She stared at her closed door, her heart heavy for Duarte and what he might be facing in that conversation.
Harold’s voice crackled over the line. “But you were at that exclusive embassy dinner tonight. I’ve already heard rumblings about some party crashers. I’d hoped to get more pictures from you. Did you receive my latest email tonight? Is there something you’re not telling me?” he ended suspiciously.
“Have I ever been anything but honest? I’ve worked my tail off for the Intruder.” She paused to apply a little pressure in hopes Harold would back off. “So hard, in fact, maybe I need a vacation.”
Tucking the phone against her shoulder, she rolled down a thigh-high stocking while waiting for Harold’s response.
“Right, you’re distancing yourself from the Intruder.” His chair squeaked in the background and she could picture him leaning back to grab a pack of gum, his crutch to help him through giving up cigarettes. “You’ve forgotten I’m the one who made it possible for you to pay your bills.”
She rolled off the other stocking, back to her pre-Cinderella self in a familiar baggy T-shirt. “You know I’m grateful for the chance you gave me at the Intruder. I appreciate how flexible you’ve been with my work schedule.” No question, she would have been screwed without this job. And she would still need it if things fell apart with Duarte. “I hope you’ll remember the information I’ve shared exclusively with you.”
“And I trust you’ll remember that I know plenty about you, Ms. Harper.” His voice went from lighthearted slimy to laser sharp. “If I don’t get the headlines I need, I can send one of my other top-notch reporters to interview your sister. After all, you of all people should know that even royalty can’t keep out an Intruder reporter.”
Seven
Phone in hand, Duarte paced across the sitting area between the two bedrooms. While not as large as his Martha’s Vineyard quarters, this suite would still accommodate him and Kate well enough for a few days.
If they even stayed in Washington, D.C., after this conversation with his youngest brother.
Duarte’s restless feet took him to the blazing hearth. “How high is his fever?” he asked Antonio—Tony. “Do they know the source of the infection?”
They’d only recently learned that their father had suffered damage to his liver during his escape from San Rinaldo. Enrique had caught hepatitis during his weeks on the run in poor living conditions. His health had deteriorated over the years until their perpetually private father couldn’t hide the problem from his children any longer.
“His fever’s stabilized at 102, but he’s developed pneumonia,” Tony answered. “In his weakened condition, they fear he might not be able to fight it off.”
“What hospital is he in?” He knelt to stoke the fire in the hearth. Windows on either side of the mantle revealed the night skyline, the nation’s capital getting hammered by a blizzard. “Where are you?”
“We’re all still at the island, not sure yet when we’ll go back to Galveston.” His brother’s fiancée had a young son from her first marriage. “He’s insisting on staying at his clinic, with his own doctors. The old man says they’ve kept him alive this long, so he trusts them.”
Frustrated, Duarte jabbed the poker deeper into the logs, sparks showering. The other suites had gas fireplaces, but he preferred the smell of real wood burning. It reminded him of home—San Rinaldo, not his father’s Florida island fortress. “Damn foolhardy, if you ask me. Our father’s an agoraphobic, except his ‘house’ is that godforsaken island.”
Tony sighed hard on the other end of the phone. “You may not be far off in your estimation, my brother.”
“Okay, then. I’ll scrap our next stop, and we’ll head straight to the island instead once the snowstorm here clears.” He hadn’t planned to take Kate there for a few more weeks, but he wasn’t ready to leave her behind. “Maybe meeting my charming new fiancé will give him a boost.”
“He seemed to take heart from the wedding plans Shannon and I have been making.” Tony had proposed only a couple weeks ago, but the pair didn’t want to wait to tie the knot.
Duarte had been surprised they chose the island chapel for the ceremony, but Tony had pointed out that place offered the best security from the prying paparazzi. Good thing they’d been amenable to Duarte’s suggestion of one reporter for a controlled press release. The Intruder wouldn’t have been his first choice—or even a fiftieth choice—of outlets for such an important family event, but he’d resigned himself on that point since Kate would serve as the press envoy.
And if he could make a better job open up for her? He cut that thought short.
When Antonio got married at the end of the month, Kate would walk away with her pictures and her guaranteed top-dollar feature. Why should her leaving grate this much? He’d only known her a few days. Tony had dated his fiancée for months and everyone considered their engagement abrupt.
Duarte replaced the iron poker in the holder carefully rather than risk ramming the thing through the fireplace. “Congratulations, my brother,” he said, standing, his eyes trained on his fiancée’s door, “and I look forward to telling you in person as soon as Kate and I arrive.”
“Be happy for yourself, too. Maybe this will help the old man get back on his feet again, then you can ditch the fake engagement.”
“What makes you think it’s fake?” Now why the hell had he said that?
“Hey now, I know we don’t hang out every Friday, but we do communicate and I’m fairly sure you would have told me if you were seriously seeing someone, especially the individual who exposed our cover to the whole world.”
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you. Hooking up with Kate isn’t the most logical move I’ve ever made.” That was an understatement, to say the least. But he’d committed to this path, and he didn’t intend to back away. “If I’d asked for your opinion you might not have given the answer I wanted to hear.”
“Perhaps you have a point there.” Tony’s laughter faded. “So you really kept this relationship a secret for months? You’ve actually fallen for someone?”
Bottom line, he should tell Antonio about the setup. He and his brothers didn’t live close by. They’d only had each other growing up, which led them to share a lot, trust only each other.
Yet, for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to spill his guts about this. “As I said, we’re engaged. Wait until you meet her.”
“Hanging out with reporters has never been high on my list of fun ways to spend an evening. You sure you’re not just looking to poke the old man in the eye?”
Dropping into an armchair and propping a foot on the brocade sofa, he considered Tony’s question to see if deep down there was some validity, then quickly dismissed the possibility. It gave his father too much control over his life.
Being with Kate appeared to be more complex than some belated rebellion against his dad. “He will be charmed by her no-B.S. attitude. What’s the word from Carlos?”
Their oldest brother kept to himself even more than their father did, immersed in his medical practice rather than on some island. It could well be hours before they heard from Carlos, given the sorts of painstaking reconstructive surgeries he performed on children.
“He’s his regular workaholic self. Says he’ll get to the island for the wedding, and that he will call Dad at the island clinic. God, I hope the old man can hold on long enough for Carlos to decide he can leave his patients. I’d considered moving up the wedding, but…”
“Enrique insists plans stay in place.” His father was stubborn, and he didn’t like surprises. For security purposes he preferred life remain as scheduled as possible. Life threw enough curveballs of its own.
Tony rambled on with updates about travel and wed ding details. Duarte started to rib his brother over mentioning flower choices for the bride’s bouquet—
Across the suite, Kate walked through the door in a knee-length nightshirt. His brain shut down all other thoughts and blood surged south.
“My brother,” Duarte interrupted. “I’ll get back to you later about my travel plans. I need to hang up.”
Kate twisted her hair into a wet rope and hurried barefoot into the sitting area connecting her bedroom to Duarte’s.
Almost certainly she should have gone straight to sleep after her conversation with Harold. Except her editor’s threat of plastering Jennifer’s picture all over a tabloid story sent bile frothing up Kate’s throat. She’d played it cool on the phone while reminding Harold of how much she could deliver. Then she’d cut the conversation short rather than risk losing her temper.
Before she could think, she’d rushed to the door, knowing only that she needed the reassurance of Duarte’s unflappable calm.
Setting aside his iPhone, he kept his eyes firmly planted on her. “I’m sorry my assistant forgot to order night wear. The hotel does supply complimentary robes.”