Before I Do Amazon Page 15

  "Absolutely," she said. "I'm confident he will wow the audience."

  "Wow, huh?" Martin echoed. "That's more than I'm expecting."

  "And Isabella is being overly optimistic," Nick said dryly. "I'm just hoping for passable."

  "Nick tells me you were born in Argentina and still have some family there," Martin said.

  "Yes, but I haven't seen anyone from that side of the family in a very long time. I'm not sure I'll see them now. I have my aunt's phone number. She lives in Buenos Aires so I might be able to see her."

  "If you want to see her, we'll make that happen," Nick said.

  "Thanks," she said. "I haven't decided yet."

  "You're running out of time."

  "I have at least fourteen hours."

  "True."

  The steward asked them to fasten their seatbelts. They'd been cleared for take-off.

  Isabella fastened her belt with somewhat shaky fingers. She wasn't scared to fly, but she did feel like she was taking off on an adventure that would change her life.

  Several minutes later, the small plane took off with speed and grace and they were soaring over the city of San Francisco. A long right turn sent them south—back to the country where her life had begun.

  As they flew through the late afternoon, Nick and Martin worked on their computers while she watched a video.

  Later, during dinner, they talked and laughed—a lot. Watch Nick and Martin interact gave Isabella an opportunity to see Nick's more lighthearted side. While it was clear that Nick was the boss, Martin was obviously like a brother to him. Martin was more than happy to share any story that made Nick look less than perfect. Nick also told some tales on Martin. The two men had shared many experiences over the last ten years.

  "You two must have broken a lot of hearts," she murmured, thinking how the dark-haired Nick and the fair-haired Martin would stand out in any crowd. But add in wealth and power, and they'd no doubt been the target of many a single woman. "How are you both still single?"

  "Martin isn't that single," Nick interjected. "He's been seeing a beautiful, generous, funny woman for almost three years. He just needs to put a ring on her finger."

  "What I need is to stay in town long enough to plan a decent proposal," Martin said. "Maybe after we get the Argentina project off the ground, I'll be able to do that."

  "What kind of proposal do you want to make?" she asked curiously.

  "Something romantic. Got any good ideas?"

  "Not really. I'm not big on grand gestures. I'd rather have something intimate and personal. You love me. I love you. Let's be together forever. That's all a woman really wants to hear."

  "As long as the words come with a big diamond, right?" Martin asked.

  She laughed. "That helps, I suppose."

  As they moved on to dessert, their conversation turned to other topics.

  Over the next few hours she learned a lot more about Nick—his favorite sports teams, his longest bike ride, the last movie he'd seen, the book he was currently reading. While so much of his focus was on business, especially when it came to the nonfiction books on his e-reader, he did seem to take some time to have a life. Hopefully, in the future he would take even more time. He'd worked very hard to get this life he was leading; now he had to learn how to enjoy it and maybe find someone to enjoy it with.

  The idea that that someone might be her was enough to send a tingle down her spine and make her heart beat a little faster. Thank goodness Martin was on the plane, or she might be tempted to start the kiss that would never end…

  * * *

  Nick hadn't slept more than an hour on the flight, mostly because he'd been distracted by watching Isabella sleep and fighting all kinds of restless urges to join her at the back of the plane.

  What the hell had he been thinking having Martin go along on the trip? He and Isabella could have spent a really spectacular fourteen hours together. But then what?

  Until he knew the answer to that question, he needed to keep his hands off of her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her like she'd been hurt before. He also didn't want to put his own heart on the line until…

  Until what?

  Wasn't his heart already on the line?

  He hadn't stopped thinking about her for more than five minutes since they'd first met. She'd gotten into his head, his heart and way under his skin. She'd changed the way he thought about his career, his family, and his life. She'd reminded him that there were things he'd given up in his drive to get to the top, to be the best.

  He didn't have regrets, because he didn't believe in regrets. But Isabella had made him think about what he wanted for his future, a future that would be wide open after he bought the Argentina property. He really hadn't given much thought to what would be next. It had taken him so long to get here, and he was so close to victory, he could taste it.

  Which was why he couldn't let himself be distracted now.

  Deliberately, he forced his gaze away from the sleeping Isabella and sat down at the table. An hour later, both Isabella and Martin were up and eating breakfast with him. An hour after that, the plane began its descent into the Buenos Aires International Airport. It was just after eleven o'clock on Saturday morning when he caught his first real glimpse of land. But he found himself looking away from the coastline where his dreams were about to come true to gaze at Isabella. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her brown eyes filled with excitement.

  "Does it look like home?" he asked, following her gaze out the window.

  "I'm not sure. I was eight years old when I left. I have a few memories of my life here, a couple of photos that my mother didn't throw away, but not many."

  "The memories will come back. "What do you want to do when we land? I was going to suggest getting settled into the hotel, maybe taking a nap, but you look way too energized for that."

  I couldn't possibly sleep. I'd like to walk around a bit if we have time."

  "We do. Today is completely free. We'll stay in a hotel in the city tonight, and tomorrow morning we'll drive out to the property, talk to Juan Carlos and dance for him and his friends in the evening. We'll spend the night at his home, then return to Buenos Aires on Monday and fly home."

