Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-four
Just hours after his performance on stage at the CMN Awards, country music’s Isaiah Roomer canceled tour dates for the following weeks. Representatives for Roomer stated he is attend to a personal family matter and that he apologizes for disappointing his fans.
CASSIDY
“Thank you.” Vespa places her coffee cup down and digs into the eggs Benedict I prepared for a late breakfast.
She arranged for us to remain at the same hotel in Austin, but—after I texted Rhiannon and Bellamy a quick travel home safely —we moved to a different suite on a higher floor that can only be reached by a private elevator. This one has four bedrooms and a larger living area with a kitchen. Considering the rest of the suite’s amenities, the space was probably meant for a personal chef.
Vespa sequestered us here three days ago. I started getting grocery orders almost as soon as I unpacked my bags, and when I opened the kitchen cabinets, my fuckoffee mug was on a shelf.
Isaiah’s CMN award is on the counter. I wipe a dry dishcloth over the dust it’s collecting. It lacks the shine it had when he and Piper gave their acceptance speeches.
The morning following the awards show, Isaiah told the tour company to scrub any concert dates for the next two weeks. He was supposed to have time off for vocal rest going into the weekend, but legalities take up most of Isaiah’s attention. That he couldn’t care less about performing comes in second. His heart isn’t able to give his fans his all.
I don’t blame him.
My heart is hollow, too.
When I’m not cooking, there isn’t much else to do. I didn’t bring Benita’s recipe box with me, and I lack the ambition to ask if I can get it. Most of the time, I’d like to curl under the covers, block out the world, and wait for the sun to shine again. But the sad fact is, when Isaiah and I finally collapse into bed each night, unable to bear grieving over a dream we were holding too tightly to, the sun has been out. It hasn’t rained a single day.
“When Isaiah finishes strategizing with Will and the PR team, we need to talk about which of the rescheduled tour dates for this fall you might have a conflict with.”
I want to ask Vespa why, but I go with “Okay” and keep wiping invisible stains off the stove.
If we weren’t grappling with a million other issues, the change in the way she’s treating me would still make me uneasy.
The knock at the door makes me toss the towel against the backsplash. I scurry to the door as Monty enters. Aria sits in the crook of his elbow, baby babbling.
“Look who it is,” Monty says to get Aria to stop squeezing his cheek .
“MummMumm,” Aria hums when she sees me.
I hold my arms out to her, and she comes to me freely. I kiss her blonde mop top and inhale her heavenly scent of baby shampoo, hugging her so tightly I’m afraid I might pop her. She’s been gone a few hours and I already miss her like I’m never going to see her again.
During the months I posed as her mother, it was other people who told Aria to call me mama or mommy. I was careful not to cross that line. I wonder if I believed Isaiah when he said he was looking for her biological father and that I knew from the start Aria was another thing I’d lose.
Tired, the baby clings to me. Monty rubs her back.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
“She did great.” I think Monty would tell me that even if the baby wailed the entire time.
Like we had when Chesney’s nanny babysat, Monty’s the go-between. He brings Aria to Dillon, waits outside of a conference room, and then brings her back for her nap. The process repeats itself at dinnertime, though Aria’s not gone as long.
I like that it stops the awkward transfer from one parent to the other. Not that I’m her parent, I just play one on TV.
I also have to remind myself Dillon’s not a stranger to Aria. She didn’t mind it when he held her while I was juggling too many things at once. He helped wipe her face… Which is what got us into this predicament.
When Isaiah is at his lowest, I blame myself. Why didn’t I see Dillon stuff that napkin in his pocket? What made me trust him so blindly? How did I not recognize the resemblance to one another? Because now when I trace Aria’s features, I see that the baby and Dillon share the same mouth and nose, the same way I see Kylie’s eyes and complexion.
Yeah, I feel like Dillon used us. I was the babysitter and Isaiah was writing blank checks for everything else she needed. I feel like while Isaiah bore the financial and emotional brunt, Dillon took his time figuring out what to do. And while I understand the sticky situation Dillon was in, having to admit he’d had an affair with his boss’s wife, why he had a DNA test done, and hiring a lawyer before speaking with Isaiah, the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Having finished his call with Will in the master bedroom, Isaiah enters the living room. He has on the drawstring cotton pants he wore yesterday and to bed last night and a clean shirt. He took a shower before the meeting and his hair is matted.
I think that’s progress. The day we were supposed to go to the zoo, we didn’t get out of our pajamas at all. We were both sweaty and stinkier than a dirty diaper and our faces were tight from crying at every adorable thing Aria did the entire afternoon. Neither of us were prepared to believe we were about to be cut out of the rest of her milestones. We still aren’t.
After making plans to celebrate, we’re missing Aria’s birthday.
“How’d it go?” I repeat.
I ask the same question so much I should record a button to press instead of opening my mouth.
“I’ll issue a statement. The PR team is working on it.” He reaches for Aria.
The baby snuggles into his chest, and he kisses her forehead, sighing. “Ready for sleeps?” he murmurs.
“Before you put her down, do you want the list of dates I already have commitments?” If what we have going on wasn’t enough, Will set me up with a junior partner at his firm to manage the staggering number of requests. She’s probably as low on the totem pole as a secretary, but at least she’s not Ben. Isaiah couldn’t deal with one more man Kylie cheated on him with right now.
“Not now. Just have Janine email it to Vespa or something,” he says on second thought. “She’ll forward it to the right people.”
They disappear into the bedroom. The door stays open a crack. This is how nap time goes. The two of them dozing together. Aria peacefully unaware and Isaiah as fitful as he is at night, figuring out how he’s supposed to live without her.
