Not So Snow White Page 2

And her family certainly knew that when anyone tried to tell her what to do, she'd almost always do the opposite. Which made keeping a finance manager about as hard as keeping a coach. She was stubborn to a fault and a rebel to the end.

  "Well, rebel," she muttered as she caught her reflection in the plate glass, "the end is currently staring you in the face. Not a real attractive picture, is it?"

  Her cell phone rang just then, startling her. She didn't want to talk to anyone right at the moment. Maybe ever. She resolutely turned away from the view of the courts… and that lingering twinge of instinctive guilt she still felt because she wasn't out there right now practicing. There were no more tournaments. No more escaping from life's more serious issues by immersing herself in a hectic tour schedule. For some it was grueling, an impossible pace to maintain without burning out. Not for Tess. For her it had always felt like her private domain, her own little kingdom, which she thoroughly enjoyed ruling. Just her and her racket.

  Tennis was the love of her life. Her absolute soul mate. Whether it be hard courts, grass, or clay, standing at the base line, looking across the net at the only thing standing between her and yet another victory, was the only time she felt completely, utterly at home.

  So how dare her soul mate abandon her like that?

  Shopping, she decided instantly. That's what she needed, A little retail therapy. Window shopping, she amended, remembering her maxed-out credit cards. She glanced down as her cell phone continued to chirp the theme from Pink Panther and noticed the incoming number. She hurriedly flipped it open, a smile already curving her lips. There was one person in the world she always wanted to talk to, no matter what.

  "Hey there, brat, what's happening? Whipping asses and taking names like your big sister taught ya?"

  "Not everyone considers a tennis court a battlefield." Bobby chuckled and she immediately felt herself relax. "But aye, aye, mon generale, the enemy has fallen again this week."

  "That's my baby brother! Where are you, anyway?" She knew exactly where he was. In London, playing the Queen's Club tournament, a tune-up for Wimbledon. Why she bothered to pretend otherwise, especially with Bobby, she didn't know. Habit at this point, she supposed. A good part of last year had been spent solely focused on trying to heal enough to get back to the game, and it had been emotionally difficult keeping track of the tour results, knowing her ranking was sliding into oblivion as each week passed her by and everyone was accumulating points but her.

  But when she'd realized last fall that her withdrawal from the tour was permanent… she'd gallivanted around the globe as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if she barely had time in her oh-so-busy life to keep track of something as mundane as tennis stats. That was so last year, after all.

  But privately, she'd watched. And kept track. Still did. And it was like a dagger in her heart even now, every week when the rankings came out… and her name wasn't on the list. And wouldn't be ever again.

  The outside world believed her life was a whirlwind of excitement, with offers simply pouring in. She'd read rumors of advertising campaigns, book deals in New York, Hollywood calling, begging her to consider a movie role she'd be perfect for. And she did her damnedest to let everyone think it was the truth, too.

  If only. The sad thing was, that scenario was exactly what she'd expected her retired life to be all about. She'd honestly had visions of sitting back and sifting through the mountain of offers that would surely come cascading in, having the luxury of picking and choosing the best project for her. She'd be booked at least six months in advance, of course, right down to every lunch and every dinner.

  Instead, she was sweating bullets day and night, praying for a solution to her money problems before the truth came out… and ruined any chance she had to ever get her life back on track.

  "Actually, that's why I'm calling you," Bobby said.

  Tess heard uncertainty in his tone, and immediately tensed. "What happened? You're not hurt are you? Does Wade or Dad know?"

  He laughed again. "Jeez, you're worse than Mom was, you know that? Who'd have thought? If the world knew that beneath that tough bully exterior you were really just a big mushy marshmallow—"

  Maybe she'd still have an income, she thought morosely. "They wouldn't believe it," she told him flatly. "And I bitch because I care, Besides, you know I promised Mom I'd look after you on tour."

  "Yeah, I made her the same promise about you."

