“Oh. Well, congratulations,” Brooke said. “I hear it’s always best to find out the guy’s a loser before you say ‘I do.’”
Amelia blinked. This was the first time she’d been congratulated for getting dumped. “I’ll get your water.”
“Thanks. I’ll wash my face, brush my teeth and put on my jammies.”
Amelia went downstairs to collect a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator.
The housekeeper appeared and shot her a wary look. “I’ll fix something for her, but I’m not taking it up to her room. The last time she was here, she threw a tray at me.”
“She’s not hungry,” Amelia said, wondering about the tray incident, but almost afraid to ask.
“She wasn’t hungry that time, either. Said she was on a hunger strike because her father wouldn’t buy a resort in Mexico for a boy she met on spring break. She said it would contribute in a positive way to the global economy. And you know she left her fiancé at the altar. Very nice young man, too. If you ask me, she’s a nutcase.”
“Wow,” Amelia said and gave a vague nod. She knew all about the way Brooke had left Walker Gordon at the altar because Amelia had worked with Trina, Walker’s new fiancée. She’d gotten the impression that neither Walker nor Trina held a grudge against Brooke. Both were just thankful to have found each other.
After being dumped herself, Amelia felt a lot of sympathy for Walker, but he didn’t seem at all unhappy with how things had turned out. She carried the bottles of water upstairs and entered Brooke’s suite to find the socialite sprawled on her bed with the remote in her hand. With all the residual make-up scrubbed from her face and dressed in a nightshirt, she looked like a young teenager surrounded by stuffed animals.
“Here you go,” Amelia said, handing Brooke one of the waters.
“Have a seat,” Brooke said, patting the bed. “E! is replaying the top fifty worst red carpet moments. We can mock all the stars.”
Amelia hesitated.
“Oh, come on,” Brooke said. “Think of it as educational. You never know when your photo will be snapped for a gossip magazine.”
Amelia tentatively sank onto the bed. “I’m pretty sure that’s not something I’ll have to worry about anytime soon.”
Brooke chugged her water. “Well, I do. That’s why I’ve been sent here to retirementville,” she said with a scowl. “A hundred other females on the beach in Rio went topless, but that cameraman had to find me. Had to put my picture on the front of that Spanish gossip magazine. You know it’s a slow day when they put my boobs on the front page.”
Brooke glanced at Amelia and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me I just offended your delicate sensibilities because I went topless on a beach in South America.”
Brooke lived in such a different world from hers that Amelia didn’t know how to respond. She chose the rational approach since she suspected Brooke might suffer from a shortage in that area. “A, I haven’t been to a topless beach. B, I’m not sure I would go topless because I burn like the dickens.”
“Dickens,” Brooke echoed and smiled. “I like that. Dickens.” She turned her attention back to the television. “Oh, look. Now there’s a role model for all women who have been dumped,” she said, pointing to the starlet on the screen. “I heard she got dumped by her boyfriend and started dating a male model within two weeks. And the lesson is?”
Amelia had no idea. “Date male models?”
“No. If you’ve been dumped, always do the next cute guy you meet. It reestablishes the natural order of the universe.”
Amelia opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of a suitable reply.
Brooke chugged both bottles of water and offered various platitudes until, like a little kid who needed a nap, she hugged an extra pillow against her and fell asleep.
Amelia collected the empty water bottles, turned off the television and quietly left the room. After she ditched the plastic bottles, Lillian’s voice stopped her.
“Good evening, Amelia.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Bellagio,” she responded, turning toward her temporary boss.
“Did Brooke cause trouble this afternoon?”
“No, ma’am. She didn’t eat anything, but I did get her to drink some water. She watched some television and fell asleep.”
Lillian sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do with her. She doesn’t seem to grasp the responsibilities of being a Bellagio. When she became engaged, we were hoping she would settle down, but that just wasn’t to be.”
“She’s very personable,” Amelia said, feeling the need, for some undetermined reason, to say something positive about Brooke.
“She didn’t insult you?” Lillian asked in surprise.
Amelia supposed she could have been insulted by the topless comment or the junior league statement, but she’d been too busy trying to remain neutral. “She was friendly. She invited me to watch television with her.”
“I’m sure that was enriching,” Lillian said in a dry tone. “If she were just a little more levelheaded and practical, like you, I don’t think she would get into so much trouble.” Lillian studied Amelia for a long moment. “Perhaps if you could spend some time with her. Mentor her—”
“Mentor?” Amelia echoed, her self-protective instincts raging. “I don’t think I would be a good person for that. I’m not sure I could teach her anything. Plus, mentoring suggests that the mentee actually wants to learn something from the mentor. On top of that, Brooke is much more worldly than I am.”
“But that’s part of the problem. She needs a different perspective. She needs to be with different people, sensible people.”
“You fit that bill,” Amelia said. “You’re her great-aunt. You’re the perfect person for that.”
“In other circumstances. But Brooke thinks I’m an irrelevant old bag.”
“After our first meeting, I don’t think she views me as particularly relevant, either.”
“I’ll give you a bonus,” Lillian said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll give you a bonus if you’ll help Brooke.”
The woman was desperate. Amelia suspected that Lillian Bellagio was rarely desperate. Amelia also understood her own limitations. “Mrs. Bellagio, as much as I would like to help you, I absolutely do not want the future of my career at Bellagio affected or determined by Brooke Tarantino. I would be horrified if she did something on my clock that upset you or the rest of her family.”
“How about if you just take her to lunch a couple of times, spend an hour or so with her a few afternoons? I won’t hold you responsible for anything she does,” Lillian promised. “This will just be part of your duties and I’ll make sure you have extra time off. There, that’s much better, isn’t it? We can discuss it more thoroughly in the morning. Enjoy your evening, dear.”
Amelia caught a wisp of Lillian’s Chanel Number 5 as the woman whirled away. As she slowly walked toward her own suite, Amelia couldn’t help feeling a big fat knot of dread in her stomach.
It was obvious that all the Bellagios knew that Brooke wasn’t just a ticking time bomb. She was a truckful of ticking time bombs, a caravan of trucks of ticking time bombs.
Maybe this gig down in the Florida Keys hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Amelia entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. On the dresser, a