A baby changes everything.
Monty says Isaiah’s current depression is nothing compared to last summer. He’s doing well. He has the chance to say goodbye in a way he couldn’t when Aria was born.
Still, it’s so unfair.
If Isaiah didn’t need me, I’d turn tail. I miss the tranquility of walking the empty fields at the ranch. I want to escape into my own head without worrying he thinks I’ve abandoned him, too. But I won’t risk our relationship in the tender spot it is in.
I love him and being here is the only way I can help.
I wipe a tear rolling down my face and lick my chapped lips.
“You okay, Miss Cavanaugh?” Monty handles the doorknob, breaking the silence.
The hulking shoulders I’ve relied on to keep us safe seem to crumble under the sadness.
The security detail has been professional throughout everything. They and Isaiah’s assistant are dedicated to him. Except, they work for him and that has my already frayed nerves coming apart at the seams. As much as I like Monty and have come to appreciate Vespa’s knack for getting things done, no one should have to worry if they’re paying someone for their sympathy.
I know Isaiah and Monty are close. Isaiah counted on his bodyguard while he navigated the mess Kylie left in her wake. I suppose it’s unrealistic to think Monty is unaffected by the outcome. He was there when the doctors told Isaiah that Kylie hadn’t made it. He drove Aria home from the hospital. He was the baby whisperer when she was a fussy infant and he always pushes her stroller, even when he doesn’t have to.
The small part of me that understands what a good man Monty is wishes he was Aria’s biological father. Yet, it’s also the reason he isn’t and I’m grateful for that. Like me, Monty wouldn’t consider being anyplace else but by Isaiah’s side.
My ribs are tight as I inhale. “Not really,” I huff, replying, “I might go lie down. I can’t shake how tired I am.”
“Steve and I are switching places, but if you need anything, let me know.”
Unlatching the door, Monty is caught off-guard by Dillon, whose fist is raised to knock. Steve stands behind him. Monty walks out and the two bodyguards hover in the hall, watching with eagle eyes.
“Um, Aria dropped this.” He holds out the dog with the chewed-on ear. “I thought… I didn’t want… I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” he remarks, sheepishly looking at me.
“Everyone’s kind of stuck here since the motor coach driver is deep in the thralls of custody negotiations,” Vespa quips. She snatches the dog.
“Thanks for—” He steps back into the hallway.
“Nothing. Thanks for nothing.” She inspects the mangled ear as she gives Dillon her back and kicks the door shut with the toe box of her dagger heel.
My jaw drops. “Vespa, why would you instigate like that?”
The lawyers haven’t shut up about making sure all of our actions are civil to prove we’re working with Dillon in Aria’s best interest.
“I don’t play nice with you. Why would I play nice with him?” She hugs the slobbered-on dog like it’s the precious laptop filled with Isaiah’s schedule, suit measurements, and secrets.
Every time Vespa has played nice with me hits me like a ton of bricks. She made herself scarce when we went on tour and she keeps business matters off the bus. She instructed me on every little detail I needed to know about how to act at the CMNs so I wouldn’t embarrass myself. When Dillon accused me of not being Aria’s real mother, Vespa retorted with “There’s nothing to deny” because I’d proved to her I could be a real mother to a little girl who didn’t have one. Vespa didn’t want Dillon to ruin the night Isaiah wanted to shine a spotlight on me.
This morning, she even said thank you to me and politely asked about the tour dates that might interfere with my schedule instead of rolling her eyes that, despite how horrendous the upheaval is, Isaiah is putting my needs first this fall.
Vespa marches toward Aria’s empty room, and flings the dog into the portable crib.
I rush to catch up with her.
“Vespa?” I place a tentative hand on her shoulder.
She spins. Her severe face pinches, but not with annoyance.
“You make Isaiah happy, okay? Aria makes him happy. Do you know how long it’s been since that man was actually happy ? When he wasn’t lonely or second-guessing his relationships? Wondering who was using him and who he could actually count on?”
She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and throws up her arms before continuing.
“Isaiah’s been in the business half his life. The higher his star rises, the fewer people he’s able to count on. He’s passionate about music. But it hasn’t been enough for him since before Kylie died.
“He has regrets, Cassidy. I’m the only person who figured out that Isaiah wanted out of that fake-fucking-PR-nightmare of a marriage before it began. They could have stayed friends if they’d separated sooner. I didn’t ever want to see him saddled with kids from his marriage to Kylie. I don’t even like the baby.” It sounds like a lie she’s convinced herself of. “But Isaiah learned the true meaning of unconditional love the hard way. Losing Aria is opening all those wounds. It’s unfair. He was finally whole with the two of you.
“He wants your down-home silliness. He wants to belong somewhere he can just be himself and raise a normal family like a normal man. My job is to make Isaiah Roomer’s life easier. I fix things and I can’t fix this! So, excuse me for saying exactly what my boss wants to say to the asshole who is making him grieve that cheating bitch all over again when he can’t say it himself.”
I’m stunned. Had we not come in and found, Dillon in our suite, I think Vespa would have done whatever it took for Isaiah to keep Aria. His happiness is important to her, and not because she’s just doing a job. There’s some warmth in her icy heart. Vespa cares about people.
I hug my arms over my stomach and tilt my head. “Are you being kind to me to make the change easier for him?”
“No,” she flatly denies. “Maybe,” she sniffs. “You’re a halfway decent chef. If I’m only allowed one bitchy outburst without Isaiah chewing me out, I might as well be able to eat my feelings.”
“One bitchy outburst? I’ve never known you to hold back anything.”
“Please, I ate my feelings for weeks at the B&B. It could’ve been so much worse for you.”