Page 6

B RANDON STROLLED INTO Daniel’s Broiler like he owned the place. Daniel’s was an institution on Seattle’s Eastside, located on the twenty-first floor of the Bank of America Tower in Bellevue. The restaurant featured dark wood, plush chairs, soft music, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a dazzling view of Lake Washington, and amazing food. The service was even better than the food, if that was possible. It wasn’t cheap, but a meal at Daniel’s was something to be savored and remembered.

“We’d like to sit in a booth,” he said to the hostess, who’d just called him “Mr. McKenna” and asked if he’d like “the usual.”

“No, thank you,” he said to the hostess.

“What’s ‘the usual’?” Emily asked him as they followed the hostess.

“A big steak and an ice-cold vodka martini with olives. Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian,” he said.

“No. I eat meat. I just don’t eat that much of it.” She passed a glass case with steaks the size of someone’s head.

They were seated, and Brandon opened the menu. “We have to drink a little champagne to celebrate.”

“I’m concussed, and you want to celebrate.”

“Maybe I should rephrase that. We’ll drink a little champagne. Other than that, you should order whatever you’d like.” He lowered his voice. “Are you feeling better?”

“It comes and goes. What’s good here, besides meat?” Emily laid her menu on the table and glanced around. Brandon had slid into the booth next to her, so they could (hopefully) talk without being overheard. It was a cold but gorgeous day, and the view of Lake Washington was breathtaking. The water looked like blue glass.

“I’m going for the penne with lemon-thyme chicken.”

“I’ll have some, too.”

Brandon leaned against the padded back of the booth. “The server will be along any minute now. I know I’m hungry.” Oddly enough, he appeared somewhat nervous. They’d spent the last twenty-four hours together, they’d slept in the same room, but she still knew almost nothing about him. Speaking of “knowing nothing,” she dug through her purse, extracted a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him.

“This is for you.”

He shook his head. “A list?”

“I wrote this while you were in the shower earlier. It’s biographical information about me. Maybe you could write up a few things before we see each other again,” Emily suggested. He unfolded the piece of paper, glanced at it a moment, and dropped it next to his silverware.

“What are you talking about?” He was obviously unconvinced.

“If we’re going to pull this off, we have to know things about each other.”

It seemed perfectly logical to her. Memorizing a list was easy, and it left no room for error. Obviously, he had other plans. His eyebrows smacked together, and he folded his arms across his chest.

“Isn’t this a bit impersonal? Can’t we get to know each other without a written checklist?”

“We have to have a plan,” Emily insisted, and the server approached.

Brandon seemed to shake himself a bit and said, “Hello.”

“Hi. I’m Jordan. I’m your server today. Would you like a drink to get your lunch order started?”

“Well, Jordan. Nice to meet you.” Brandon flipped to the menu’s wine list. “We’d like to order a good bottle of champagne. I’ll leave that up to you and the sommelier, other than to say I’m not a big Dom Perignon fan, and maybe more dry than sweet. We’d both like the penne pasta with chicken for lunch, but I’d like a double order for myself. We’d like the house salad with vinaigrette dressing, and we’d like some bread and butter for the table, please.”

“May I have some water with no ice?” Emily asked.

“Of course you may,” Jordan said. “I’ll bring the champagne, the water, the salad, and the bread right away.”

“No ice?” Brandon looked quizzical.

“Bad for the vocal cords,” she explained. “They need to stay nice and warm.”

“Ahh. I see. So, Emily Anne Hamilton, maybe I’ll burn this little piece of paper and ask you questions instead.” He made a grab for the small glass oil candle at one end of the table. Emily pushed it out of his reach.

“You won’t remember everything—”

“You worry too much,” he assured her. He patted her hand. “Maybe we should start with something easy. What year did you graduate from high school?”

“Excuse me? You’re trying to find out how old I am.” Brandon didn’t seem to notice, but Emily saw a few of the other diners, primarily men, gesturing toward their table and commenting. He must be used to it.

“Of course I am,” he assured her with exaggerated patience.

“It’s on the piece of paper.” To Emily’s horror, he tore her painstakingly composed list into four even squares, crumpling them in his hand. She let out a gasp of distress.

“What are you doing?” She tried to keep her voice down. More people turned around.

“There.” He grinned like he’d really accomplished something. “Now we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“Why can’t you—” Emily felt best when there was a list, an action plan, written directions of any kind. She could follow directions. They kept her on track. She could measure her progress. Even more, being in control of herself and her surroundings was comforting, even if she was fairly positive there were many people who thought she needed to take it down several notches.

