and I petted her hair and promised that if she believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, they were as real as those damn dance shoes.
I clear my throat now as I meet my adult sister’s eyes. “Maybe.”
She breaks into applause like I’ve gotten a question right on Jeopardy. “Good answer. So is she your date to Jon Bracelyn’s wedding?”
That’s right, it’s coming up. A romantic winter wedding, just before the holidays. “I wasn’t planning to take a date. Besides, Izzy’s in the wedding party.”
“So? She still needs someone to dance with at the reception.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The thought of twirling Iz around the resort’s ballroom sends my stomach reeling, but the excitement’s mixed with something else. An unease that’s been there since she told me about Dante.
I hesitate, not wanting to dredge up unhappy memories for my sister. “How crucial do you think it is for couples to tell each other everything?”
“That depends.” Julia looks thoughtful. “If ‘everything’ encompasses stuff like how much she spends on shoes or the name of her favorite sex toy, I think you can let that stuff slide.”
“Obviously.” And now I can’t stop wondering if Iz has a sex toy, or possibly more than one. I clear my throat. “So what sort of stuff would you say is crucial to share?”
“A penchant for punching women, for starters.” Julia’s eyes go icy. “Pretty sure that’s not an issue for you.”
“Absolutely not.” I look down and see my right hand clenched in a fist. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m sorry I brought it up.” She waves a hand to keep the conversation going. “Let’s see…it’s important to share whether you’re playing slap the salami with other people, of course.” She tilts her head to study me. “You’re not, are you?”
“What—being intimate with someone besides Izzy? Of course not.”
My sister grins. “Ah, so you admit you’re being intimate?”
“I admit nothing.” Goddammit. “What else would be a deal breaker?”
“For secrets?” She shrugs. “I guess anything that could impact the other person, especially if it’s in a negative way. Why?” She leans forward clearly smelling blood in the water. “Are you keeping secrets from someone?”
“Plenty of people,” I mutter. “I’m a doctor. There’s this thing called HIPAA—”
“Wait, no.” Julia frowns. “You think Izzy’s hiding something?”
I sigh. Part of me regrets going down this path, but another part doesn’t. This is what I wanted, right? An outside party to assess my concerns?
Laying down the letter opener, I lean back in my chair. “I think Izzy’s trained to be circumspect about her life.” About her bodyguard, about the royal family, about countless other things I can’t begin to grasp. “It’s not like she owes me the total, unvarnished truth about everything she’s been through in her life.”
“Of course not,” Julia says. “But there’s a difference between holding things back and flat-out lying. Which do you think you’re up against?”
“I’m not sure.” I might be ready to change the subject.
Fortunately, Julia does it for me. “So about Jon and Blanka’s wedding.” She grins. “Since you and I are sitting at the same table, I’ll get a chance to chat with her that way. You should definitely ask her to be your date.”
“And you should definitely get going.” I glance pointedly at the clock. “My next patient arrives in five minutes.”
“All right, all right.” She stands and makes a big show of dragging me to my feet with her. “Give me a hug, jerk. I miss human contact with someone who didn’t emerge from my vagina.” She frowns. “Or someone whose vagina I emerged from, I guess, if you count Mom.”
I squeeze her tighter and try not to hold on to that mental picture. “How about we ixnay the vagina talk?”
“Please.” She pulls back and pushes against my chest. “You’re a doctor. Body parts aren’t supposed to make you squeamish.”
“And they don’t. I’m happy to talk with you all day about the condition of your gall bladder. Or your pancreas. Or your small intest—”
“Goodbye, Brad.” She blows me a kiss as she heads out the door. Moments later, I hear her chatting with the front desk staff. I sit back down and grab the patient chart, flipping through to remind myself where I left off with treating Carmen Sanderson’s elevated thyroid.
But my thoughts stray back to Izzy. Should I invite her to her brother’s wedding? She’s already invited, obviously, but what if I explicitly asked her to be my date? Mark seemed okay with the idea I might be