Everything I Need, page 5
“Mmm-hmm,” Melody said absently, rubbing her growling stomach.
“So, listen. I gotta go. Patients,” Carmen said.
Melody rolled her eyes. See? “No worries. Talk to you soon.”
“Hang on,” Carmen said, belatedly remembering her manners. “How’re you? You good?”
“I’m good. Don’t let me keep you—”
“Anything new or are you still reading your medical journals every night and carrying on about being an old maid? You gotta sign up for some of those online sites and really get out there. You can’t just sit around and wait for someone like Leonard to fall in your lap. You don’t want to be the last single girl standing. Even Carrie Bradshaw got married.”
Ah, there it was. The obligatory I’m better than you comment.
Telling Carmen about Anthony was never a real possibility. Her relationship with Anthony was still evolving and new. Far too important for Melody to share with anyone other than Samira at this point, especially someone who didn’t wholeheartedly wish her well.
“Nope,” Melody said brightly. “Nothing new here. And I’d better get to my—”
“Hold up.” Carmen snapped her fingers. “Wasn’t your appointment with the plastic surgeon today? How’d that go?”
Melody opened her mouth, but hesitated a bit too long.
“Oh, no.” Carmen lapsed into her tragic voice, the one that was so doom-laden it should be reserved for cataclysmic events such as the destruction of home planets in sci-fi movies like Star Trek and Star Wars. “How’re you feeling? Are you okay? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I know you were hoping they could do more for you.”
Melody started to get that bristly feeling all up and down her arms. This level of sympathy and despair was not indicated. Her face looked pretty good, all things considered, especially when she thought about where she’d started from all those years ago.
“I’m fine,” she said briskly, starting to mean it. She was fine. Not some pockmarked zombie lurching toward the nearest hospital to have one side of her rotting face surgically reattached. “I knew this was coming. I’ve already made peace with it. So, listen, I’ll talk to you next—”
“Mel.” Exasperated sigh from Carmen. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. It’s okay to open up a little. I’m here for you.”
“I know,” Melody said tightly. “I’m open. I’m not sure what you think I should do. My situation is what it is. I’m moving on. What else can I do?”
“You’re so brave. I don’t know how you do it. And, honestly, your face looks amazing. The scarring isn’t that big a deal. With the right makeup? You can hardly even see it.”
Mel froze. Well, that was complete bullshit.
Melody didn’t look like Frankenstein’s monster, but she damn sure wasn’t packing Cindy Crawford’s strategically placed beauty mark, either.
“You can see it,” Melody said flatly.
“Honestly, Mel, it’s not even that big of a deal.”
Just like that, Melody slammed into her daily (weekly? Monthly?) limit of her sister. Time to end this whole convo before things got any worse.
“You know what? I can’t get into it. I gotta go. So you have a good week.”
“What’s wrong now?” Carmen asked, years of exasperation coming through loud and clear.
Melody had hoped to end the call without shots being fired, but that was clearly optimistic to the point of foolishness. She took a quick glance around to make sure no one was within earshot when she let her sister have it.
“First of all, you’re being condescending. Second, it kills me how it’s always the beautiful women with perfect skin who march around talking about how great I look. What would you know about it? If I look great, it’s because I spent forty-five minutes painting the right makeup on my face. But no matter what I do, people still stare at me. When people stare at people like you, it’s because you’re beautiful. Not the same thing at all.”
Heavy silence from Carmen’s side of the line.
Followed by a harsh sigh.
“I can never win with you,” Carmen said quietly. “Sometimes I wonder why I keep trying.”
Melody’s shoulders slumped. She suddenly felt terrible. Carmen might not get her words right sometimes, but her heart was generally in the right place. It wasn’t Carmen’s fault that she had a perfect face, nor was it her fault that Melody had had a tough morning.
Melody took a deep breath and geared herself up to do the right thing. If there was one thing in the world that she hated, it was apologizing to Princess Perfect.
But right was right.
“Sorry, Carmen,” she said gruffly. “Didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”
“You’re beautiful either way, Mel. You know that, right?”
The fervency in her sister’s voice went a long way toward soothing Melody’s raw feelings. Melody wanted to believe her. Wanted to be like all the other women out there whose worst skin flaw was the occasional monster zit on the tip of her nose. But her head was still too full of the doctor’s words from a little while ago and the flawless images of all the beautiful women Anthony had loved before.
And the freaking scar would still be there when Melody stood in the mirror to brush her teeth tonight. And every night for the rest of her life.
“Thanks,” she said, blinking back a couple of unruly tears before any of her passing colleagues saw her and decided she was cracking up. “Gotta go. Talk to you soon.”
“Mel...”
“Bye.”
Melody hung up, cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, determined to get her morning back on track before it was too late. But seriously, was this shaping up to be a day from hell, or what? Not even nine a.m. and she was already sick of herself and her self-pitying tendencies.