He stroked Emily’s cheek with one hand. “Relax, sugar. This isn’t brain surgery. We’ll have lunch; we’ll get to know each other. It’ll be fine.” If she could tell him how scary it was for her to feel like things were out of control, it might help, but she’d just met him. Maybe it should wait a little while.

He leaned a little closer “Take a breath,” he prompted. He squeezed her hand. The sommelier arrived at the table. “Mr. McKenna, I thought you might like to try a bottle of Krug.” The bottle was opened. Two glasses were poured, and they were alone again. Well, other than the fact that most of the restaurant seemed to be staring at them by now.

Brandon turned to her. “Let’s have a toast.” He handed a glass to Emily, picked up his own and said, “Toast.” She may have rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile at the mischievous expression in his eyes. “Seriously,” he said, looking thoughtful, “Here’s to a successful engagement.”

“To the engagement.” She took a sip. The champagne was wonderful. Brandon dug into his jacket pocket for something.

“I have a confession to make. I borrowed that ring you couldn’t find this morning.” He gave her what she was sure he thought was an apologetic grin. “I—you needed another ring. I stopped at Tiffany’s after I dropped you off. This is for you.”

He put a ring box, wrapped in robin’s egg-blue paper and tied with a white, double-faced satin bow, into her hand. She stared at it in shock for a moment. Obviously if they were supposedly engaged she’d need a ring. But she didn’t realize he was serious about buying one.

“You ‘borrowed’ my ring? Is that what they’re calling it now?” she teased.

Even though she hadn’t spent that much time with him, she could see that he was nervous. She saw a faint flush on his cheekbones. His normally graceful movements were a bit jerky. He swallowed hard, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Suddenly she was nervous, too. This was pretend. It meant nothing. At the same time, how many times in any woman’s life did she hold a ring box?

“I can wear the ring I already have,” she said. He looked bewildered. After all, most women probably didn’t argue with the giver when they saw a box from Tiffany’s. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course, I’m sure. Go ahead. Open it.”

Emily pulled at one end of the bow, and the ribbon fell away. The paper the box was wrapped in spread out like a star in her hand to reveal another smaller, robin’s egg-blue suede box inside the cardboard one.

“Even the box is beautiful,” she sighed.

He pulled the box open, took the ring out, and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand.

“What do you think?”

He licked his lips. His hand trembled a little. The diamond was very, very large. A round center stone was flanked with pear-shaped diamonds set in platinum. The weight on her finger was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. The diamonds sparkled like they were alive. Even more, the ring looked like it was made especially for her. It was perfect.

She’d be wearing this ring for a month. He’d lost his mind.

“Did you tell them you wanted the biggest one?” she managed to rasp out.

“A diva would need the biggest one.”

Their eyes locked. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Emily didn’t know what to say. She finally repeated, “Are you sure?”

There wouldn’t be any romantic words, and he didn’t get down on one knee, but the look in his eyes as he lingered over the back of her hand made Emily’s heart skip a beat. He brushed her knuckles with his lips again. She stifled a gasp.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Brandon.”

“Soft hands, sugar.” He laid her hand back in her lap. She still clutched the little ring box. “So, where were we? You were telling me about your sister.”

“I was not.”

“Well, speak up. Isn’t she single?” Emily’s mouth dropped open. His grin was shameless.

“You’re kidding me. You just gave me a ring, and now you’re picking up on my sister.” He put his fingertips over her mouth.

“Shh,” he soothed. “All this stress and upset isn’t good for your headache. You need to take it easy.” She knew he was right, but she resisted the impulse to drive her fork into the back of his hand. “Relax.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “There you go. That’s much better.” He patted her knee. “You were telling me all about—Amy, isn’t it?”

“Actually, you’d probably really like my sister. She loves football.”

“I’m sure she’s nice. You’re more interesting, though.” Emily just stared at him. “You seem surprised.”

“I—”

“So, what was on your piece of paper? Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

“It would have been so much easier if you would have read it before you tore it up.”

“Let’s try this one more time.” He probably seemed mild-mannered and reasonable to the other people sitting in the restaurant. The teasing in his voice made Emily want to commit bodily harm. If he’d let her speak ... “You have a sister named Amy. Do you have any other brothers or sisters?” She shook her head no. “Do your parents still live in the area?” She nodded. He took a deep breath, and his fingers slid away from her face. “Now, that was easy. Where do they live, sugar?”

“My mom lives in West Seattle, and my dad lives in Issaquah.”

“They’re no longer married.” She wondered if she heard regret in his voice.

“No. They’re not.” She put the little suede ring box back into the bigger one, and crammed it all into her handbag. “Are your parents still married?”

