Winter White (2 page)

“You take over an hour in there sometimes!” Izzie shot back playfully. “Can’t I brush my teeth without you yapping to me?”

“See, Wendy? We act like sisters already,” Mira said wryly.

Wendy laughed. “I have two sisters, and the fights we used to have over the bathroom weren’t pretty.” She shook her head and turned back to Bill. “I’m glad y’all are taking this in stride, but you can’t deny that a man on the verge of a political run can’t risk the sort of scandal this story has brought you.” Wendy held up the
North Carolina Post
. The headline said,
Daddy’s Not-So-Little Hidden Girl
, and there was a picture of Bill and Izzie from a recent charity event where the news had broken. “The timing on this couldn’t be worse,” Wendy said grimly. “You announced your run in the middle of this firestorm, and your Democratic primary is this May. Do you really think you can win that and move on to the race for the open seat when a story like this is out there?”

“North Carolinians are smart folk,” Bill said. “They know how to differentiate between news and hearsay. I can understand why people are covering this story, but I want to remind the press that we’re talking about a child who has been through so much. I’ve asked the press not to approach her at school. I’m a big boy, and I can take their punches, but she shouldn’t have to.” There was more applause. “This was a private family matter, and I don’t believe it affects how I
would work for the people of this great state,” Bill said, looking at the audience and then at the cameras. “I let down the people I love, but my intention was never to hurt them. I wanted to cushion Izzie’s blow to this new world she entered for as long as I could, and I think I did that.” He smiled at her. “At least, I hope I did. And now I’m ready—we’re all ready”—he took his wife’s hand—“to be the family you need us to be to help run North Carolina. If you vote for me during the primaries, you’re voting for a man with heart, with resilience, and determination to do right by all.”

The audience applauded again. Some stood up and cheered. All eyes were on the Monroes, including Wendy’s. She’d gotten the interview she wanted, and she’d nailed it. That syndication offer was probably waiting on her desk already.

“Thank you, Bill,” Wendy said, and thanked each of them before turning back to the camera again with a winning smile. “When we come back, y’all, we’ll meet Chef Allison Hyde and get her recipe for buffalo-style chicken chili!”

The camera panned out to show one last shot of the Monroes. This was their moment, and they stood together and waved to everyone in the studio. Bill was in the middle with his arms around Mira and Izzie, and then he broke free to shake hands with audience members. Anyone watching the episode was probably thinking,
What a nice story! This family weathered a perfect storm and won
. But Wendy knew better.

You can’t believe everything you see on TV.

Aunt Maureen was the last one to get in the limo. When the door finally closed behind her, she removed her heavy pearl earrings, dropped them into her butter-colored leather bag, leaned her head against the seat, and sighed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

No one answered her.

The limo carrying the Monroes from
The Wendy Wallington Show
in Raleigh was eerily quiet, and it was making Izzie start to feel claustrophobic. She couldn’t wait to get out of this car and back to the safety of Emerald Cove.

The safety of Emerald Cove.

She smiled to herself. Had she really just described EC as safe? She used to think of the wealthy community she now called home as a lion’s den. But compared with being on a
talk show with Wendy Wallington, EC was safe. Wendy was scary, mostly because she was live in the flesh and asked questions that made Izzie feel nauseated. Izzie couldn’t wait to leave the studio. When those hot lights and all those cameras were on her, all she could think was,
What would happen if I puked on television?

Some things had been easy to gush about, Izzie realized as she ditched the uncomfortable heels she seemed to wear for all Monroe outings and slid back into her reliable woven flip-flops. She loved her slightly fussy aunt, Connor was adorable, and she and Hayden were as tight as a pair of leggings. Even Mira and her over-the-top, high-society ways were growing to be amusing. The Monroes had given her a home when she had none, put Grams in an incredible nursing home, and given Izzie all the stuff a fifteen-year-old girl could possibly want (laptop and iPhone) and some of the stuff she didn’t (a closet full of way-too-frilly dresses). But when Wendy had asked how she felt about Uncle Bill, or Bill, or Dad (exactly what was she supposed to call him now, anyway?), Izzie had no choice but to lie. Of course she hadn’t forgiven the man she was suddenly supposed to call Daddy from keeping a secret this big! But she couldn’t say that to Wendy. Thank God the senator’s newly appointed image consultant trained her how to answer dicey questions.

