Isabel’s phone chimed at an incoming message. She slipped the cell out of her purse and swiped the screen to check it.
Dutch: Can I swing by after dinner? Go for a walk with you and McQueen.
She smiled and texted back.
Yes.
Uncle Emilio cleared his throat across the table from her, drawing her gaze. “Please, Isa. Shut that thing off while you’re with me,” he said, frowning.
Not only did her uncle find the use of personal devices during meals rude, but he was paranoid about some hacker eavesdropping through it to steal his corporate secrets. He was so cautious that when they met for dinners, it was always in private. Tonight, he’d arranged for the entire rooftop of a glamorous French bistro with spectacular views of the skyline to be theirs. A bodyguard stood at either end—Rodrigo, who she’d known for years, and Max. She’d only encountered him a few times, but he’d risen in position quickly and flirted with her whenever her uncle wasn’t within earshot. A third guard she didn’t recognize, named Lucas, stood at the entrance to the stairs.
She powered down the phone and put it back in her purse. “Sorry.”
“As I was saying, I’m planning to hold an exclusive silent auction at my compound for select pieces. I want you to organize everything and oversee the event from here. Handle the invitations, decor. Ensure the art is displayed properly with a floor plan and description of setup for Rodrigo. See to the menu with one of my vetted caterers, the music. Et cetera, et cetera.”
“Don’t you want me to come down and be there for the event?”
“No, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to intrude on your life. I know how you hate that.”
Guilt poked at her. Her uncle had his faults. He was domineering and ran the family with a tight grip, but he only wanted her happiness. “I want to help you in any way. For how many people and when?” She took another bite of her smoked octopus with vadouvan and fennel citrus salad, humming her continued delight at the explosion of flavors on her tongue.
“An intimate gathering. Fifty guests. Sunday.”
“You’re joking. I can’t organize an event that would be up to your standards in four days.”
“I never joke, and I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. You could do this blindfolded, and I need someone I trust implicitly to see to things.”
“Will your guests be able to attend on such short notice?”
“I have an exceptional item of great value that I’ll be selling. One-of-a-kind. They’ll clear their schedules for me. Have no fear. And you’ll make the event happen for me. Yes?”
It wasn’t really a question, even though he made it sound like one. “Yes.”
Their waitress came out onto the rooftop and served the second course. Loup de mer, a Mediterranean sea bass, with white asparagus and couscous with squid ink paired with a glass of Sancerre. She tasted the wine, a sip to be polite and avoid an interrogation. The last time they had dinner, and she didn’t drink, he’d accused her of being pregnant.
“So, what’s the young man’s name?” her uncle asked after the waitress left. “The one you want me to meet.”
“Horatio Haas, but he goes by Dutch.”
“Hmm. What does he do?”
Debating whether to tell him the truth, she tried the fish. Buttery, silky, delicious. The wine complemented it perfectly with a hint of honeysuckle and flint. “He’s between jobs right now.”
A lie, once discovered, would only anger her uncle. She’d learned that the hard way as a teenager after her father died and she went through a rebellious phase. Better to be honest and mitigate the cons rather than incur his wrath.
Uncle Emilio shook his head. “I assume you pay for everything?”
“No. He hasn’t let me pay for anything.”
“Yet.” He wagged a finger at her. “Give it time.”
“Tío, he’s the greatest guy. Truly. He makes me happy.” She could envision a real future with Dutch. He had nothing to hide, was trustworthy, reliable. Unbelievably hot.
“What’s so great about him?” Her uncle cocked his head to the side, waiting.
Mentally, she ran through the long list, deciding which thing would win over her uncle and sway him to give Dutch a chance. “I was stung by a bee the other day,” she said, omitting the part about slimy Chad. “My allergic reaction was fast. It was bad—I’m not going to lie.”
“Dios mío, Isa, why didn’t you tell me?” He put his fork down. “I would’ve had you flown home to San Diego and ensured you were properly cared for while you recovered.”
Where he would’ve smothered her to death with love. “That’s precisely why I didn’t want you to know. My home is here. In Malibu with my dog.” With Brenda. With Dutch.
He tsked. “I would’ve brought the dog, too.”
“My point is that Dutch kept a level head. Got my EpiPen and saved my life. He even took care of me for two days, walked McQueen, brought me food, breakfast in bed every morning.”
He cleared his throat. “How generous of him.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t slept with him.” Yet. That would get his attention and should earn Dutch some brownie points.
Raising an eyebrow, her uncle shot her a dubious look that was also cautionary, warning her not to lie.
“Honestly,” she said. “He’s a good person, a gentleman, and wants to meet you. If you scare him off, I promise the next guy you meet will be on my wedding day.”
Uncle Emilio laughed. “All right, my dear. I’ll meet your new beau. On one condition.” He raised a finger for emphasis.
“What’s that?”
He smiled at her, the look tender and kind. “If I disapprove of this young man, you will stay away from him. Heed what I say as any daughter would.”
Isabel sat back in her chair. “I’m entitled to date whomever I please. I respect your opinion, but I’ll follow my own judgment.” Or when it came to men, Brenda’s. Her bestie had steered her toward Dutch and she’d never been happier with a match.