  "Oh?" Tess said, honestly surprised. "First I've heard of that little deal." Their mother, Cissy McNamara, a young phenom herself, had briefly been a top-ten player back in the day. She'd retired from the tour only a few years after joining it, shortly after marrying Senator Frank Hamilton and getting pregnant with Wade. With a few trophies of her own already lining the mantel, she'd happily spent her remaining years raising her three kids, watching with enormous pride as her only daughter took up where she'd left off. She'd succumbed to ovarian cancer six years ago, right as Bobby was entering college, forgoing the pro tour until after he got his degree.

  Every member of her family, in their own way, still suffered from the loss. Cissy had been the center cog from which all Hamilton family members operated; the determined, grounding force that held her strong and too-independent-to-her-way-of-thinking clan together. She'd been right, as it turned out. With her gone, they'd been cast adrift, and were pretty much making it up as they went along.

  If she knew the mess Tess had made of her life… well, she wouldn't be exactly shocked. She was the only one, save for Bobby, who'd really understood Tess and accepted her faults and all. Had Cissy not married and left the tour early on, chances were she'd have been the Tess of her generation. Still, Tess hated feeling like she'd let any of her family down, especially her mom.

  "So," she asked, forcing a bright note into her voice, "Mom asked you to watch after me? Sort of like putting the canary in charge of the cat."

  "Yeah, I know." Bobby's dry laugh lifted her spirits like nothing else could. "Like I had a hope in hell of living up to it. You're not exactly baby-sitter-able. Hell, if Wade or Dad can't keep you pinned down, what chance do I have?"

  Little did he know he was probably the only one who did have any sway over her. He was the biggest soft spot she had. Of course, she wasn't going to tell him that. "She was probably just trying to make you feel more mature. Give the baby of the family some responsibility."

  "Hey now, I can be responsible."

  Like she hadn't already gotten that earful from Wade and her father. It didn't matter that she wasn't playing anymore. Bobby already has a financial manager, you should see his portfolio. Bobby has kept the same coach now for eighteen months and look how his game has improved. Yeah, she knew how responsible he was. A shame she couldn't hate him for it. "Well, I'm still gonna boss you around no matter how much bigger your portfolio is than mine."

  "Actually, that's why I'm calling."

  Her stomach squeezed. Had he found out? She forced a laugh. "I don't need stock tips, Bobby." She needed an income before she could worry about how to invest it. "But thanks—"

  "This isn't about money."

  She tried not to let him hear her major sigh of relief. "What, then? Oh, God, what'd I do now?" She'd long since learned that she didn't have to actually do anything to get blamed for something. Hell, she didn't even have to be on the same continent half the time. Trouble had a way of finding her even when she wasn't looking for it. Admittedly, this was probably because there had been a number of years when she had been. "I swear, I haven't left the area in days. It wasn't me. I didn't do it. I've never even met him. The baby isn't mine. Whatever."

  He laughed. "Relax, you didn't do anything." He paused. "This week, anyway."

  "Har har. So spill it already."

  "I was calling to tell you that your baby-sitting, bossy-older-sister days are numbered. Someone else has applied for the job of telling me what to do."

  "Oh? What, Wade is going to be the boss of you now? This can't be true. He'd have
to lighten his client load so he only has to try twice as many cases as a mere mortal. Or does Dad have an offspring we're not aware of?" She could make the joke because there was no way the "esteemed gentleman from California" had ever done, or would ever do, anything remotely untoward. The craziest thing he'd ever done was marry the little darling of tennis, Cissy McNamara, emerging phenom and party-circuit regular.

  Bobby snorted. "Oh yeah, that's it. And even if aliens did inhabit his body long enough for him to do something that unlikely, Mom would prove there is such a thing as reincarnation, just so she could come back and kick his cheating, lying ass. He'd never have risked it, anyway. Think of the damage to his pristine, much vaunted political career."

  Tess smiled briefly, picturing it. "How true. So then, who is this amazing paragon of virtue with an unfortunate bent for self-torture?" There was a short pause, but Tess could feel the tension crackling through the phone lines. Her smile dipped. "Bobby? You're not in some kind of trouble are you?" Because that would shock her almost more than her father doing something illicit.

