Page 34 of Blitzing Emily

Amy nodded, and her eyebrows lifted. “He might be nice, but he’s a player.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “This would also mean that I suck. Why didn’t you call me? I would have stayed with you.”

“You couldn’t have left your shop yesterday if you wanted to, and you know it.”

Amy twirled a long strand of Emily’s hair around her fingertip. “You’re my only sister. Plus, you know all my secrets. I would have been here.”

“I was okay.” Emily stared at the ceiling. “Brandon is also saving my butt as far as the engagement. Overnight, everyone seems to want to book me, even if James told the entire industry I’m ‘difficult.’”

An evil smirk turned up the corners of Amy’s lips as she considered Emily’s comment.

“Oh, I see. You just decided to go along with this.”

“What do you mean?” Emily said. Oh, no. Amy was like a dog with a bone under the best of circumstances, and she smelled steak.

“You hate this, don’t you? Don’t play dumb. Let’s face it, Em, he’s gorgeous. I’d hit that. Lots of other women already have.” Emily wrapped both arms around herself. She didn’t want to think about Brandon “hitting it” with anyone else.

A cross between a laugh and a snort left Amy’s lips. “You get to wear a diamond the size of a car headlight; you get to play house with him for a month ...”

“Ame, come on. I won’t be around. I’m working all month, anyway.”

Amy tried to control her mirth, and Emily tried to control her annoyance.

“What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?” Amy said. “How are you going to explain getting engaged to someone you’ve known for twenty-four hours? This isn’t going to work.”

“Of course it will,” Emily assured her. As long as nobody found out the truth, everything was fine.

WORRYING ABOUT WHATher parents might have to say about all this was actually low on Emily’s priority list. She was thinking about her upcoming performances. There were two weeks of rehearsals in Seattle, another two weeks of performances, and she’d be in Chicago for five weeks after that. When Emily wasn’t in rehearsals for an upcoming performance, she worked doubly hard with her new voice teacher and her coach to learn more roles. The more operas she knew, the more roles she was prepared to sing, the more marketable she was.

Sopranos had a limited shelf life in the opera world, and Emily’s goal was making it to the Met in the next two years. She could sing the top roles for ten years after that. She’d retire with an incredible body of work. Her goals got her out of bed in the morning. There wasn’t time for a relationship, no matter how lonely she sometimes was.

If Emily stuck with the plan, she could have everything she dreamed of and worked toward. This was Job One. She’d find a guy later on.

A few hours after Amy went home, Emily heard a knock at her front door. She peered through the peephole.

“Sugar, it’s me,” Brandon said. He stood on the doorstep holding what appeared to be an overnight bag. “Maybe you should invite me in.”

She pulled the front door open wide enough for Brandon to stroll inside. Pointing at the bag he held, she said, “I’m fine. You have a life! I don’t expect you to stay here.”

“Of course you should. It’s almost dinnertime. You’re cooking, aren’t you?”

Emily shut the front door behind him. “I don’t think so. Which one of us has a concussion?”

He laughed as he dropped the bag next to the little table in the hallway, alongside the two suitcases that were still there from the other day. He took Emily’s elbow, and led her into the kitchen. He pulled the refrigerator door open to look inside.

“You don’t eat at home, do you?”

“No. No, I don’t,” she said, somewhat absently.

“Looks like it. Does opera have seasons, like the NFL?”

“It depends on the opera company and when they’re mounting productions.”

He nodded. He was still studying the inside of the refrigerator, newly full as a result of the grocery run he’d made while Emily slept. She was unused to seeing that much food. Then again, she’d seen Brandon eat. It wasn’t going to be enough.

“What do you think we should make?” he asked.

“Let’s order something instead.”

Emily pulled open the drawer by the kitchen sink, which held every food delivery and takeout menu she collected over the three years she owned her house. She supposed she should have been embarrassed about this, but it wasn’t something she spent a lot of time dwelling on. If she was hungry, she ate, and typically it was ready-made.

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