She was ready to have some fun, even if it killed her.
FORTY
MICHAEL’S STAY IN SAN DIEGO HAD LASTED LONGER THAN HE EXPECTED. THE TRIAL THAT
had resulted from a SEAL brother’s PTSD episode had dragged on, but in the end had come to a favorable conclusion. Michael was grateful his friend’s wife had called him for help and legal advice. His friend was now going to get the treatment and support he needed.
Michael was finally ready to pack up and head back to Boston—but first things first. Isabel. He had let her have these last few weeks to think about what she wanted. He had had time to think, too, and there was no way around it. He couldn’t see a future without her.
He called to schedule a flight, and then he called Isabel. There was no answer. He waited a few minutes and tried again. Still no answer. Impatient, he called Dylan.
His brother answered immediately. Michael didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “I need to talk to Isabel.”
“Hi, Michael,” Dylan said. “Where are you?”
“San Diego. I’m taking a flight back to Boston this afternoon.”
“Did you finish helping with that legal—”
Michael interrupted. “Yes. I did. I need to talk to Isabel.”
“Why did it take you so long?”
“A friend needed some help. I really need to talk to Isabel.”
“She isn’t here.”
“When will she be back?”
“I honestly don’t know. Hold on. I’ll ask Kate.” He came back to the phone a minute later. “She doesn’t know.”
“What the hell.”
“I’ve got a crazy idea. If you want to talk to Isabel, why don’t you call her?”
“Her phone’s turned off. Do you know where she went?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles?” he repeated.
“That’s right. She’s staying at the Hamilton Hotel. Regan made the reservation for her. She’s such a sweetheart, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, yeah . . . sweetheart,” he said impatiently. “But why?”
“Why what?” Dylan was deliberately being obtuse. He could hear Michael’s frustration coming through the phone.
“Why did she fly to L.A.?”
“The party.”
“Dylan, quit screwing with me.”
“There’s a party tonight at the Sienna Hotel.”
“She flew all the way out there for a party?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Damon’s going to propose—” It was as far as he could get.
Michael shouted, “He’s what?”
“He’s going to propose—”
Once again Michael interrupted. “The hell he is.”
“If you’ll let me explain—”
“She is not going to marry him.”
“Listen,” Dylan demanded. “Damon—”
Michael had ended the call.
Kate walked into the kitchen and asked, “How’s Michael?”
Dylan was shaking his head. “Every time. Every damn time. He never lets me finish what I’m trying to tell him. I tried to warn him about Isabel’s driving. Remember? I said, ‘Isabel likes to drive.’
Michael wouldn’t let me finish. I would have added, ‘But if you value your life, don’t let her. She’s a horrible driver.’？”
Frowning, she said, “And now?”
“He thinks Damon is going to propose to Isabel.”
Kate started to laugh. “Aren’t you going to call him back and explain?”
Dylan grinned. “Now, why would I want to do that? He’ll figure it out soon enough.”
FORTY-ONE
FRIDAY MORNING ISABEL MET WITH HER ATTORNEY, JASON, TO DISCUSS HER CONTRACT, THEN
spent the afternoon being pampered at the spa. She was massaged, plucked and waxed, and slathered with wonderful scented lotion. She got a pedicure and manicure, and while her nails were drying, her hair was washed and dried. When the stylist was finished, her hair fell in soft curls just below her shoulders. It all was completely indulgent, but after the last few depressing weeks, she was ready for a makeover and a brand-new outlook on life.
She paid for all the treatments then and there so it wouldn’t go on the hotel charge and disappear.
Regan had already been so generous. Isabel didn’t want to take advantage.
Isabel was still in her robe when Damon called.
“We might have a problem.”
“Uh-oh. Did Mia say no?”