She could only handle one terrifying thing at a time. And right now, that was facing the man who had abandoned her and their daughter twelve years ago.
Romance and feelings and love could wait until after she’d survived this afternoon.
Then maybe, just maybe, she’d let herself examine what had grown between her and Christopher. What was still growing with every moment they spent together.
But first, she had to get through the next few hours without falling apart.
Christopher squeezed her hand gently. “Let’s practice putting the microphone on. We want to make sure you’re comfortable with it and that it doesn’t show under your clothes.”
Isabella took a deep breath and nodded. She could do this. With Christopher and Charlie backing her up, with people who actually cared about her in her corner for the first time in years, she could face Todd and whatever scheme he’d come up with.
She had to believe that.
Because the alternative was too terrifying to consider.
13
ISABELLA
Isabella stood in her cottage bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She’d changed her outfit three times, finally settling on dark jeans and a cream-colored blouse that made her look put together without trying too hard. She didn’t want to look like she’d been struggling, even though she had been. She wanted to face Todd as the woman she’d become, not the broken girl he’d left behind twelve years ago.
“You ready?” Christopher’s voice came from the doorway, gentle and careful.
Isabella turned to face him, and her heart did that now-familiar skip at the sight of him. He held the small microphone and transmitter, the equipment that would keep her connected to him and Charlie during the meeting.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
Christopher stepped into the small bathroom, and the space suddenly felt even smaller with both of them in it. He held up the tiny microphone. “This needs to go right here,” he indicated a spot just below her collarbone, hidden by the neckline of her blouse.
His fingers were gentle as he helped her position the microphone, attaching it with the small adhesive backing. Isabella held very still, acutely aware of how close he was standing, how she could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of soap and something uniquely him.
“Can you say something?” Christopher asked, stepping back slightly and holding up the transmitter to test the connection.
“Can you hear me?” Isabella asked, feeling slightly foolish talking to the empty air.
Christopher’s face broke into a small smile. “Loud and clear. Perfect.” He handed her the transmitter. “This goes in your pocket. Just slip it in and forget about it.”
Isabella took the device with hands that trembled slightly. She slid it into her front pocket, feeling the slight weight of it settle there.
Christopher noticed her shaking hands. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, his grip warm and steady. “You’ve got this, Isabella. Just listen to what he wants. Don’t agree to anything. Charlie and I will be right there the entire time.”
He squeezed her hands gently, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her chest tight. “I won’t lethim hurt you. Do you understand? Whatever happens in there, you’re not alone.”
Isabella nodded, not trusting her voice to stay steady if she tried to speak. The care in Christopher’s expression, the protectiveness, made something inside her want to both cry and sing at the same time.
A car horn honked outside. Charlie had arrived.
“That’s my cue,” Isabella said, her voice coming out smaller than she’d intended.
They walked to the front door together, and Christopher opened it for her. Charlie’s sedan sat in the driveway, engine running. Isabella took one step outside and then felt Christopher’s hand on her arm, gently turning her back to face him.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. The gesture was tender and reassuring, and it made Isabella’s heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with nervousness about the upcoming meeting.
“See you soon,” Christopher said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”
Isabella climbed into the passenger seat of Charlie’s car, and through the window, she watched Christopher stand on her porch, hands in his pockets, watching them drive away. Something about the image made her throat tight. He looked like he belonged there, standing on her grandmother’s porch, waiting for her to come home.
She pushed the thought away. She couldn’t think about that right now. Had to focus on the task ahead.
