What the Single Dad Wants...
Page 18
He smiled down into her face. “Right answer,” he told her before he kissed her and set his world back on track again. “Oh, by the way,” he said just as his lips had brushed seductively against hers, “I wasn’t just talking a minute ago. I really do love you. More than I ever thought possible. Hey,” he cried, upset by her reaction, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Happy tears,” she told him. “These are happy tears. Because I love you, too,” she added, then sealed her mouth to his before he could find another footnote to add to the occasion.
Epilogue
The applause was like life-giving water to a thirsty flower. She stood there, bathed in it, absorbing it as she and the rest of the cast took yet another curtain call. Their fourth.
But as wonderful as it was, as much as she had really missed the sound of instant, gratifying feedback, Anastasia had to admit, in the privacy of her own soul, that something, a small but viable component, was missing from her life these past three months that she had been on the road, touring with the play. A component that interaction with the other members of the cast and crew—some old friends, others brand-new acquaintances—as entertaining as it often was, could not adequately replace.
Which was why, as she sat in her small, private dressing room going about the task of turning herself back into Anastasia Del Vecchio, legendary icon, and her cell phone rang, she immediately stopped what she was doing and reached for it. Hoping.
A glance at caller ID as she flipped the phone open brought an instant wide smile to her lips. Love was evident in each word as she asked, “Hello, darling, how are you?”
“I’m good, Gemma,” the girl on the other end of the call answered. “Did you knock ’em dead again tonight?”
A deep, throaty chuckle met her granddaughter’s question. Grandmother though she was, she was also part living legend, a fact she never forgot. “Do you have to ask?”
“No,” Victoria readily agreed. “I don’t. You always knock ’em dead.”
“You were always my very best audience, sweetheart.” Anastasia looked at her watch. It was after eleven. “Forgive me for making grandmother noises, my love, but shouldn’t you be in bed, asleep?”
“I wanted to wait until your show was over before I called,” Victoria answered evasively.
Anastasia was instantly alert. Bohemian-like though she had been for most of her life, there was a very strong mother-grandmother streak alive and well within her heart. It rose to the foreground, blotting out everything else. “Why? What’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Gemma. I just wanted to call you as soon as I heard.”
“Heard what?” She had never once lost patience with her granddaughter, but she felt herself coming close to the edge now.
Instead of answering, Victoria asked a question of her own. “Do you think you can come home three weeks from Saturday?”
Anastasia blew out a breath. “Victoria, you grow more and more like your father every day. Now what is going on?” She wanted to know. “Why do you need me to come home? Is it your father? Has something happened to Brandon?”
“Well, yes,” Victoria hedged. “Something’s happened and it does involve Dad, but not like you think.”
Her head suddenly filled with a variety of dramatic scenarios, none of them good, Anastasia assured her granddaughter, “Trust me, you have no idea what I’m thinking. Now, what’s going on, Victoria?” she demanded with the full range of her powerful voice. She was a force to be reckoned with.
“Dad’s getting married!” Victoria cried happily, the news all but bursting out of her. “To Isabelle,” she told her in case there was any doubt. “They just told me. It’s going to be at Maura’s house because it’s so big and all,” she went on breathlessly, referring to her father’s literary agent. “But they said they won’t have it if you can’t make it. Tell me you can make it, Gemma. I’ve never seen Dad look this happy before,” she added.
Anastasia laughed shortly. As if anything could keep her away. “Of course I can make it. My understudy is watching me like a hawk, hoping I’ll fall off the stage and break the other hip so that she can go on in my place. She’ll be thrilled if I take a few days off. But why didn’t Brandon or Isabelle call me themselves?”
Just as she asked the question, Anastasia heard her phone beep, telling her that another call was coming in. She quickly glanced at the screen for confirmation. “Well, speak of the devil. It’s your father,” she told Victoria.
“Oh. He’s probably calling to tell you the news. Don’t tell him I told you. It’ll spoil it for him. Act surprised, Gemma,” Victoria implored.
“Of course, darling. Acting is what I do best. Now go to bed. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Gemma,” Victoria said. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Yes, darling, wonderful,” Anastasia replied, sharing her granddaughter’s happiness. She heard Victoria end the call.
Settling back in her chair, Anastasia switched to the incoming call.
“Hello, Brandon,” she greeted her son cheerfully.
Raising her eyes, she looked up into the mirror. The woman reflected there was smiling in triumph. And why not, Anastasia silently asked rhetorically. Her son’s forthcoming marriage was, after all, at bottom all due to her initially calling Cecilia. She considered the match to be her own personal victory.
Her smile widened as she innocently asked, “So, what’s new?”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0570-3
WHAT THE SINGLE DAD WANTS…
Copyright © 2011 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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