Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [52]
"So, where have you been, Julia?" Michael leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his chest, a speculative look in his eyes.
She filled the kettle with water and turned on the heat. "I've been trying to figure things out," she said vaguely.
"Liz told me about the reporter who showed up here earlier. Has anything else happened?"
"That's probably the worst of it," she lied. The worst of it was that she'd kissed another man. But she couldn't tell him that. He would only be hurt.
"I took another look at the photograph. Liz showed me the catalogue," he said. "I'll admit there's some resemblance between you and that girl, but there are millions of blue-eyed blondes in the world. And that photo was taken twenty-five years ago. I just don't think it's you, Julia. I think you're reading into it more than you should."
She heard the earnest conviction in his voice and knew he wanted desperately to convince her of that fact. But too much had happened that he didn't know about. "I'm afraid I do think it's me," she said. "Why?"
"A lot of reasons. The girl's face, the necklace, the fact that my mother very carefully hid the details of my early life." She waved her hand in the air. "My mother was incredibly secretive. I'm only beginning to realize how much care she took to cover up her past. What I don't know yet is why she felt compelled to do that."
Michael let out a sigh that sounded like a mix of disappointment and frustration. She couldn't blame him. How could he understand when she couldn't?
"Are you sure you're not just latching onto some dramatic backstory to replace the emptiness in your own life?" Michael asked.
It was a fairly insightful comment coming from Michael, who was usually more pragmatic and not inclined to analyze anything. Was she doing that? Was she adding drama to a blank space to make it more interesting, more important? It would be better if she were doing that. Then in reality nothing about her life would be a lie, and there would be no mystery to solve.
"Julia, think about it. You got into this the second we set our wedding date. I think you panicked when you realized that we were finally moving ahead with our plans. You jumped onto the first passing ship, and that photograph was it." He moved suddenly, planting himself in front of her, tilting up her face with his finger so that she had to look at him. "It's okay," he said. "It's all right to admit to being nervous. Marriage is a big step. It's forever. You don't have to make up a reason to postpone the wedding. I'll call the Legion of Honor tomorrow and tell them to cancel the December date. We'll find somewhere else after the first of the year, when you're ready. All right?"
"Yes," she agreed, feeling a weight slip off her shoulders. "Because I can't think about getting married until I know who I really am."
His mouth drew into a taut line. "Julia-"
"I'm sorry, Michael, but my mind is made up. You may be right about some of my motivation, but there's something wrong about the background story my mother gave me, and I can't let it go until I know what that something is."
"No matter who you upset in the process?"
She stepped away from him as the kettle began to sing. She turned off the heat and pulled two cups out of the cupboard.
"Liz was upset earlier," Michael continued. "She was almost crying when she came to see me. She said she was afraid of losing you to your past. With your mother gone, it's tough on her to see you being pulled away."
"I understand. I don't want to hurt Liz, but this is ' something I have to do."
"You're pulling away from me, too," he said, his eyes troubled. "I thought it was because I was pressuring you too much about the wedding, but is there some other reason? Is it that man who's helping you? Were you with him tonight?"
She wished she didn't have to answer that question, but Michael was waiting.