawna Fenske
“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.
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 ey
e 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.”
Be good.
Be discreet.
Be a lady.
There’s never any mention of being happy, being fulfilled, being my own person. I press my lips together and breathe deeply through my nose before answering. “I will.”
I switch off the call and take a few moments to collect myself. There’s a flutter of snowflakes drifting dreamily past my window. By morning, the trees will be swathed in white with a carpet of fresh glitter laid out at their feet. White twinkle lights blink in the ponderosa trees lining the path to the lodge. I take it all in, hoping to absorb some festive flair, but my mood stays dark.
I feel alone and trapped and burdened by the weight of the world. Then I feel like a jerk because I’ve led a life of privilege. What more could I want?
Autonomy.
Love.
A life that’s entirely my own.
A white truck glides past, and my pulse ticks up a notch. Bradley’s arriving for poker night, and my silly, irrational heart goes from canter to gallop in just one breath.
Standing up with a sigh, I make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. There’s no reason at all I should put on makeup to spend an evening with my infant nephew, but vanity gets the best of me, and I reach for my mascara.
Ten minutes later, I’m striding out the door wearing Luscious Spice lipstick and another bright sweater, this one royal blue. It was Lily’s personal favorite from our shopping trip.
“This makes your tits look fabulous,” she said as she adjusted the deep V neckline. “Throw your shoulders back when you wear it and walk into every room like you own the place.”
I take her advice, straightening my spine as I step onto the front porch of Mark’s cabin. I rap once, braced for my burly cousin to answer. Instead, I hear a shout from inside.
“Door’s unlocked. Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, I push my way through and head for the dining room.
My eyes land first on Bradley, and that’s all it takes. My heart stutters to a halt in my chest as I stumble over my own feet.
He’s cradling Brian in his arms, cooing down at him like the baby is his own flesh and blood. His attention’s fixed on my nephew, which gives me a moment to stare as he sings what sounds like a baby-talk rendition of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.”
So this is what happens at guys’ night.
“Hey, Izzy.” Jonathan’s voice pulls me from my trance, and I do my best to drag my eyes off Bradley to where Jon sits grinning at the other end of the table. “You here to whoop our asses at Texas Hold ‘Em?”
Mark frowns beside him. “No swearing in front of the baby.” His gaze skims his nephew’s slumbering form and softens before swinging to the archway between the table and the living room. He stares at someone standing behind my shoulder. “You found him.”
I look over and freeze. Dante looms at the threshold of the room holding a brown and white bunny. Countless times I’ve seen Long Long Peter in the arms of my siblings, but never like this. Never with a bald, scowling killer cradling him like an infant.
“Damn nice rabbit,” Dante murmurs with undisguised reverence.
I wait for Mark to jump on Dante about cursing, but he holds his tongue. Maybe anyone who looks this blissed out over a bunny gets a free pass. I don’t know.
All I know is that when I glance at Bradley, he’s not smiling. “Hey, Iz. You’re here to steal my little friend away?”
“Wait, not yet.” Sean scoops the infant from his arms, earning a soft whimper from Brian. “I haven’t gotten my turn.”
Austin shakes his head and gives me a bemused look. “Here’s what you can look forward to someday, Izzy—the instant you procreate, your spawn becomes the most popular person in the room.”
Everyone chuckles except Jonathan, who shoots me a worried look. I know what my kidney donor is thinking since we sat through many of the transplant consults together. “It’s okay,” I murmur as heat floods my cheeks. “The doctors seem confident my equipment is still in working order.”
I watch Bradley’s brow furrow as his face transforms into a look I recognize as his doctor mask. “You’re past the one-year mark. If your doctors say your kidney function is stable, there’s no reason they couldn’t switch up your meds if you wanted to get pregnant somewhere down the line.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Dante stiffen. “Who’s getting pregnant?”
“No one!” I hate how fierce the declaration sounds coming out of my mouth, but I can’t stop now. “Well, Chelsea’s pregnant. That’s Mark’s wife. And with all these marriages, I’m certain it’s a matter of time until all your wives are expecting.”
I’m trying to deflect attention, and thank God James takes the bait. “Not me,” he says as he shuffles the deck of cards. “Lily’s adamant about maintaining our childless-by-choice lifestyle.”
Mark scrubs a hand over his beard. “You’re cool with that?”
“Absolutely,” James says. “Not like there’s going to be any shortage of children around here.”
Sean grins and rocks Brian in his arms. “Just means you have more free time for babysitting.”
Speaking of which, I should do what I came here to do. I step in to ask for the baby at the same moment Dante makes his own move forward. The result brings the two of us toe to toe at the edge of Mark’s dining room.
Dante stares me down, blue eyes cold. “No.”
I blink but manage not to step back. “No what?”
“You can’t have a turn with the rabbit.” He looks down, stroking Long Long Peter with one blunt finger. “Not yet.”
“Aw, shit.” Sean laughs and blows a raspberry on Brian’s cheek, making the baby giggle. “You’re never getting your bunny back, Mark.”
My brother scowls. “Don’t swear when you’re holding a baby.”
I stare at Dante, not sure if his protectiveness of Long Long Peter is a coded threat or a genuine fondness for the r
abbit. Call me crazy, but I swear there’s more warmth in his eyes than I’ve seen the entire time I’ve known him. Ignoring me, Dante runs a hand down the bunny’s back, relishing the softness of his fur.
“So, Dan.” Austin clears his throat. “I understand you’re also from Dovlano.”
Bradley sits up straighter and gives me a look I can’t read. He shakes his head once, a gesture I assume means he didn’t tell the others what I told him. If my brothers know he’s a bodyguard, they didn’t learn it from Bradley.
Dante gives a curt nod. “Correct.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, which American custom dictates should be filled with elaboration. Dante sharing what brings him to Oregon, for instance. It’s a question I’d also like answered, but the man stays infuriatingly silent.
Mostly. He’s murmuring some sing-song words in Dovlanese as he rubs the rabbit’s ears. It takes me a moment to recognize the lyrics of a traditional children’s lullaby.
Baby, baby, darling baby, time is fleeing faster than a wild badger.
I swear it sounds lovelier in my native tongue. Did the song spring to Dante’s mind because it’s a common song for children, or is it meant as a message for me? I don’t dare look at Bradley for fear my face will give something away.
“So you and Izzy know each other, right?” It’s Sean speaking this time, though he’s distracted by the baby. “Mark said something about you working with the royal family?”
I dare a glance at Mark, whose expression is masked behind the big beard. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning, and his eyes hold no clues. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Austin run a background check on Dante, though I’m doubtful they’d find much.
This time when Dante looks up, he holds my gaze for a few beats before answering Sean. “That’s right.”
“Okay, give us some dirt on Izzy.” Jon throws me a wink. “She’s always so proper, but I know she’s got a badass streak buried in there. Ask her about the time she dragged me into a public bathroom to read me the riot act.”