She wished her uncle was still dating Lori Carpenter. Although Lori had been young, about the same age as Isabel, when Uncle Emilio had been with her, his attitude toward everything had been more laissez-faire, less regulated. Lori had been the best distraction for him.
To this day, Isabel had no idea why they’d broken up a year ago.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Would you show your father such disrespect? Talk to him like this, if he were the one sitting here?”
“Yes. Because I’m twenty-eight. I’m not a child.” She thought of her cousin out in New York, Uncle Emilio’s son, and her indignation ballooned. “Miguel is two years older than me and you’d never tell him whom he should and shouldn’t marry, much less date.”
“You think you are your own person, free to do as you please.” His tone softened and sharpened at the same time, drawing her to lean in to catch his every word. “But you are part of a larger whole. This family.” He slapped the table, and Isabel flinched at the sound, straightening in her seat. “Miguel wanted to become a hotshot corporate attorney, but instead he picked up the mantle I passed to him and will carry on the Vargas legacy. It’s not what he wanted, but he’s thriving. Because he understands the importance of family. Of being part of a whole. The same way my brother and I understood the need for sacrifice. I wouldn’t tell Miguel who to date or not to sleep with because I don’t care. But when he gets serious enough about someone to introduce her to me, or chooses a wife, I will have a say. He’ll listen to me. He’ll show respect. Just as you will now. Do you understand?”
Stunned to silence, Isabel nodded.
“I’m only looking out for your best interest,” he said.
Chad’s words rang in her ears. I only want what’s best for you.
A lump formed in her throat at the similarity.
Her uncle took a deep breath, lightening his expression and his voice. “Your father would want me to. He was more than my brother. He was my mentor. My best friend. Losing him devastated me. When I buried him, I swore to raise you as he would’ve. I love you as my own. Don’t dishonor his memory by disregarding what I say.”
Always the expert at manipulating emotion to get what he wanted. Isabel wasn’t surprised by her uncle’s redirection. Expected it even. She’d spent fourteen years paying close attention, learning to do the very same thing herself when necessary.
She strategized while the third course was served. The waitress set down the plates in front of them and removed the stainless steel dome covers.
A delightful scent of lemon and herbs hit her.
“Veal medallions with brown butter and herbs de Provence,” the waitress said.
Isabel reeled back. “None for me, thank you.”
“What’s wrong?” Her uncle cut into the meat and ate a piece. “Give it a try. It’s delicious.”
“I may wear leather and eat meat, but I draw the line at calves kept in small cages.”
The waitress removed her plate and left.
Uncle Emilio chuckled. “If you object to eating baby animals, perhaps you should become a vegetarian. Do you think the broiler-sized chickens you buy are fully grown? Try eight weeks. Any idea the conditions they’re kept in? Filthy and cramped.” He took another bite. “Pigs are slaughtered at four months old. The same as calves for veal. Consider that the next time you’re enjoying a piece of bacon.”
Grimacing, Isabel tossed her napkin on the table. Maybe she would become a vegetarian.
Isabel had a choice. She could upset her uncle by confessing she’d lost her appetite or redirect the conversation to get what she wanted. “There’s something I haven’t told you. How I met Dutch. I was locking up the art gallery and someone mugged me.”
His face went blank as he stiffened. “Oh, Isabel.” He held out a hand to her.
Isabel placed her palm on her uncle’s. “The guy grabbed my purse.” She left out the part about the knife. “The Chanel bag that Daddy gave me.” She tightened her fingers around his hand. “Dutch stopped him, brought him down like a superhero and got it back.”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed her fingers. “You should’ve told me. This is why you need a bodyguard.”
She cringed on the inside, not wanting her admission to backfire. “Dutch saved me twice. He treats me with respect. Dignity. Makes me feel like I should be treasured. No other man has ever done that.”
“Not even the last one, who owns all those businesses.”
Lowering her gaze, she swallowed past a flash of irritation. “No. Actually, that bigwig business owner turned out to be a real jerk.”
“If a man ever disrespects you, puts his hands on you, I want you to tell me.”
“Why? So you can sue him and punish me by shoving a bodyguard down my throat?”
He pursed his lips in obvious annoyance. “I would make the man rue the day he crossed the line with you, and yes, give you a bodyguard.”
No, thank you. She didn’t want help with strings attached. “Well, there’s no need for you to worry about Dutch crossing the line. He’s incredible. Though, you might not approve of him.” He would never fit the image of what her uncle wanted for her. “But I do. I want him to meet you because I respect and love you. Please, don’t ruin this for me. Okay?”
“I see this man is important to you. I’ll meet him tonight.”
A smile she couldn’t contain broke on her face. “Really?”
Her uncle nodded. “I do what I can to make you happy. Tell him to come to my club at eleven-thirty as my guest.”
“Thank you, tío.” Lifting out of her chair, she leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “I must warn you that he speaks his mind and can be blunt, but we’ll be there.”
“You misunderstand.” He released her hand and picked up his wineglass. “I wish to meet him alone. Without you.”
That was strange. “Why?”
He gave her a placating grin, ratcheting up Isabel’s anxiety. “Because I said so.” His tone brooked no argument.