The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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as empty as she’d left it that morning. Besides the bed being made and the bathroom cleaned spotless, not a single thing appeared to be out of place.
Huh.
She was surprised, and even worse, disappointment tugged at her conscience. Why had he picked now to stop being a pest? When she was finally getting used to having him around? When the idea of spending a little time with him didn’t repulse her?
May be she was just being impatient. May be he was going to give her time to settle in, then he would show up, all prepared to annoy her.
She could wait.
She kicked off her sandals and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Besides the times that it was wet and snarled, today was the first time Dillon had seen her hair down. Not that it looked all that different than it had ten years ago. It was a little longer, but still had a hint of unruly curl to it. Her mom used to nag her incessantly about it.
“Would you please do something with that mop,” she would complain when Ivy would let her hair dry loose and wavy. Which she did ninety-nine percent of the time.
Looking back, she remembered her mom nagged her constantly. She still did. About her hair and her clothes and her makeup. Her posture. Areas in which she considered herself an authority.
“If you learned to use eyeliner correctly your eyes wouldn’t look so small,” she would say, or, “I saw you interviewed on CNN and as usual you were slouching. Would it kill you to sit up straight?”
Most people would be proud to have a daughter who even made it on CNN. But her mom didn’t see it that way. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
Ivy wondered if her mom had nagged her dad like that. That might have been enough to drive him away. Or May be he just hadn’t been ready for the responsibility of a family. And still wasn’t if the rare Christmas card and occasional birthday call were any indication. After years of trying to build some sort of relationship with him, Ivy had come to terms with the fact that it would probably never happen.
She wondered, if she had stayed with Dillon, would the same thing have happened to their children? Would he have been an absentee dad? He’d made it all too clear that he hadn’t been ready for children then. May be he never would be.
It was one of those subjects that they’d never brought up. One of many.
She glanced over at the digital clock beside the bed. It was eight-fifteen and he still hadn’t shown up. How much longer did he plan to make her wait?
Until she was tucked into bed and sleeping?
If that was how he wanted to play this, fine. If he could wait, so could she.
To pass the time she opened her laptop and launched her e-mail program. Might as well do something constructive while she waited.
There were the usual three hundred or so e-mails for male enhancement drugs guaranteeing her a larger penis in six months, erectile dysfunction drugs at a deep discount and replica watches for rock-bottom prices. There was also a message from her writing partner, Miranda Reed, marked Urgent. The body of the e-mail was a series of question marks and exclamation points. There was a second message that simply said, call me! in fifty-point, hot-pink type.
Ivy had promised to call her the instant she learned the identity of the mystery best man. She’d been so far off-kilter, she’d completely forgotten.
She dug her cell phone from her purse, and, sure enough, there were a dozen missed calls and half as many voice messages.
She dialed the number and Miranda answered on the first ring. “Who is he?”
Ivy laughed. “Hello to you, too.”
“Have pity. The suspense is killing me. Is he dark and sexy? Does he bear a striking resemblance to Johnny Depp or Antonio Banderas?”
In the weeks before the trip they had speculated who the mystery man might be, coming up with both the best-case scenario—he looked like Johnny or Antonio with a body to die for—or worst case—he would look more like Johnny Cash but older. And he would have a beer gut, thinning hair and ingrown toenails.
In some ways, what she’d ended up with was worse.
“Yes, yes, no, no.”
“Okay, dark and sexy is good. Is he nice?”
Rather than play twenty questions, she decided it best to just blurt it out. “He’s Dillon.”
There was a pause, then, “Like, Matt Dillon?”
“Nope.”
“Ugh, not Bob Dylan.”
“Dillon Marshall.”
Another pause while she digested that, then, “You mean, he looks like Dillon?”
Oh, didn’t she wish. “I mean he is Dillon. In the flesh.”
“Holy crap.”
“Yeah. Surprise.” She gave Miranda a blow-by-blow of the trip so far. The way he’d been following her and how they couldn’t be together five minutes without arguing. She left out the kissing parts, since they were completely irrelevant, and the way she’d made him jealous today. Oh, and the fact that she actually wanted him to intrude on her. “Deidre thinks I need to let the past go and forgive him.”
“May be that’s good advice.”
“Miranda, we can barely say two words to each other without an argument starting. How are we supposed to resolve anything if we can’t talk to each other?”
“May be you’re not trying hard enough.”
For a moment she was too stunned to reply. Surely Miranda of all people would be on her side. She would understand what Ivy was going through. Finally she managed a baffled, “Excuse me?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way. But you can be stubborn sometimes. May be you’re just not listening to what he has to say.”
“I listen to people for a living. I would not be where I am today if I didn’t know how to listen. And you think I’m stubborn? You should try having a serious conversation with this man. He’s impossible!”
Her tone softened. “I swear I’m not saying this to upset you. I’m just worried that the past is holding you back.”
“Holding me back how? Is this about my sex life?”
“Well, no, not exactly, although you’ve got to admit, it has been a while.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that you think I’m unhappy.” There was silence at the other end. “You do, don’t you? Why is everyone so convinced I’m not happy? I’m a psychologist, for God’s sake. Don’t you think I would have noticed? If I was so miserable, don’t you think I would have done something about it?”
“May be you’re so used to feeling that way, you don’t even realize it’s happening. I think…oh, shoot! The other line is ringing.” She paused, and Ivy knew she was checking the caller ID. “It’s our publicist. We’re supposed to make the final arrangements for my trip to NewYork, for that radio interview. I really should answer.”
“That’s fine,” Ivy said. She’d heard enough, anyway.
“I’ll call you right back. I promise.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” Ivy disconnected and shut off her phone. She didn’t want to talk to her again. Calling Miranda was supposed to make her feel better, not worse.
If everyone else was so convinced she was miserable, what about Dillon? What did he see when he looked at her? Did he think she was unhappy?
She looked at the clock. It was half-past eight, and she was tired of waiting. If everyone was so darned convinced her unresolved issues with Dillon were ruining her life, then damn it, she was going to resolve them. Once and for all.