“Yeah” was all he said. The teasing was gone. A gentle smile touched his mouth.

“They still love each other?”

Brandon studied her face for a few moments. Emily had the oddest feeling he had decided she could be confided in, and he didn’t do this often. “They do,” he said, finally. “I see what they have, and I want the same thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking about you.”

“Well, I’m curious,” she insisted.

Brandon’s lips twitched in amusement. “My dad was so crazy about my mama that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was engaged to someone else when he met her. He kept pursuing her. He told me that if he hadn’t married her, he would have never gotten married. She’s the other half of him.” He thought for a moment. “My dad’s a bit rough. His daddy worked in the oil fields; they didn’t have the social graces. My mama was Miss Louisiana and a Miss America runner-up, so I don’t embarrass myself at a formal dinner party, for instance. She gave him polish, and he gave her the ability to be who she is.”

Emily grinned back at him. “That sounds wonderful.”

“It is. My dad played in the NFL when I was young. They had a hard time with all the traveling when I was a kid, but when Dad started coaching, it was even worse. They did their best to spend more time with each other and with us.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“I have a younger brother, Dylan. He and Amy must be about the same age.” Emily hadn’t said a word about how old Amy was. She’d find out later how he knew that fact.

“Does Dylan play football?”

“Sugar, he’s a doctor.”

“That’s interesting.”

He stifled laughter. “Interesting, huh? Why don’t you tell me some more about your sister?”

The food arrived while they were talking. He unwrapped the breadbasket and offered it to Emily. “Is Amy a redhead as well?”

“No. Amy’s hair is blonde, and she’s taller than me. When we don’t want to kill each other, she’s my best friend in the world. She’s really outspoken, she’s funny, and she’s also the bravest person I know.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When she wants something, she goes after it. Nothing stops her.”

“It would seem to me that the two of you might have more in common than you think. You seem fairly motivated, too.”

“Not that kind of motivation.” Amy had opened her flower shop with no financial help from their parents or anything else besides a standard small-business loan. She had left a solid, secure career to risk everything following her dream. “I’m so proud of her.”

Emily saw the dimple in his cheek deepen. She had spent only twenty-four hours with him, but she knew already that he concealed something he wasn’t about to tell her. Then again, maybe he was.

“Oh, no motivation at all,” he observed. His voice was as dry as the champagne he’d just taken another sip of. “You got into a highly exclusive training program as a teen. You graduated from a leading conservatory and have a grad degree from Juilliard. You’ve been working your ass off for the last eighteen years singing all over the world.” He put the glass back down on the table. “What happens when you’re motivated?”

Emily wondered if she was about to spend the next month with her mouth hanging open. “Maybe I didn’t explain that well,” she told him. “How do you know all this stuff, anyway?”

“It’s surprising what you can find out with a Google search,” he said lazily and leaned back against the booth again.

“You borrowed my ring, you searched my closets, and you used my laptop. Wait till we get home. I’m searching on you, too. It’s on, like Donkey Kong.”

“You could ask me questions instead,” he observed.

“Well, that’s no fun,” she said. “Where am I going to get the dirt?”

“I might tell you some of that, too.” He drained his glass. “Then again, maybe not. A man needs a few secrets. Speaking of secrets, I understand that Cheryl the nurse thinks I’m a horn dog.” He took a large bite of salad, and gave Emily an expectant look.

“Aren’t you?” He choked on the salad. She patted him on the back till he stopped coughing. She reached out for the bottle of champagne and poured him another glass. “Sorry,” she teased.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

Emily couldn’t stop laughing with him. The longer they talked, the more she felt tension drain out of her. She realized with a shock that she felt safe with him, and it wasn’t just because he towered over the other guys in the restaurant.

Their entrees arrived. The penne with chicken smelled heavenly. Brandon took a large bite. “It’s good, sugar.”

“It is.” Emily pointed her fork at him. “Back to the horn dog stuff.”

“Listen. I’m human. I’m a normal, healthy guy with a sex drive. Have I done things that, in retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have? Hell, yes. There isn’t a man that hasn’t. At the same time, you don’t have to worry.” He patted her kneecap again. “I promise I will not drag you under the table, tear your clothes off, and make love to you in front of Jordan and the sommelier. Then again, it beats the hell out of the dessert menu, doesn’t it?” His smile was unrepentant. He took another bite of his lunch and washed it down with champagne. “You’re not eating.”

Emily was feeling a little warm. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe she was going to blush herself into a coma. The thought of getting naked with Brandon wasn’t exactly repulsive.

“Did you always want to be a football player?”