Enough was enough. Time to get her head back in the game and—
Her phone buzzed just as she was about to stick it back into her pocket and remove her ear buds. Her heart galloped into high gear, then sprinted even faster when she checked the display.
Anthony!
She veered back into the waiting area, sat by the window and hit the button.
5
The picture resolved and there he was, sitting on the edge of his navy duvet-covered bed and looking extraordinarily handsome in a dark suit, white shirt and pale blue tie that perfectly complemented his coloring. His hair was perfectly brushed and gleaming and his cufflinks were in place.
He looked every inch the prince, as unattainable to her as a magic carpet ride to London.
But she was so glad to see him.
Her heart skittered and kept on skittering despite her stern warnings to keep her feelings in check at this early stage of the game and not wear her heart on her sleeve.
“Hi,” she said, keeping her voice quiet as she held the phone up to her face.
He dimpled.
“Hi,” he said, his voice husky. “I have a minute before I leave. Just wanted to say hello.”
Evidently he had not gotten the memo about playing it cool. Though he looked a bit tired after his overnight flight, his bright eyes crinkled at the corners and sparkled at the sight of her.
“You made it safe and sound, I see,” she said, although he’d already texted her earlier that he’d landed. “How was your flight? Did you get some rest?”
“I’m good, but I’m wondering about you.” His roving gaze touched every part of her face and lingered on her eyes. His expression darkened. “What’s happened? Has something upset you?”
“What? No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She tried to look more upbeat, a task made nearly impossible by all that unsettling intensity leveled straight at her. “Are you on your way to your library speech? Have you got your small talk ready to go?”
He cocked his head, squinting at her.
“I have. I plan to discuss the ongoing rainy weather, the need for childhood literacy and, if I’m feeling particularly daring, a documentary that they’re running about Winston Churchill on Sky TV tonight. I’ll be dazzling as ever. What’s wrong, darling? How did your appointment go?”
The darling always got her.
As did the realization that this man could see past her best poker face and would continue to resist her efforts to sweep her feelings under the rug, where all inconvenient feelings belonged.
“It’s really no big deal,” she said, putting a bit more effort into her carefree smile. “Just that... my appointment didn’t go that well. That’s all. We can talk about it later when we have more time.”
He slowly nodded.
“We could do that. Or we could talk about it now so I can offer my support. That way, maybe you’ll feel better and I won’t spend the rest of the day fretting about how you are and kicking myself for not being there when you need me.”
He waited.
She floundered. Opened her mouth. Shut her mouth. Smoothed her hair.
Let out a shaky laugh.
“Yeah, okay, first of all, I’m fine. I’m not falling apart here.”
He bowed his head. “Of course not.”
“I’ve made it through med school and my residency. I’m not some snowflake who melts at the first sign of trouble. I’m a tough cookie.”
“The toughest. Only could we speed up this whole disclaimer process a bit? Before I have to go?”
“And I don’t need you. I don’t need people. I soldier through and get along just fine on my own.”
His jaw tightened.
He paused just long enough for her to think, huh, maybe I went too far that time before a disquieting gleam of amusement appeared in his eyes.
“You seemed to need my cock a great deal when I had you against the sink last night,” he said silkily. “Or did I misread the signs?”
Melody all but gagged on her efforts to muster up a biting retort that never came, her face going up in flames.
“And we did agree that we’re building something together,” he continued. “I’d hoped you would take that as seriously as I do.”
“Fine,” she snapped, taking a furious glance around to make sure no one was within earshot as she hunkered over her phone. “If you must know, there’s nothing more my plastic surgeon can do for me. And she’s the best. So this is as good as my face will ever look. I know this isn’t a tragedy, but I’m a little disappointed. Happy now?”
He went very still and absorbed her outburst in silence, his smirk receding in favor of an expression that was solemn but otherwise unreadable.
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed about that, darling,” he said quietly. “There are other experts.”
She sighed and tried to get a handle on her feelings.
“I know, but...honestly, it’s almost a relief. I couldn’t stand the thought of another surgery. So now I know. Time for me to move on and focus on other parts of my life.”
“Are you okay with that?”
She gave it some thought and came up with a surprising answer.
“It’ll take a minute, but...yeah. I think I am.”
“Good.”
A question popped into her mind. Her initial impulse was to bury it since it came along with a lot of emotional significance. But since she was responsible for holding up her half of their burgeoning relationship, she decided to go ahead and ask it. Get it out there so she wouldn’t have to wonder.
“Does it matter to you?” she asked nervously, smoothing her hair with her fidgety free hand. “I mean...maybe you thought I’d look like a regular woman one day.”
His brows contracted.
“A regular woman, did you say?”
“Maybe you were hoping my face would get better. That’s all I mean.”
“Better?”
“It’s a simple question,” she said defensively. “Why’re you looking at me like that? Stop scowling.”
His lips twisted. He muttered something and shot a disbelieving look at the ceiling before focusing on her again.
“You’re right, aren’t you? I really am a terrible communicator. Now seems like a good time for me to practice.”