  Bobby was the golden child of the Hamilton clan. Wade had the smarts and the Hamilton drive and determination, but he was kind of an ass about it. Tess was brilliant on the court, but off the court, well, her faults had been well documented. On several continents. Leaving the youngest Hamilton to claim the cherished center-of-attention spot. Which he'd always done quite effortlessly. It was hard to hold it against him, though. He was charming, good-looking, smart, and accomplished, not to mention always quick with a smile or a selfless gesture. If he wasn't so damn adorable and sincere, he'd be disgusting.

  At twenty-five he had a college degree from Stanford, a top-fifty ranking in the ATP, a gorgeous British girlfriend, and several major endorsement deals—which was almost unheard of for a doubles player. It was the dimples. She was convinced. It didn't hurt that he never yelled at referees or tournament directors. And never got his picture splashed all over the tabloids for being where he wasn't supposed to be, with someone he definitely wasn't supposed to be with.

  There came a nervous chuckle on the other end that sounded nothing like her happy-go-lucky brother.

  "For God's sake, tell me already!"

  "Andrea and I are getting married," he blurted out in a rush. "I proposed last night and she said yes."

  Her first reaction was to laugh. "You know, you said that like it comes as some great shock to you! Of course she said yes, you dolt." Andrea was gorgeous, talented, and quite successful in her own right—and she'd have been a fool to pass up her baby brother. Bobby Hamilton was a total catch. Just ask any female on the planet. "But I can't believe you popped the question right before Wimbledon. You've got Queen's Club, then two slams back-to-back, and she's getting ready to launch her new line after the Open, in the fall, right? When are you guys gonna have time to—"

  "That's the other reason I'm calling," he broke in. "We don't want a long engagement. And since everyone we both know will be in London for the tournament, we figured—"

  "You're getting married now?"

  "After Queen's, before Wimbledon, yeah."

  "As in, before this coming Wimbledon? The one next month?" Tess struggled to assimilate it all. "Now I understand your shock that she accepted your ridiculous proposal. I can't believe Andrea is agreeing to this. You have told her your crazy idea, right? Because men can be really stupid, but I always had higher hopes for you, B.S."

  Bobby groaned at the reviled nickname. "It's all fine, really.''

  "She's a fashion designer and you're rushing her to the altar? Are you kidding me? It's not all fine, trust me."

  "She designs sportswear," Bobby said, as if that made a difference.

  "The woman's whole life revolves around clothes," Tess pointed out. "And you want her to toss together a wedding in less than a month." She snorted. "Honestly. Men."

  "It was her idea!"

  That stopped her. "Really?"

  "Yeah, really."

  "Well, hold on to this one, because that's blind love right there."

  "Har har," he said now. "So you gonna lay off me and hop a plane over here or what?''

  "Gee, with an invite like that, I can hardly say no," she said dryly. "What did Dad and Wade say? Are they going to be able to juggle their schedules to get over there in time?"

  "I'm not sure. I, uh, I called you first, T."

  And she'd given him a hard time. Tess's heart melted. Bobby might make her crazy with his easy perfection, but there was a reason everybody loved him. He was so damn earnest. He'd never have to worry about his postretirement lifestyle. With or without his investment portfolio, people naturally gravitated toward Bobby Hamilton. Well, they gravitated toward his sister, too. But with Bobby, it was for all the good reasons. "Thank you," she said more quietly. "I, uh…"

  "God, I can't stand it when you're speechless. It scares me," he teased, clearly happy with himself for doing it to her anyway. "Just say you'll be there."

  "Of course I will." Even if she had to hock something to pay for airfare. Which she very well might. "Wait a minute," she said, alarm and dread suddenly swamping her. "I don't have to actually be in this thing, do I?"

  "Now you sound like Wade. Can't be bothered to put out a little effort when there isn't anything in it for you. And since when haven't you liked putting out?"

