Love Emerged (21 page)

“Late for what?” I grab my sundress, pulling it over my head, sans my bra. I can worry about that later.

“Your dad. Aren’t you going to see his doctor?”

The fact that he remembers erupts a ping of warmth in me. And guilt for what I’m about to do.

“His doctor is coming to his house, and I’m going over there. You don’t need to come.”

He zips up his pants and cocks his head in investigation of my antics. I swear, this guy sees through me, like I’m Saran Wrap.

A slow grin emerges on his face. “Yes, I do. If you don’t want me to actually meet him, I’ll wait outside, but I’d like to be there for you.” He breaks the distance between us. One of his hands molds to my hip, and the other goes to my face. “Are you trying to run?” he asks.

Why, yes. Yes, I am.

“No. It’s just that my dad is sick, and you know how uncomfortable that might be for him. Plus, we decided about seven hours ago that we’d take a shot at a relationship.”

Hurt ignites in his eyes. “Okay. I’ll wait here then.”

He backs off, my body chilling from the removal of his hands.

“It’s just—”

“It’s fine, Bea.”

His back is to me, so I can’t see his face to figure out what he’s thinking.

He grabs a T-shirt from his suitcase and pulls it over his head. “I’ll go for a run and work on the campaign.”

I fight the foreign internal feeling to run to him. Reassure him . . . of what? That this is a piece of cake for me? That I know these are minor speed bumps until our path to togetherness smooths out? I’m the last person to believe in a future. The first sight of bumps in the road, and I usually do a U-turn.

Instead of comforting him, I grab my purse and bra from the nightstand and backpedal toward the door. “I’ll be back quickly.”

He raises his hand in the air, giving me a wave good-bye. I have one foot out the door when he calls out, “Bea?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me if you need me.”

I look up, my gut twisting, to find him staring over at me.

“I will. Thanks.” I close the door to his sullen face.

Here, I’ve sulked about not being someone’s girl and Dylan’s at my doorstep with flowers filling one hand and his other extended out to me. Still, I can’t seem to place my hand in his.

Bea

I SMILE AT THE DOORMAN
with a thank-you nod as I breeze back into my dad’s condo building. As I walk up to the receptionist, my stomach knots from the uneasiness of walking out on Dylan and from seeing my father’s frail body again.

“Hi, Bea Zanders here to see Hugh Vitron,” I announce myself.

“Please go up.” A sorrowful smile crosses the receptionist’s face, and she waves her hand toward the elevator.

I hug my purse closer to my body as that knot grows larger, and I make my way to the elevator.

Once inside the confines, the thought that I won’t be here much longer hits me. That I’ll leave my dying father to go back to Detroit.

The elevator doors open, and I ring the doorbell to the penthouse. Gretchen opens the door immediately, her eyes red and bloodshot.

“Hi,” I greet her.

She waves me in.

I hear voices in the living room, and I’m upset that I missed part of the doctor’s visit.

“Bea,” Gretchen whispers, “your grandmother, uncle, and cousin are here.”

Her hand grips my light jacket. I slide my arms out, and she moves to the closet to hang it up.

My grandmother
.

That knot grows into a giant yarn ball, like one that a normal American family would stop to see on their cross-country vacation. I haven’t seen her since I was a senior in high school, right after Austin took my virginity, and I was a mess. I escaped to my father’s just to gather myself before starting college. She befriended me that week, taking me shopping, out to lunches, spa days. I confided in her about what had happened with Austin, but she told me that I was a slut for allowing him to have sex with me. That I’d never gain another man’s respect.

“Hey, Gretchen.” My cousin, Xavier, walks into the foyer.

My feet still on the floor, like super glue.

“Bea.” He draws back, shocked to see me.

Obviously, no one told him that I was in town. Quickly, I wish I’d accepted Dylan’s offer to accompany me.

“Hey, X.”

He shakes his head and steps forward until his arms are wrapped around me. “It’s good to see you. We didn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

“Don’t worry. June called my mom, and I came in yesterday.”

Xavier might be the only cousin I’ve talked to more than a handful of times. He’s the closest to me and the most down-to-earth person in this highly affluent family. Still, he’s undeniably more like them than me, and I never forget that fact, no matter how nice he is.

“Come on.” He holds his arm out for me.

I slide my arm through, allowing him to lead me into the gut-wrenching volcanic room.

Just as I nonverbally predicted, when I step through the archway on Xavier’s arm, all their surprised faces peer up to me, except my father, whose shaky smile puts me slightly at ease.

“Look who I found,” Xavier says.

No one stands.

“Hi, darling,” my dad greets me.

I ignore everyone else, quickly calculating that there’s only one person who deserves my friendliness right now.

I move over to my dad, bending down to give him a kiss on his cheek. “Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thank you.” He’s lying. Anyone can see the line of pills in cases next to him on the table along with his sunken eyes, frail body, and the yellowish tint to even the whites of his eyes.

“Beatrice, you’ve grown up into a beautiful woman.” My grandmother stands, holding her arms out to me.

I walk into the grips of Satan and allow us both to act as though we have some sort of loving relationship. I’m not even sure why. There’s no one here who doesn’t know the truth.

“Hello,” I say, backing up from her before any villainousness wears off on me.

“Bea.” My uncle nods his head in a hello.

I do the same with a tight smile. “Uncle Len.”

I take the last open seat between Xavier and the arm of the couch.

“Has the doctor been here yet?” I try to whisper to my father.

