The Billionaire's Bedside Manner (12 page)

She took a breath and looked him in the eye. “Are you sure?”

He waited two full beats where Bailey could only hear her heart pounding in her ears. Then he leaned close, stroked her cheek and murmured against her lips.

“I'm sure.”

A
week later, Bailey sat at the meals table next to Mateo's chef-standard kitchen. She'd been struggling all morning with a question. A problem. Finally now she'd made up her mind.

She pushed her coffee cup away and announced, “I'm going to do it.”

Sitting alongside of her, Mateo shook out his Sunday paper, looked over and announced, “Fabulous.” Then he frowned and asked, “Do what?”

Bailey let her gaze roam the hedges and statues in her favorite of Mateo's gardens—the one that reminded her so much of their time in France—then she studied the bracelet, repaired and back on her wrist. Her stomach turned and she swallowed the lump formed in her throat.

“I'm going to see my father.”

The day after they'd returned, she'd gone back to work, cleaning for Natalie's firm; she'd decided to keep Reece's
gift until she and Mateo saw them all together. He'd put the rest of his vacation plans on hold and seemed content to play golf and catch up with local friends. He'd said that seeing as Mama hadn't expected him, she wouldn't be disappointed and that he'd visit her and Italy sometime soon. Every night they came together but, although the words almost escaped, she didn't bring up his suggestion that they would return to France one day. There were moments when she'd caught a distant, almost haunted look darkening his eyes. At those times she guessed his mind was back at the Chapelle, wondering how little Remy was doing, as she often thought about Clairdy. She wanted to talk about it but his demeanor at these quiet times told her not to. He might not admit it but he felt guilty about leaving that boy. She understood his reasons. She wondered some times if Mateo did.

What she owed for her return airfare had been paid back and to set all the records straight she spoke to Mama on the phone, admitting that she'd taken her money under false pretenses, that she'd never planned to return to Italy. To Bailey's surprise, Mama had said she'd guessed as much and understood. She might be a dear friend of Emilio's grandmother, but she had never been a big fan of that boy…not since Emilio had tried to fight her Mateo so many years earlier.

Mama had gone on to say that when his ring had returned in the mail, Emilio had spread word that his Australian fiancée had indeed run out on him. But he hadn't pined for long. Emilio was seeing another lady, this one a visitor from Wales. Mama said she was a nice young woman and she would keep an eye out for her too.

Now that her more recent past issues were ironed out, Bailey felt a need to at least try to make some kind of amends with her father. They hadn't spoken in over a year and she'd grown a great deal since then. Perhaps it was foolish hoping
but maybe he'd grown too. Whereas a couple of weeks ago, when she'd seen him on the street, she hadn't known if she were strong enough, now, this morning, in her heart she believed she could not only face her father, but if their meeting turned sour—if he still shunned and criticized her—she could do what was needed to go forward with her life.

She could forgive him and walk away.

Now the inquiring smile in Mateo's eyes dimmed and he scraped his chair to turn more toward her. “You want to go see your father now? This morning?”

When she nodded, he ran a hand through his hair, smiled and pushed his chair back. “In that case I'll get the car out.”

He got to his feet but, before he could head off, she caught his arm.

“Mateo, you don't have to come.”

His dark brows knitted. “Do you want me there?”

A spool of recent memories unwound…how Mateo had helped her with the money she'd owed Mama. How he'd given her a roof over her head, even when she'd insisted she didn't need one. The way he'd invited her into his life, through friends like Alex and Natalie and Nichole. The amazing time he'd shown her in France.

He'd trusted her enough to admit that he would give anything to ask his own father
why.
She'd realized that was precisely what she needed to ask too.

Decided, she pushed to her feet. “If you'd like to come, that would mean a lot.”

 

As they pulled up outside the familiar Sydney address, Bailey dug her toes into her shoes and told herself to get a grip. She wasn't a kid anymore. She was here not because she needed her father but because she
chose
to see him. If he turned her away…well, she'd deal with it. She'd been through
worse. And with Mateo standing alongside of her, she could face anything.

Mateo's strong, warm hand folded around hers.

“You'll be fine.”

She tilted her head at the front yard. A good part of the greenery lay hidden behind a massive brick and iron fence.

“I grew up playing on that lawn,” she said. “The summer after I got a bike for Christmas, my father built a track on the other side of that garage, complete with dirt jumps and dips. He said he'd take me to moto-X competitions, if I wanted.”

“Not your thing?”

“I turned seven that year and discovered my destiny. I was going to be either a Labradoodle breeder or a Russian circus fairy.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners at the same time his mouth slanted and some of the stress grabbing between her shoulder blades eased.

“I ditched after-school circus skills mid-third term,” she explained. “I still love poodle crosses though. Dad said he'd set me up with my own breeder's kennel when I was older.”

Mateo curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything will be fine.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you won't regret coming here today,” he said, then pushed open his door.

Together they walked up the path to the front door. Mateo stood back while she flexed her hands a few times then rang the bell. Her heartbeat galloping, she waited an interminable time, but the hardwood door she knew so well failed to open.

Feeling beads of perspiration break on her brow, she glanced across. Mateo cocked his chin at the door and, with a shaky hand, she thumbed the bell again. After several more
nothing-happening moments, she surrendered and threw up her hands.