She winced, not at all certain she wanted him to practice expressing his feelings. Not with that look on his face.
“You’re not a regular woman. You’re the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. Maybe you don’t know that, but I certainly do. So it seems significant that you also don’t look like any other women I know.”
Melody gaped at him, her heart skipping more beats than it hit.
“I don’t want your face to look better. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. In fact, I’m scrunching up my brain right now, trying to think of a way that you could look any more gorgeous than you already do, and I’m coming up blank. Well, you could be naked. That would do it.”
She barked out a startled laugh.
“I don’t think you get it, so let me spell it out for you. I’ve been pinching myself hourly since we met. I can’t believe my good fortune and I really can’t believe that you’re giving me a chance. My only hope is to up my game and make you fall madly in love with me before you come to your senses and realize you could find someone so much more suitable. Someone with much less baggage coming along for the ride. I view this all as a race against the clock to marry you before my time runs out.”
“Anthony.”
They stared at each other.
He looked as startled to have said something like that as she was to have heard it. A vivid flush ran up both sides of his face and concentrated over his cheekbones.
She opened her mouth—
“You’ll have to excuse me, darling,” he said quickly, standing. “I can’t be late for my speech.”
And he hung up on her.
Melody’s phone rang just before midnight that night, the witching hour when her lids began to droop and she faced the monumental decision whether to grab another glass of chardonnay and continue reading her medical journals on the sofa or forgo the wine and continue reading in bed, hoping that boredom and exhaustion would kick in enough to allow her to sleep soundly until her alarm went off at the butt crack of dawn.
It never worked out that way, though. Usually she fretted over her patients, tossed and turned for a while, then slept for three or four hours before waking before the alarm to fret some more.
The life of a young surgeon, people. Nothing but glamour.
Last night had been particularly tough. After sleeping soundly inside the wonderful cocoon of Anthony’s arms, her fluffy bed without him had seemed as welcome and inviting as a yoga mat out on her windswept balcony.
As for tonight, she’d been stretched out on the cushions when the phone rang, lounging beneath her cashmere throw, but now she popped up, fluffed her hair and wished she had her lip gloss on hand. Her heart rate spiked into the target rate for Olympic athletes, which was not conducive to a restful night. The adrenaline surge this late at night would make sleep all but impossible.
She didn’t care even a tiny bit.
She just wanted to talk to Anthony again.
She hit the button. The picture resolved to show him lounging on his belly in bed with weak sunlight sparking streaks of gold through his tousled hair. He had a rumpled pillow bunched up between his crossed arms and his chin resting on his forearm. His bright eyes seemed more aquamarine than cornflower for some reason; she found the color changes endlessly fascinating. And a five o’clock shadow had appeared across the hard planes of his cheeks since she last saw him, making him seem sexy and real. Not at all like the unapproachable royal whose pictures were splashed all over the Internet.
This was the man she was beginning to know, although the starched and sophisticated prince who’d called earlier also worked for her, she had to admit. Watching his eyes crinkle at the corners as he checked out her lacy camisole, she felt a powerful pang of longing for him.
She supposed she’d better get used to it. They’d be spending far more nights apart than together, wouldn’t they?
“Hey,” she said.
“Good morning, darling.”
He spoke in the rusty early morning voice that made her belly swoop. She felt renewed stirrings of longing for him. Spiraling desire.
“I hope you brushed your teeth before you called me,” she said, determined to keep a simper from exploding across her face. It would be nice if she could maintain some dignity where this man was concerned, even if it was only a microgram or so.
He laughed. “I’ll try to remember that in future.”
“See that you do.”
“Before I forget to ask, how’re you coming on your nickname for me? Not very fair for me to walk around calling you darling all the time, exposing all my feelings, while you can’t even be bothered to call me the generic American babe. How d’you suppose that makes me feel?”
“Funny you should mention that. You’ll be happy to know that I actually have given a lot of thought to your nickname. I’ve already rejected Tony, because you don’t look like a Tony and that’s your father’s nickname, and also Junior and AJ because they both reference your father. I know he’s not your favorite person.”
“Smart girl,” he said darkly.
“You’re the future Earl of Stockbridge, so I could call you Stocky, like your friends do—”
He winced. “Only if you never want me to speak to you again.”
“But that seems like a dig rather than a term of endearment,” she said, laughing. “I don’t like baby and I hate babe, so those are out, and my parents call each other honey, so that’s out. I’m out of ideas. The whole process is exhausting.”
“I’m hearing a lot of excuses and no workable nicknames.”
“I’m going to have to wait until inspiration strikes one day.”
His lips twitched with repressed amusement. “You could call me God. You did a lot of that when we were in bed last weekend, as I recall.”
Something about the dry deadpan and the wicked glimmer in his eyes just killed her every time.
She ducked her head and lapsed into an embarrassing and unstoppable grin while her cheeks burned with all the heat of a red-hot fireplace poker.