  She nodded. "All right. That sounds fine. I'm happy to have today to explore a bit."

  "I'll go with you."

  "You don't have to do any work?"

  "Martin can handle the business we have in Buenos Aires on his own."

  Martin gave him a somewhat disbelieving smile, which Nick completely understood. It was extremely rare that he let Martin take over business when they were traveling. But he didn't want to leave Isabella on her own. She'd come to Argentina for him, and he had a feeling it was going to be an emotional trip for her. She'd backed him up at his father's party. He'd return the favor now.

  "That's right, I'll do all the work," Martin grumbled. "You two have a good time."

  "We will," Nick said, fastening his seatbelt as the plane came in for landing.

  * * *

  Buenos Aires was sunny, warm and welcoming, Isabella thought as she and Nicholas walked out of the hotel on Saturday afternoon. She'd taken only a few moments to unpack her small suitcase, take a shower, and change into a coral-colored knit top, ankle-length white jeans and a pair of flat sandals.

  Nick had also changed from the flight, putting on slim dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. He looked more like a man on vacation than a man on a mission. She was happy to see him relaxed and in the mood to explore the city with her.

  "The hotel has offered us a driver for the day," he told her.

  "Oh, no, I'd rather walk. We'll be able to see more."

  "I had a feeling you would say that. Let's go." He slid on a pair of sunglasses and took her hand in his. "So I don't get lost," he said with a smile.

  "You're in a good mood."

  "I am," he agreed. "How about you?"

  "Same. Eager to see the city again."

  "Is this area familiar to you?"r />
  "It is."

  Their hotel was located on Calle Florida, a wide street filled with hotels, restaurants and boutiques in the more upscale section of the city. While things had definitely changed in the last eighteen years, some of the buildings looked quite familiar, and as they walked past a park, she distinctly remembered a family picnic with her father's family.

  "We had a birthday party here." She paused by a large fountain. "At those tables over there." She pointed across the park. "My cousin Liliana turned twelve. I must have been seven at the time. It wasn't long before we went to San Francisco."

  "It's a nice spot for a party."

  "Yes," she said, feeling a bit of sadness that she'd lost all touch with that side of her family. "Let's keep walking."

  Nick didn't say much as they strolled through the streets, letting her absorb the sights and sounds of her homeland. Every now and then he related some fact, usually relating to architecture. It was clear he'd done his research on the city, but while she appreciated some of his insight, she was so caught up in emotions she could barely register what he was saying. Every step, every block, brought her closer to a decision she needed to make.

  When they finally returned to the hotel several hours later, she was tired but resolved.

  "I need to call my aunt," she said, stopping abruptly as they entered the lobby.

  "Okay. Do you want to call from your room?"

  "I think I should do it now." She pulled out her cell phone. "And maybe you could stay."

  "Whatever you want, Isabella. Let's go over there. It's quieter."

  She followed him to an empty seating area in the far corner of the lobby. They sat down on the couch together.

  "I'm nervous," she said. "I don't know what to expect."

  "How could you know? It's been a long time. But whatever happens, Isabella, you're going to be okay. You know that, right? You're an amazing woman. And you're you. Wherever you came from, whoever your parents are, whatever choices they made doesn't change who you are."

  She nodded as his confident words made her sit up a little straighter. She punched in her aunt's phone number and waited for the first ring. Her heart was racing a thousand miles a minute, and when a man's voice came across the line, she felt suddenly dizzy with fear and excitement. Was that her father's voice? The tone sounded so familiar.

  "Papa?" she heard herself say.

  "¿Quién llama"

  "It's Isabella."

  There was a silence at the other end of the phone. She heard a woman ask who was on the phone. The man said her name. And in that second she knew she had not been talking to her father, because there was no recognition in his voice.

  "Isabella?" The woman's voice came over the line. "Is that really you?"

  "Yes, it's me," she said, happy to be speaking in English to her Aunt Carlotta. She barely remembered Spanish. After they'd gone back to San Francisco, her mother had made a point to only speak in English. She hadn't even let Isabella take Spanish in school, insisting she learn French instead. "My mother gave me your number. I'm in Buenos Aires, and I'd like to speak to my father. Do you know where I can reach him?" Another long minute passed. "Please, I know it's been a long time, but I would like to talk to him."

  "I'm sorry, Isabella," Carlotta said. "Your father is not here, and I don't know where he is."

  "You must have some idea," she said, feeling a little desperate now that she'd come this far. She didn't want everything to end with a phone call.

  "He's been away for a long time, Isabella. He hasn't been well. We've tried to help him, but he always disappears. I know that's not what you want to hear. I wish I could tell you that your father is a wonderful man and that he regrets leaving you and your mother. I wish I could say all those things, because I adored my brother for a very long time, too long, really. I made excuses for him. I blamed your mother for some of his problems. I didn't keep in touch with her or with you, and you were family—both of you. Instead, I chose to be on the side of a man who couldn't be there for anyone in his family."