“No, not yet,” my grandmother answers.

“So, Bea, where do you work now?” Uncle Len asks.

“Deacon Advertising,” I answer, wondering why he wants to make small talk.

“Oh, I heard they were thinking about moving out here,” he says.

I tilt my head, perplexed how he knows something so internal.

He must see my confusion. “There are a few floors open in the Tribune Tower. Some of your execs had a look a few weeks back.”

I forgot Uncle Len dabbles in real estate along with his responsibilities to Vitron’s.

“Oh.”

“Well, that’d be nice to have you here.” My grandmother’s sincerity doesn’t meet her eyes.

We both know she likes me farther than arms distance. I’ve just never figured out why.

My dad reaches his hand out and grips mine. “I’d like that,” says the dying man. The man willing to leave me.

I smile, sharing a raw emotion with my father—love.

We all sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and my leg starts bouncing. Xavier reaches over and holds it still, but the urge just buzzes through me, like I’m a coke addict waiting for her next fix.

“So, when is the doctor supposed to be here?” I ask my dad.

“He should be here any minute. Usually, he doesn’t make house calls,” my grandmother again speaks for my dad.

Annoyance gnaws at my throat, begging to allow me to unleash my voice. Instead, I quietly sit there.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” my grandmother asks, like stabbing a knife in my heart.

I don’t answer at first, too busy thinking about what Dylan is exactly and what he will be. For sure, I’ll self-destruct it. I mean, come on, I’m Bea Zanders, the pass-around.

All their faces are focused on me. My dad’s general curiosity, my uncle’s uncaring, Xavier’s indifference, and my grandmother’s smug face. The one I got seven years ago when she told me I was a slut who’d never secure a guy to take me seriously.

“I do,” the two words slip out of my mouth before I register they did.
Crap. Where did that come from?
I quickly force my lips to smile, so my face matches my words.

“You do? Who is he?” My dad sits up a little straighter.

If his smile wasn’t so full, I might have downplayed my relationship, even made it seem like it’s running its course. But I sit up a little straighter, too, showing how eager I am to share details of my life.

“Yes, do tell us,” my grandmother sneers.

I catch my dad narrow his eyes in her direction.

“I mean, I can’t wait to hear about him.” Her tone changes faster than a light switch.

I glance from her back to my dad. “His name is Dylan McCain. He’s a nice guy, truly talented in advertising.”

“So, you work together?”

I hear the question she really wants to ask, so I clarify, “We’re coworkers.” I make sure she knows he isn’t my boss.

“Can I meet him?” my dad asks.

A rush of fear runs rapid through my veins.

“Um . . . sure,” I say, knowing it will never happen.

“Is he in Chicago with you?” my grandmother asks, that smug look playing games that I might be lying about him, as if I’d make up a boyfriend.

“Yes.” There goes that damn slip of the tongue, as though I’m sticking it to her in some way by proving her wrong.

“Great. I’ll set up a dinner here tonight, and we can all meet him.” She digs into her oversize purse, revealing her phone a second later. “We’ll have it catered.” She’s already pressing buttons on her phone.

“Oh, um . . . let me check with him first.” I reach over Xavier, covering her phone with my hand.

She looks up at me, pursing her lips, that smugness appearing again. Hell, truthfully, it never even disappeared.

“You know what? He’ll be happy to join us, I’m sure.”

She tests me with those evil blue eyes, and I hold them, not backing down from her.

“Great. I’ll arrange it.” She stands up and walks away to make the phone call.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” My dad taps my hand a few times.

“Sorry, Bea, I’m leaving for California this afternoon,” Xavier says next to me.

I am upset that he won’t be there to help me with the family.

“That’s okay. Maybe next time.”

My uncle’s hands clapping shocks me. “Well, I’ll be here. Let me go call your aunt.”

Shit, I’m going to walk Dylan into a family reunion after I practically ran out on him this morning.
What the hell was I thinking?
Revenge on my grandmother’s satanic words from seven years ago—that’s what. I really need to grow up one of these days.

In the interim, I pull my phone out and hammer a text to Dylan.

Me: Hey, do you mind coming to a family dinner?

He doesn’t respond right away—or during the doctor’s visit or on my way back to the hotel. I half-wonder if he’ll be at the hotel when I return. A nightmare situation flicks to my mind.
What if I have to call some escort service or snatch a guy off the street?
Surely, I could pick up a guy at a bar, if I was desperate enough. But none of those guys are Dylan. I know, from one of his dimpled smiles, he’d win them over as fast as he did me.

What did I just say? Did he win me over?
Yeah, he did.
I sigh with a calmness I haven’t felt until this moment.

In truth, I know he did—if only I could trust enough to allow him in.

I’m stepping out of the taxi when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Dylan: I’d love to.

I feel the cheesy cheek-heightened smile plaster onto my face as I read his text. This man pulls emotions I never knew existed out of me.

Me: Great. Meet me in the lobby at five.

Dylan: I’ll be the dashing gentleman waiting.

Me: You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.

Dylan: You want to have some fun before then? ;)

Me: Nope. We cannot be late.

Dylan: I’m fast, promise.

Me: Well then, as long as you get off.

Dylan: I meant, you. I can get you off faster than any other guy.

Me: Hmm . . . we’ll have to test that theory.

Dylan: I’m in my room.

Me: Another time.

Dylan: LOL . . . okay, okay, see you at five.

Me: :)