LITMIR.BIZ

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as she extricated herself from the hug. “Will do, Gemma,” she promised.

      Isabelle had been hovering just within the family room, waiting until Brandon and Anastasia were finished. She didn’t want to interrupt a family moment, but she didn’t want to miss an opportunity to say goodbye to the young girl, or to tell her to have fun.

      Not that, Isabelle judged, she needed instruction for that. Victoria, an obvious product of her father’s loving care and understanding, was the most levelheaded young person she had ever encountered. Love did that, she thought. Made a person strong and able to face anything.

      In a way, she envied Victoria her secure upbringing.

      “Have fun, Victoria,” Isabelle said, joining the small circle.

      “I will!” Victoria responded with enthusiasm, eager to get going. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Isabelle and took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Take care of Dad for me.”

      Surprised by the request, Isabelle drew back and looked at Brandon’s daughter. “I will.”

      The answer came out automatically because taking care of people was both her vocation and her mission in life. A beat later, she realized how that must have sounded and hoped that Brandon hadn’t heard what Victoria had said to her.

      “Would it offend your independent sensibilities if I carried your suitcase to the car?” Brandon asked her.

      Victoria pretended that granting permission was a huge concession on her part. “I suppose so.” Her mouth curved, giving her away.

      Father and daughter went out the door. To Isabelle’s surprise, Anastasia made no attempt to follow. She remained in the foyer. Her sniffling drew Isabelle’s attention back to her.

      “Why is there never a tissue around when you need one?” Anastasia demanded, annoyed.

      Isabelle dug into her pocket and produced a small packet of tissues and silently passed it to the woman.

      Taking the packet, Anastasia sniffled again. “Should have known you’d be like a Girl Scout. Always prepared.” She made the pronouncement almost longingly, as if she thought self-sufficiency had its appeal.

      “I think those are the Boy Scouts,” Isabelle corrected gently.

      “We’re not supposed to discriminate these days,” Anastasia replied, waving a hand in wide, concentric circles in the air. She blew her nose, then wadded up the tissue. Looking just a tad uncertain, she slanted a glance in Isabelle’s direction. “Victoria’ll be all right, won’t she?”

      Isabelle was surprised the woman asked her that question. Anastasia Del Vecchio always projected such a strong, confident image on and off the screen. Seeing this vulnerable, uncertain side to the woman took her aback. It also, Isabelle thought, made the woman exceedingly human in her eyes.

      “I think that, interestingly enough, out of the three of you, Victoria’s the one who is the most ‘all right.’” The look in Anastasia’s eyes told her that the woman struggled very hard not to cry. Very human, Isabelle thought. “You and your son did a great job raising her. She’s mature and secure and very, very levelheaded. More than I was at her age.”

      Anastasia was instantly her old self, waving away the assessment. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Isabelle. I think you were born old.”

      Isabelle examined the comment. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” she said, bemused.

      Over the past few weeks, Anastasia had grown exceedingly fond of her physical therapist. Setting aside her bombastic persona for a moment, she took Isabelle’s hand in hers and patted it.

      “It was meant as one, dear.” Releasing her hand again, she glanced back toward the room she’d been in. “Well, I think I’ll go lie down and absorb all this. Saying goodbye has taken a lot out of me.”

      Isabelle smiled to herself. The drama queen had returned. In this case, it was a good sign.

      “Fine. I think we’re about done for the day, anyway.” She regarded the woman warmly. “You deserve some time off for good behavior.”

      “You’re only saying that because you want to get ready for your night out,” the actress responded intuitively, giving her a knowing look.

      “Well, having more than five minutes to throw on a dress and put my makeup on would be nice, yes,” Isabelle agreed.

      Anastasia paused to regard her for a moment, as if to scrutinize her more closely.

      “Oh, my dear, you’re still so very young—don’t you know you don’t need any help?” As she said the words, there was a note of longing in the actress’s voice for the years that had gone by.

      There were times when she felt old and other times when she felt invisible. Now was not the time to argue about either. “I guess I am young at that,” Isabelle agreed, then winked playfully at Anastasia. “Almost as young as you are.”

      Anastasia laughed. She knew that Isabelle was neither pandering to her ego, nor being sarcastic. Her words were tendered with affection. As a rule, the actress did not like many women, feeling, instead a sharp sense of competition whenever she was in the company of another female. Such was not the case with Isabelle. She genuinely liked her.

      Moreover, she hoped that Brandon would have the good sense to snap her up before some other man did.

      “You’ll do, Isabelle Sinclair,” the actress told her, not bothering to appear regally austere, an image she ordinarily projected for the benefit of those outside the parameters of her own family. “You’ll do.”

      Just as Anastasia left the foyer, Isabelle heard the front door behind her open and close again. Turning around, she saw Brandon standing just inside the doorway. In her opinion, the writer had looked a lot happier than he did right at this moment.

      Casting about for something comforting to say, she waited for him to speak first. She didn’t want to intrude into his private moment.

      Brandon sighed deeply as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, she’s gone.”

      “She’s going to have a wonderful time, Brandon,” Isabelle assured him. “Someone with Victoria’s level-headedness needs to be able to kick back a little, have some wholesome fun. Otherwise, I have a feeling she might just spend the whole summer reading books and never even venturing outside the house.”

      “Yeah, I know. You’re right. Camp was a good idea. She’ll have fun.” A small sigh escaped, and he looked as though he had a momentary lapse of control. “She probably won’t even miss—home,” he said, substituting another word for the one he meant at the last minute.

      Not that he fooled her at all. Isabelle struggled not to smile, even though she thought it rather sweet that he was so protective of his daughter. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky Victoria was to have such a relaxed relationship with her father. He was both her friend and her protector. Most of the time, you got either one or the other.

      And sometimes, she thought with a pang, as in her case, you got neither.

      “I’m sure she’ll miss ‘home,’” she told him with the proper emphasis on the last word. “But you know, it’s also nice to have the opportunity to miss ‘home,’ instead of always hanging around ‘home’ and not knowing what a day without being ‘home’ is like.”

      By the time she took a breath, it was utterly obvious just what she meant each time she’d said “home.” He hadn’t really been trying to be subtle when he’d switched his words at the last minute.

      Brandon frowned. “Are you through?”

      Rather than answer him, she asked, “Do you want to cancel our dinner date?”

      He had no idea what one thing had to do with the other. If he lived to be a hundred and twenty, he just knew he’d never understand how the female mind

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