Callista Foster was sitting across from Izzie in the limo, her BlackBerry and laptop never far from her fingertips. “I
think you all did super!” she gushed. “Wendy lapped up everything you guys said. I told you the Q-and-A prep work would help, didn’t I?” She nudged Hayden, who was sitting next to her, for an answer.

Hayden winked at Izzie. “The fake Q-and-A was a
super
idea.” Aunt Maureen glared at him.

The Monroes’ new PR guru, a twenty-five-year-old juggernaut who had reshaped the world’s opinion of onetime pop bad girl Lyla Lowry was now on board Team Monroe. Callista was incredibly cool, except for one annoying habit. She used the word
super
way too much.

“Okay, maybe I’m selling it a bit,” Callista admitted. She pushed her long reddish-blond hair behind her ears and adjusted the tortoiseshell glasses that covered her sky-blue eyes. “This story is a hard sell, but the more we plug away at your side of the story, the more people will get to know the truth just like Wendy did. I just know they’re going to love you as much as they did before.” She gave an encouraging smile.

“Wendy was very complimentary,” Aunt Maureen said. “And she went pretty easy on you, Bill, considering how upset she was when she first learned what you’d been hiding from Isabelle.”

“At least she didn’t run me over with a Mack truck,” Bill said grimly. Izzie thought his hair got more gray with each passing article about the scandal.

“Kissing butt is a miserable job,” Callista agreed. “I hate making you tell this story over and over till it sticks, but in today’s media-hungry world, this is what we have to do.” Callista smiled. “Now we can take a breather and let all your goodwill sink in. Even if Oprah’s OWN network begs me to put you in one of their specials, I’ll say no.” She bit her lip. “Okay, no one says no to Oprah, but…”

Izzie might hate doing press, but she and Mira liked working with Callista. She talked to them before booking appearances, and even when they groaned about interviews, she didn’t get ticked off. Instead, she took the time to listen to what was bothering them, like a friend would. Callista even gave them advice when their problems had nothing to do with press at all. She was the perfect buffer between them and Bill.

Callista’s BlackBerry pinged. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “Okay, I take back the part about getting a breather.” Mira, Izzie, and Hayden groaned. “This is the last thing, I promise! The
North Carolina Monthly
wants to come by tomorrow at three-thirty to take pictures of you guys playing flag football in the backyard.”

Mira groaned the loudest, letting her displeasure for contact sports be known.

“Mira, I know you can throw a pigskin.” Callista stopped herself, looking at Mira in her Elie Tahari dress and peep-toe pumps. “Okay, we’ll have Hayden show you how.” Connor
snorted. “One more thing,” she added as she continued scrolling through her messages. She glanced at Bill, who had barely said a word since he got in the car. “I pitched the morning shows the idea of coming to your house to see you throw a barbecue for Izzie’s community center. It was a long shot, which is why I never said anything, but I just got an e-mail from a producer at
Good Morning America
. They went for it. ABC wants to tape the segment this Saturday.”

“Seriously?” Izzie couldn’t help being surprised.

Callista nodded. “Why not make you guys look good and get a plug for your community center at the same time? You said it could use some TLC, right?”

“Absolutely.” She couldn’t believe Callista remembered how much Harborside’s community center meant to her. The thought of the center going under because of a lack of funding—which was the rumor, even after all the money she’d helped raise at Emerald Prep’s recent fall festival—made Izzie sick to her stomach.

