Public Secrets

twice a week to make sure I haven’t succumbed to some lecherous French comte . I only wish.” When Emma didn’t smile, she tilted her head. “You think he’ll disapprove?”
“I don’t know.” Restless, she moved her shoulders.
“Emma, if it’s serious between you and Drew, he’s going to find out sooner or later.”
“I know. I’m just hoping it’ll be later.”

I T WASN’T MUCH later.
Emma enjoyed the morning sun on the terrace of her room in Rome. Though it was late for breakfast, she was still in her robe, her coffee growing cold, as she checked over her current batch of prints. In the back of her mind she was assessing them not only for Pete but for her own idea for a book.
Smiling, she took out her favorite of Drew. She’d taken it in the leafy shade of the Bois de Boulogne. Only moments after she’d taken the picture, he’d kissed her. And told her he loved her.

He loved her. Closing her eyes, she reached her arms up to the sky. She had hoped, and she had wished, but she’d had no idea how happy she could be until he’d said the words. Now that he had, she could begin to dream what it would be like to be with him always, to make love with him, to be married to him, to make a home and raise a family.
She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted that. A man who loved her, a home of her own, children. They could be happy, so happy. Who understood the life and problems of a musician more than a woman who had been raised by one? She could comfort and support him in his work. And he would do the same for her.
After the tour, she thought. After the tour they could begin to make plans.
The knock on the door broke into her thoughts. She hoped it would be Drew, come to share breakfast with her as he had once or twice. Her smile of welcome faltered only slightly when she saw her father.
“Da. I’m surprised to see you out of your room before noon.”
“Maybe I’m too predictable.” With a newspaper folded in his hand, he stepped into the room. He glanced first at the bed, then at his daughter. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.” She studied him with a puzzled frown. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“You tell me.” He slapped the paper into her hand. She had to unfold it, then turn it right side up. But the picture was clear enough. The picture of her and Drew. It wasn’t necessary to read Italian to get the drift. They were locked in each other’s arms, her face tilted up to his, her eyes slumberous and dreamy as a woman’s became when she’d been kissed by her lover.
She couldn’t tell where it had been taken. It didn’t matter where. What mattered was that someone had intruded on a very private moment, then had splashed that intimacy in newsprint.
Emma tossed the paper across the room, then stalked to the balcony. She needed air. “Damn them,” she muttered, knocking her fist lightly against the rail. “Why can’t they leave us alone?”
“How long have you been seeing him, Emma?”
She looked over her shoulder. The wind blew strands of pale hair over her eyes. “Since the start of the tour.”

Brian jammed his hands into his pockets. “For weeks, then. For weeks, and you didn’t bother to tell me.”
She tossed her head back as she turned. “I’m over twenty-one, Da. I don’t have to ask my father’s permission to go on a date.”
“You were hiding it from me. Dammit—come inside.” He bit the order off. “The bloody press has their telescopic lenses trained on this place.”
“What difference does it make?” she demanded, holding her ground. “Everything we do ends up as public fodder eventually. That’s part of the price.” She gestured to the piles of prints on the table. “Hell, I do it myself.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.” He stopped himself, dragging a furious hand through his hair. “It hardly matters at this point. I want to know what’s going on between you and Drew.”
“You mean am I sleeping with him? No, not yet.” She braced her hands on the rail. “But it’s none of your business, Da. Just as you told me, years ago, that your sex life was none of mine.”
“I’m your father, dammit.” He heard himself. He was her father. Somehow he’d become the father of a grown woman. And he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. He waited until he was sure his voice would be calm. “Emma, I love you, and I worry about you.”
“There’s no need to worry. I know what I’m doing. I’m in love with Drew, and he’s in love with