  "Oh, you want me not to be speechless, you keep making comments like that. I'll ring Andrea right up and tell her all about your little run-in with my friend Bambi Sutherland the summer of your freshman year. I'm sure I still have my yearbook around here somewhere where she wrote on your picture, and I quote—"

  "Okay, okay, you win."

  She grinned. "Don't I always? You should know better by now."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "And I wasn't balking at being in the wedding, in a general way. Surely Andrea of all people would pick out something not entirely horrific for her bridesmaids to wear. It's just that… well, you know how it is with me. Something bad will happen. And in London of all places. The tabs over there look for reasons to trash me. They hate me."

  "They love you. You sell papers. Hell, you've put half the paparazzi's children through college by now."

  She snorted. "Yeah, well, that kind of dysfunctional love I do not need. And neither do you on your wedding day."

  "Not to worry. We're not having all the hoopla. Andrea has no family to speak of, just close friends and professional contacts. It will probably be a civil ceremony, small, no attendants and all that stuff. We just want the people we love and care about to share the moment with us. So say you'll be there and shut up already."

  "You shut up already."

  "You."

  "You." She smiled, hearing her mother's "Come on, you two!" echo clearly through her mind. "Of course I'll be there."

  "And you'll call Dad and Wade and tell them, get them to come?"

  "Bobby!"

  "You're the best. I knew I could count on you, Love you!"

  And then he was gone.

  Tess sighed and clicked off, but she was smiling as she shook her head. It would be so much easier if she could just get mad at the guy. She didn't relish being the one to tell the rest of the family about the sudden wedding. Not that Dad or Wade would be upset about the engagement. They'd known it was probably heading that way, as she had. The abbreviated time frame, on the other hand, would be an issue. Both her father and big brother lived by their BlackBerry schedulers. This would disrupt the routine. Where Wade and her father were concerned, rule number one was never disrupt the routine!

  Ah well. She grinned as she flipped her phone back open. She might have learned that lesson at an early age, but that didn't mean she'd ever paid any particular attention to it. Hell, if she wasn't around to rattle the esteemed senator's carefully maintained cage every once in a while, who would? Her little rebellions with her father used to exasperate her mom to no end. But privately, Tess was pretty sure her mother thought it was a good thing that life didn't always
go by Dad's schedule.

  She snapped the phone shut a second later as another thought occurred to her. She sank down on the arm of her Harry Braxton davenport. She always thought of the piece that way. Not that she'd had a clue who Harry Braxton was—or that davenport was a fancy name for couch—but the stylist who'd done her house assured her in no uncertain terms that he was the second coming of modern retro furniture design. All she knew was that it was comfortable and didn't stain.

  At the moment, however, she wasn't thinking about furniture durability, she was more concerned with her own. London. Wimbledon. Everybody who was anybody in the industry would be there.

  On the one hand she wanted to be pretty much anywhere else on earth than around the very people who, when they found out she was broke and unemployable, would quite enjoy seeing her taken down a peg or six. But on the other hand, those very people were also her only viable source pool when it came to reversing said bank account and job status. Unlike her brother, she didn't have a degree to fall back on. Tennis—and being a tennis celebrity—was all she knew. And to be honest, all she really wanted to know.

  The trick was going to be figuring out how to make the rounds, schmooze… and at the same time not let the media or, more important, her family find out about the predicament she'd gotten herself into. Then there was that other sticky little issue. She was going to have to maintain a certain lifestyle while in town. You had to be money to make money. Or something like that, anyway. Nobody wanted to latch on to a star that was descending, as Alden and all the reps before him had made so abundantly clear. She'd have to hit the town and the party circuit with stilettos blazing, and somehow—discreetly—find someone who was still willing to sign her to a deal. Any kind of deal. She'd hawk just about anything at this point.

  All she had to do now was figure out how to finance her little plan.

  Chapter 2

  Gabrielle Fontaine's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to go where?"

  Max Fontaine watched his younger sister flounce across their hotel room and flop onto the couch with the kind of drama only a sixteen-year-old girl could evoke. He struggled to keep his tone even. "Think of it as a vacation."