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That was what you had, and if the man was brave and strong and tender and caring and…
“Alessandra?”
Alessandra whirled around and saw the general standing in the partly open doorway.
“I knocked several times, but—”
“Oh. Sorry. I, uh, I was just—just trying to get used to looking at myself with such short hair.”
John Hamilton Wilde smiled as he walked into the room.
“It’s lovely.”
“Well, at least letting it curl like this helps hide the bald spot.”
“The hair will grow back.” His smile widened. “Actually, this reminds me of the way you looked when you were little and you and your sister decided to give each other haircuts.”
“I don’t remember that.”
The general nodded. “You were six, I think, and Bianca was seven. Your mother wrote and told me about it. She sent me a photo—”
“It wasn’t Bianca and me,” Alessandra said. “You must be confusing us with your American daughters.”
“No. I don’t think I…” Her father sighed. “Perhaps I am.?
?
“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it, Father.”
“Alessandra. I know I wronged you, but I’m trying to make up for it. The past is the past. Can’t you put it behind us?”
He was right. Of course, he was right. Hadn’t she just been telling herself the same thing? The problem was, telling yourself something wasn’t the same as actually making it happen.
For instance, she kept telling herself to stop thinking about Tanner.
Great plan. The question was, how?
He was in her thoughts when she woke in the morning, in her thoughts when she went to bed at night. She reached for him in her sleep and when she dreamed, she dreamed of him. His kisses. His laugh. His touch. His determination to protect her and keep her safe even when she bitched and argued and gave him a difficult time…
“Alessandra?”
Her father’s voice was soft. She blinked, looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes.
“What’s wrong, daughter?”
“Nothing.” She flashed a bright smile. “I’m just, you know, I’m just still a little tired…” Her smile faded. “Are you sure he never called?”
The general’s mouth thinned.
“Are we back to that? No. The lieutenant never called.”
“When I was out of things. Unconscious. It’s possible he phoned and spoke with one of the nurses…”
“He did not. There was no reason for him to call. He knew you were in safe hands.”
“Or maybe he phoned my apartment in New York.”
“Alessandra. We’ve been over this before. I checked your voice mail when I flew to New York, remember? I offered to stop by at your place, collect your mail, retrieve your messages…”
