The Truth About Elyssa

“Elyssa! You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. It’s wasted effort.” Chin thrust out, she glared at her cousin. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Why not give the guy a break? Give yourself one, too.”

“It’s useless, Cass. The first day I met him, he said he’d seen me on the news. He expects me to look like Elyssa Jarmon of two years ago.” Automatically, her hand went to her cheek and traced the scar. “And even after plastic surgery, I don’t.”

“Close enough.”

“It wasn’t close enough for Derek.”

Cassie’s generous, usually smiling mouth, turned grim. “Derek,” she muttered. “If I could, I’d strangle him with my bare hands.” She leaned forward and grabbed Elyssa’s hand. “Don’t judge every man by Derek. He’s a scumbag. He didn’t appreciate what he had in you.”

Elyssa opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, Cassie continued, eyes flashing. “You had a rough time after the accident, but you’ve put your life back together. You’ve never been a quitter. Why now?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t. You’re not disfigured, are you? You have a few scars, so your face isn’t as perfect as it used to be. I’ll grant you it’s enough to keep you off the air—”

Elyssa’s chin shot up again. “I handled that.”

Cassie nodded. “And very well, too. But we’re talking about your personal life. You can’t stop living. There’s a man somewhere—maybe the man you just brushed off—who won’t give a damn about your face. Listen to me. You can’t avoid having Brett see you, not forever. And why should you? He isn’t Derek.”

Derek hadn’t been the only one who’d reacted badly to her less-than-perfect face, but she hadn’t told anyone, not even Cassie, about the others. And she didn’t intend to.

Cassie slammed her hand on the coffee table. “Dammit, give the guy a chance.”

A chance to hurt her? “I can’t. I told you, he has expectations.”

“How do you know that?” Cassie countered. “Does he walk around with a sign tattooed on his forehead that reads, I Have Expectations?”

Elyssa grinned at the image, then sobered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s—”

They both started as the doorbell rang. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Elyssa said, frowning.

“Sit. I’ll get it,” Cassie said. She opened the door and poked her head out, exchanged a few words with someone, then turned, holding out a flower arrangement.

Two white orchids.

“What in the world? The deliveryman must have the wrong address,” Elyssa said. “Call him back.”

“Card says Elyssa Jarmon.”

Cassie set the vase on the coffee table, and Elyssa reached for the card. As she read, her cheeks heated, her heart began to thud. “They’re from Brett.”

“Well, well,” Cassie said, grinning. “Dr. Cameron’s a guy with class.” She leaned over Elyssa’s shoulder. “What’s the card say?”

“His name.” She slid her fingers over the rest of the message: “I’ll keep waiting for a yes.”

“Now you’ll have to go out with him,” Cassie said.

“No, I won’t.” Elyssa brushed a finger over the dark-green leaves, then yanked her hand away. “Brett’s an ambitious man, the kind of man who needs a gorgeous wife who gives elegant dinner parties and chairs benefits for the symphony.”

“Wife!” Cassie shuddered. “We’re talking about a simple dinner in a restaurant, not a lifetime commitment. Gawd, matrimony,” she said in her Lauren Bacall voice and sighed dramatically. “What a crock.”

Elyssa chuckled. Her cousin—independent, outspoken and in the rest of the family’s opinion, outrageous—could always make her laugh.

“You know my philosophy on marriage,” Cassie added.

Elyssa knew it well. Love affairs were acceptable, but Cassie believed that marriage and a career could not mix; hence, marriage had to go. Elyssa had never agreed with her cousin, but now… “My head’s too muddled to think about this.”

“I don’t blame you.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Talking about marriage gives me heartburn. Nevertheless, you should consider dating this man. White orchids, oh my.”

They sat admiring the flowers, then Cassie checked her watch, frowned and shook her arm. “Stopped. What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

Cassie jumped up. “Omigosh, I’m due at rehearsal at seven.”

“Rehearsal! You got a part.”

Cassie grinned. “Nope, I’m the assistant to the assistant stage manager.” She turned her purse upside down on the coffee table and began pawing through the mess that spilled from it. “But I will get a part, one of these days. Aha!” She grabbed her car keys, waved them triumphantly and shoved everything else back into her bag. “See you.” She headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she added, “If Dean calls, tell him I’m on my way.”

Dean called. So did Dave…and Mario. Despite her views on matrimony, Cassie attracted men like honeysuckle attracted bees. How did she keep them all straight?

Shaking her head, Elyssa picked up the iced-tea glasses and carried them to the dishwasher. She’d always been a one-man woman. Of course, now she was a no-man woman.

She was glad she hadn’t thrown Brett’s card away. She’d intended to, but something had made her tuck it into the pocket of her costume, then into her robe. She took it out and called his home number. She’d be stern with him, she decided as his machine came on. “The orchids are beautiful, but I haven’t changed my mind. Let’s keep on being friends.”

Oh, Lord! She sat down hard on the chair by the phone. She’d been in broadcasting long enough to know what she’d just done. Her words had said one thing, but her voice—her soft, husky tone—had said something totally different.

Disgusted with herself, she marched upstairs to the bathroom, yanked off her robe and tossed her underwear in the hamper. She turned on the cold water in the shower but didn’t get in. Instead, she stared at her nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

Her figure was the same as before the accident, maybe a little thinner. The gash on her thigh had healed and the scar was beginning to fade. It was pink now, perhaps as light as it would ever be. Her nose looked almost straight. Even the scars on her cheek had dimmed a little. But without the clown makeup, the marks were still visible, clear reminders of that night she could never quite recapture.

What would Brett Cameron think if he saw her as she really was? A picture of him flashed in her mind—tall and tanned with a killer smile and a gentleness that almost brought tears to her eyes. A longing so sharp it nearly buckled her knees rushed though her. She knew just how his lips would taste, how his body would feel against hers.

He was a doctor, used to scars. And, compared to most, hers were minor. Maybe…maybe he wouldn’t care.

But maybe he would.

She wouldn’t risk a rejection from him. She’d insist she meant what she said on the phone. They’d just be friends. With a last look at her reflection, she got into the shower.

But later she took the orchids into her room and set them on the nightstand by the bed. So lovely, so romantic… The man had her on the verge of tumbling into a situation that would only cause her grief. She had to think of something else.

She reached for the book by David Brinkley that Jenny had given her. Stretching out on her bed, she opened it and flipped through the pages, reading snippets here and there. Her attention was caught by doodles and notes scribbled at the end of a chapter: “The committee, 5, 1066, March 2.” Beneath them was a drawing of a skull and crossbones.

Elyssa shivered. March 2 was the day before their accident.