“I love the idea of helping Izzie’s community center, but that’s three days away.” Aunt Maureen fidgeted slightly. “That doesn’t give me much time to hire caterers and a waitstaff and get more seating for the yard and…”

“Don’t panic.” Callista’s short pink nails flew across the BlackBerry keys. “I have people who can take care of every detail. You won’t have to do a thing, Maureen.”

Bill chuckled. “I’m not sure what panics my wife
more: that this party is happening in two days or that you’re leaving her completely out of the planning.”

“Want to shop for outfits for the family?” Callista suggested. She was speaking Aunt Maureen’s language now. “How do you guys feel about matching shirts?”

Connor looked up from his Nintendo DS. “Cool! Can they be red like Iron Man?”

“Uh, I don’t know, C. I think we would feel too matchy,” said Hayden.

“Callista, if you think we need matching shirts, we’ll wear matching shirts,” Bill told her. “You are Yoda till I get a new campaign manager in here to boss us all around.”

Izzie knew he was joking, but his comment wasn’t funny. His last campaign manager, Lucas Hale, had blackmailed her and was the reason why Bill had covered up his paternity in the first place. Just thinking about Lucas made her queasy. Wendy made her nauseated. Seeing her own picture in the paper all the time made her ill, too. Maybe what she needed right now was lunch. She was starving.

“I am not being caught dead in matching shirts,” Mira declared, surprising. Izzie couldn’t imagine Mira in anything other than high-end designer clothing, like the fitted beige dress she had on now. “I get enough grief at school without having videos on YouTube of me looking like one of the Von Trapp kids.”

“Do people even know who the Von Trapps are?” Hayden wondered aloud. “Not everyone was as annoyingly obsessed with
The Sound of Music
as you were.” Hayden was the only one in the family who had regained his sense of humor after everything that had happened. He had even made peace with their dad. One golf outing together and the two were already back on good terms. Izzie couldn’t imagine forgiving someone that easily. But then again, Bill hadn’t lied to Hayden about being his father.

Mira’s voice reached a feverish shrill when Hayden started singing “Do-Re-Mi.”

“Okay, we’ll forget about the matching shirts,” Aunt Maureen said to keep the peace. “Is anyone up for a celebratory lunch?” Mira’s mom pulled out her BlackBerry and began scrolling through restaurants in the surrounding area. “That seafood place we’ve been dying to try, Wildfish, is right near here.” Her eyes met Izzie’s. “What do you say? We haven’t had a decent meal out together as a family since…” She trailed off.

Since we all found out Bill lied
, Izzie thought.

“Don’t you guys want to act like a family again?” Aunt Maureen pressed. She was met with more silence. Mira appeared to be examining a chip in her nails, and Izzie stared at her shoes. “We need to stop ignoring each other when there isn’t a camera around to capture every sound bite. We
can’t fix things unless we sit down and talk, and maybe a restaurant is just the neutral territory we need.” Aunt Maureen sounded so desperate, Izzie felt bad.

“I’m with your mother,” Bill agreed. “If Callista wouldn’t mind, we could drop her off first.” Callista nodded. His face was pensive. “There is so much I want to say—”

“I have to study for my Spanish midterm,” Izzie interrupted. “I don’t want my being out of school for a talk show taping to affect my grades.” She could feel the anger bubbling up inside her again. She might have liked being able to skip school for the day, but she was
not
sitting at a table and making small talk with Bill. It was hard enough being in the same car.

“I was great at Spanish,” Bill said, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “I could help you when we get home later.
Podemos trabajar en su tarea juntos.
”

“
No, gracias. Que puedo hacer yo mismo la tarea. Estoy bien
,” Izzie said, hoping that proved she could handle studying on her own.

“Very good,” Bill said softly. He turned to Mira. “Pea, what about you?”

“Please don’t call me that,” she said quietly, playing with her Pandora bracelet.

“Mira”—her mom sounded exasperated—“that’s been your nickname since birth.”

“I have a landscape scene I have to finish for my painting
class since I was out today, too.” Mira’s eyes met Izzie’s. Maybe their dad was ready to make peace, but they weren’t.