  Her hand tightened on the phone as Carlotta's words brought tears to her eyes. "You really don't know where he is?"

  "Well, you might be able to find him at one of his favorite bars. I can give you a list, but I have to warn you that he's a broken man, Isabella. He's not just an alcoholic; he has a mental illness. I think you should remember Diego as he was and not as he is now. He would want that, too. He used to tell me in the occasional sober moment that the only good that had ever come out of his life was you and that he was happy that you were far, far away from him and couldn't see how badly he'd destroyed his life."

  There was a part of Isabella that wanted to hang on to the memory and not see the reality, but there was another part of her that felt like she needed to look that man in the face and see what everyone else saw. "Tell me where I might be able to find him," she said.

  Carlotta gave her the names of three bars and then said, "If you'd like to come by tonight, I would love to see you. I can invite Liliana over. She lives close by. She would love to see her little cousin."

  Isabella hesitated, putting her hand over the phone as she turned to Nick. "Would it be all right if I saw my aunt tonight?"

  "Of course. Can I come?"

  "Do you want to?"

  "I'll be your backup," he said.

  She gave him an emotion-filled smile. "Thanks." She lifted her hand off the phone. "I would like to come by, and I'll have a friend with me."

  "What time shall we expect you?"

  "Seven or eight? I'm going to see if I can find my father first."

  "If you do, tell him we miss him, and he can always come to my house."

  "I will." She jotted down Carlotta's address and then ended the call. "Did you hear any of that?"

  "I got the feeling your father is still dealing with alcohol issues."

  "My aunt says he's sick, and they've done everything they can to try to help him. She doesn't think I should look for him, but she did give me the names of some of his favorite bars."

  "What do you want to do?"

  "I'd like to try to find him. I feel like I've come this far. I can't just fly home without giving it a shot. Maybe I could help him."

  Nick frowned at that statement. "You can't fix him, Isabella."

  "You don't know that. You don't know him."

  "I know that if his family hasn't been able to help him, it's doubtful his long-lost daughter will be able to work a miracle."

  "But I am his daughter, and I wouldn't be the amazing woman you said I was if I didn't try."

  "Well, that's true," he said with a smile. "Are we leaving now?"

  "I feel like it's now or never."

  "Okay, but I'm going to see if we can get a car and a driver for this excursion."

  "Good idea. I have no idea how far any of these places are."

  "Or what kind of neighborhood they're in," Nick said.

  She met his gaze and realized that finding her father might take her into places she'd never wanted to go. But Nick would be with her, and knowing that gave her courage.

  * * *

  Isabella's determination to find her father faltered after the first dive bar and got weaker after the second. But Nick kept her going. She had one more chance, and she had to take it.

  Last on the list was La Puerta Blanco, located on the outskirts of the city, far from the tourist action. Isabella was more than happy to have Nick by her side when they entered the dimly lit bar. The bar was fairly empty; it was barely seven on a Saturday night. The crowd probably wouldn't arrive until at least eleven. If there was a crowd, she silently amended, noting that most of the patrons seemed to be well past their forties and many seemed to be alone.

  There was one man sitting at the bar who drew her gaze. He sat with hunched shoulders, as if he wished he could disappear into his own body. His hair was pepper gray, stringy and drifted past his collar. He yelled something in Spanish at the soccer match being played on the television
behind the bar. Then he asked for another shot of tequila.

  She wanted to turn around and leave but there was something about his voice that was very familiar to her.

  She was suddenly terrified—was this man her father? Did she really want to know for sure?

  Her mother had told her she would be disappointed if she made contact.

  Her aunt had said that her father was a broken man and it would be best for her to remember him the way he was.

  "I don't know what to do," she murmured.

  Nick put his arm around her. "Yes, you do."

  She looked up at him, and his gaze held hers for a long minute. She saw both admiration and concern in his eyes, but he wasn't expressing that concern. He was letting her make up her own mind.

  "Okay." She drew in a breath to calm her nerves and then walked up to the man at the bar. "Diego Martinez?"

  The man turned his head in confusion. "Sí?"

  Her heart thumped against her chest as she stared into his dark eyes. His face was familiar and yet not. His gray bearded cheeks were hollow, and his skin was pale. He looked like the ghost of the man she'd once known.

  "I'm Isabella," she said.

  He blinked in confusion. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A moment later he was handing her a faded photo. It was the picture they'd taken together at her eighth-grade graduation. Tears filled her eyes.

  "This is me," she said. "I'm Isabella."

  He shook his head as if he didn't understand her. "Is she well? Is she safe?"

  She licked her lips as a tear slipped down her cheek. He didn't recognize her. He didn't understand that his daughter was standing right in front of him. Her aunt had told her there was more wrong with him than an addiction to alcohol, and she could see that clearly now.

  "Bella—so beautiful," he murmured, a far-away expression in his eyes. "Smart like her mother. But she danced like me."

  "She did?"

  "On my feet. She would put her feet on mine, and I would spin her around the room. She loved that so much."

  The memory of that long-forgotten moment hit her square in the chest, squeezing hard at her heart. "She did love that. She loved you, too. She wants you to get help."