“Questions, questions. Do you work for ESPN?” he said, but she saw his dimple. “I wanted to be like my dad. He played football, so I played football. It helped that I fell in love with the game, too.”

“What would you have done for a living if you didn’t do this?”

“Interesting question.” He gave her a sly smile. “I might have been a math teacher.”

“You’re kidding me.” He loved math? He wasn’t a geek. Then again, he’d thought that all opera singers were fat. Maybe it was time to retire some of these generalizations.

“No. I was a math major. I have a master’s in math as well from the UW. I worked on it during the off-season for a couple of years.” He chewed for a few moments. “Damn, sugar, this stuff’s good.” Brandon scooped a bite up on his fork, and held it in front of her mouth. “Come on, I’m going to eat all of this if you don’t take a bite.”

“Mmhmm,” was all she could get out around the mouthful of food he fed her.

He inhaled a huge platter of pasta, all the bread, and scooped a bite off of Emily’s plate. “I’m still hungry.” He appeared to be eating her lunch, too. She wondered if he was always this hungry.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Then again, it was kind of cute. “Oh, okay.” She shoved her plate closer to his.

“You have to eat.” He scooped up a forkful of penne and chicken and said, “Open up.”

“You don’t have to f—” Emily began, before her mouth was full once more.

“C’mon. Finish this,” he said. “You’ll want dessert.”

“You’re going to tell me about the starving children in Third World countries next, aren’t you?”

“No. I want to make sure you’ve got food in your stomach. You’ve swallowed an awful lot of medication in the past twenty-four hours, and you had some champagne on top of it.”

She wondered if he was like this all the time, or just with women he had a fake engagement with. Whenever Emily would convince herself again he was probably an egotistical nightmare, he’d do something sweet, and she was totally confused. Wasn’t he supposed to act like a jerk? She knew little about football players, but according to their discussions over the past twenty-four hours, he was some kind of big deal.

Emily’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Brandon’s rang as well.

“‘She Works Hard for the Money’?” Emily said.

“That assho— That jerk Greg downloaded it onto my phone. It’s the team headquarters. I have to take this one. I apologize.” He pressed the phone to his ear.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she checked her messages. Amy had called four times in the past hour. Her dad called. Emily hoped her family wasn’t watching the news. Her mom must have put the word out to the family.

“Hey, Coach. I’m having lunch with my fiancée. Yeah, I can be there. What’s going on?”

He listened for a moment while Emily listened to Amy’s message on her voice mail. Her sister sounded a bit irritated. At that moment, a woman in a business suit approached the table.

“Miss Hamilton, I’m Valerie Walker from the Bellevue Informer. I was wondering if you and Mr. McKenna would answer a few questions about your engagement and how you met.” She laid one hand on the edge of the table. Brandon was still listening to his caller. “I couldn’t help but notice your little moment with the ring. Very sweet. Would you be willing to pose for some photos as well?”

“Just a second,” Brandon told the person he’d been speaking with, and glanced at Ms. Walker. “Please call my publicist.” He fumbled in his pocket with his other hand, produced his wallet, and handed her a card.

“Let’s do this right here. It won’t take long.” She perched on the bench facing them.

“While I appreciate your interest, Emily and I would appreciate some privacy. Please call my publicist and make an appointment.” He picked up his phone again and ignored her. “Let me take my girl home, and I’ll be right over,” he said to his caller. “Let’s go,” he said to Emily.

The reporter leaned over the table. “That’s quite a ring, Ms. Hamilton. How about a closer look?”

Emily dutifully held out her hand. The restaurant’s indirect lighting made the diamond sparkle like it was alive.

“All that for one woman.” Her eyes were hard. This was the second female reporter today that had greeted the news of Brandon’s engagement with thinly veiled hostility. Emily wondered what the story was.

Brandon frowned a bit. “She’s worth it.” He took Emily’s hand. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Walrus.”

“Walker,” she corrected him.

“Ms. Walker.” Brandon tugged Emily out of the booth. She grabbed her purse. He handed a credit card to a passing server and said, “Please bring our bill to the hostess desk, I’ll sign the slip there.” He seemed to be intent on putting as much space between them and the reporter as quickly as possible.

“Don’t you want to talk with her?” Emily asked, as they hurried away.

“Not really.” He shook his head. “Who was on your voice mail?”

“My sister is a little upset.”

“Sounds like it. Listen, sugar, I’ll give you a rain check on that dessert I offered. I have to go to a team meeting this afternoon. Let’s see how fast we can get out of here.”

F IFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Brandon and Emily were in Brandon’s Land Rover and heading toward 520, one of the floating bridges between Seattle and its Eastside. Brandon’s phone rang again. “It’s my mama,” he sighed.

He adored his mother. He loved his dad. At the same time, he’d ducked her calls all day. He needed to figure out how he was going to explain what had happened, but it looked like there was no time like the present.

He clicked the hands free device on his car’s dashboard and said, “Hey, Mama. I know I was supposed to call you. I apologize. How’s my best girl?”

“Brandon James McKenna, that sweet talking might work on all those girls up there, but it doesn’t work on me. You are in big, big trouble, young man. You’re engaged, and your daddy and I found this out from a sports reporter. They’ve been calling here all morning. That woman from Entertainment Tonight asked me for an exclusive.”

“I know. I apologize. I didn’t realize they were going to announce—”

“You’re going to have to try this on someone who might believe it. Since when do you get engaged to a woman we didn’t know you were dating?” Brandon’s mama didn’t yell. She used much more lethal tactics, like guilt. It was hard to believe that Mama could still make a grown man want to hide somewhere till she settled down, but this was one of those times. “Emily Hamilton sang here last year, honey. How many times have I invited you when your daddy was out of town, and you told me you’d rather be dragged buck naked over broken glass than go to the opera?” His mother finally took a breath. “Does she know this?”

“Mama. I’m sorry.” He didn’t dare glance over to see the expression on Emily’s face at that moment.

His mother’s voice softened. “I know there’s another story here, and you will tell me what it is.” He braced himself for incoming. He spent the last thirty-four years knowing that his mama left the best for last. “You are not having a baby, are you? Please tell me you didn’t get that young lady pregnant. What will her parents say?”

Oh, there it was.

“Mama. You taught me better than that,” he cajoled. He glanced over at Emily, who was stifling laughter. She’d heard every word. “Where’s Dad?”

“He went to hit a bucket of balls with Dylan. He says he can’t believe you’d consider getting married without bringing Emily home to meet us. Honey, I’m so disappointed in you. I’ve waited so long for this, and—”

“Mama. Mama . I promise I will not marry anyone you haven’t met yet.” Emily was now smothering laughter with both hands. If this had been happening to anyone else, it would probably be funny, but right now, he’d appreciate a little support. He could only deal with one woman at a time, though, so that discussion would happen later.

“When are we going to meet her? We want to meet her mama and daddy, too. They’ll be our family, honey. It’s important.” He took the exit to Emily’s place and resisted the impulse to floor it.

“I know, Mama. Of course she wants to meet you, too. She has performances in Seattle, and then she’s going out of town for several weeks. I’ll ask her when it will work to get everyone together, and we’ll do it.” He pulled into Emily’s driveway. “I need to scoot. Let me call you back when I’m in the car again.”

“Okay. Do not think I’m going to forget about this, young man.”

“I know you won’t. Tell Dad and Dylan I said hey.”

“I will, honey. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He hung up his phone. Emily was already climbing the steps to her front door, and he hurried after her.

“So, your mom was on a tear. Welcome to my world,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. She’s probably taking away my allowance.” Emily opened the front door, and they trooped inside. “I’d love to chat about this, but I’m going to be late. We can talk later if you’d like.”

The look on Emily’s face was comical. “Our parents think I’m pregnant. This should be interesting.”

Suddenly, everything was a little awkward. He wasn’t sure what to say, and he certainly wasn’t sure what was appropriate. She wore his ring, but she wasn’t his. She put her purse down on the hall table and shuffled around a little. She bit her lip and a flush moved over her cheekbones. He watched the previously smiling and relaxed Emily retreat behind a wall of uneasiness. She folded her arms in front of her.

“Thank you for taking me out to lunch, and for the beautiful ring. I could have worn my ring, you know.”

No, she couldn’t have. Everyone would expect her to have an engagement ring someone pulling down over twenty million dollars a year could afford to buy for her. He pulled the small silver circlet of hearts out of his jeans pocket, and put it back on the middle finger of her left hand. “You’ll still wear it.” He held her hand in both of his. She didn’t pull away.

She took a deep breath, and tipped her face up. Her golden eyes searched his. “Do you really think this is going to work? I—I’m just not sure.”

“We’ll be fine.” He leaned down, planted a kiss on her forehead, and told her, “I’ll see you later.” He felt her smaller hand gripping his.

“I’m okay. I—I’ll understand if you have something else going, if you’re meeting up with someone or have an appointment. I know this was sudden. You have a life you might want to get back to.”

“We can cross some more stuff off your list. We’ll have dinner or something.”

He didn’t want to leave. He turned, though, and hurried out the front door.