“All that build-up and he's out.”

She pivoted on her heel, ready to leave, but Mateo only stood firm.

“It's Sunday morning,” he said, running a reassuring palm down her arm. “Give him a chance to put down the paper. Set his coffee cup on the sink.”

Listening to a kookaburra laugh from a nearby treetop, Bailey gathered her failing courage and faced that closed door again. A neighbor, trimming hedges, popped his head over the fence. Smiling, Mateo nodded at the curious gray-haired man. But Bailey only blew out a done-with-it sigh.

“If my father's in there, he's not coming out.”

After a few seconds, Mateo reluctantly agreed. They'd turned to leave when that heavy door cracked open. A man in a weekend checked shirt squinted at them through a shaft of steamy morning light. While Bailey's chest tightened, Damon Ross's eyes flared and his grasp on the doorjamb firmed as if his knees had given way.

“Bailey…?” His head angled as he took in more of her. “It is you, isn't it?”

She tried to swallow but her throat was suddenly desert dry. So, although it wobbled at the corners, she tried a smile instead.

“How are you, Dad?”

Stepping back, her father ran his gaze up and down again as if she might be an apparition come back to haunt him. But then his expression softened and the stern voice she'd come to know over these last years softened too. He even partway smiled when he said, “I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.”

She shrugged. “I didn't know if you wanted to see me.”

Her father moved forward, hesitated, and then reached his arms out. Bringing her in, he hugged his only daughter close
and for a bittersweet moment she was transported back to that day when they'd desperately needed each other. The day her mother had been laid to rest.

Bailey gave herself over to the feeling. This is how she'd dreamed this meeting would unwind. The smell of his aftershave, the warmth of his bristled cheek pressed to hers. As tears stung behind her eyes, she wanted to say how much she missed him but as he released her and edged back, she gathered herself. Hopefully, there would be plenty of time for that.

Damon Ross acknowledged the third person standing nearby. The older man drew back his shoulders and extended his hand.

“We haven't met.”

Mateo, several inches taller, took her father's hand. “Mateo Celeca.”

“Have you known my daughter long?”

“Only a few weeks.”

Her father's calculating lawyer's gaze took Mateo in before, obviously approving, he released another smile and waved them both inside.

“Are you from Sydney, Mateo?” Her father asked, escorting them through the foyer that wasn't a quarter as large as Mateo's.

“Originally from Italy.”

“The name, the complexion…” Damon Ross lobbed a knowing look over his shoulder. “I guessed Mediterranean.”

The aroma of coffee brewing led them to the kitchen. While the men made small talk, Bailey discovered the cups in the same cupboard and poured three coffees before they sat down in the adjoining meals area.

The table was stacked with journals and assorted papers relating to her father's work. The rest of the room looked clean. Almost too tidy. Didn't seem so long ago that her
mother's easel and paints had occupied that far corner, the one that offered the best natural light. Ann Ross had always kept a spare pair of slippers right there by the door. Of course, they were gone now. But her parents' wedding portrait still hung in the center of that feature wall. Sipping coffee, Bailey wondered whether their bedroom had changed. Whether her mother's clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe all these years later.

“You had a good time overseas?” Her father's dark-winged eyebrows arched as he lifted the cup to his pursed lips.

“Yes.” Bailey fought the urge to clear her throat. “Thank you. I did.”

“I'm glad.” Her father held his smile. “You must have been busy.”

A little nervous, she laughed. “Pretty much.”

“You enjoyed it then?” Damon Ross went on.

Her fingers tightened around the cup. He was pushing the point that he had advised her not to go abroad alone. Digging to see if, true to his prediction, anything had gone wrong.

“I'm glad I went,” she said, her smile verging on tight now. “I'm glad I'm back.”

Her father nodded, but his buoyant expression had slipped a touch, too.

“I wasn't sure what to think,” he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bailey saw Mateo roll back one shoulder a second before she replied. “About what?”

“About how you were doing,” her father expounded as if he were telling her B followed A. “Whether you were in any kind of trouble.”

“You didn't need to worry, Dad.”

Damon Ross laughed with little humor. “It's not as if I've never had to worry before.”

A retort, fast and hot, leapt up her throat but before she
could say a word, her father changed his tone…upbeat again.

“So,” he pushed his cup aside and threaded his fingers on the table, “did you find work while you were over there?”

“I did some waitressing.”

“Well, as long as it kept you out of trouble.”

Bailey's face burned. There was that word again. Or was he merely being inquiring, genuinely concerned, and she was being overly sensitive? Now that she was here, shouldn't she be the better person and let any slights, intended or otherwise, sail over her head? She was mature enough to handle this.

“How did you two meet?” her father asked Mateo while Bailey took a long sip of hot coffee.

Mateo replied, “Through a mutual friend.”

“Bailey's mother and I met at a church function.” Damon blinked several times then dropped his faraway gaze. “But that was a long time ago.”

“We recently returned from France,” Mateo chipped in, sharing a covert you'll-be-fine wink with her.

Her father's wistful smiled returned. “My wife and I visited Paris on our honeymoon. Ann was taken with the country scenery. She said she felt as if she'd stepped into a Monet.” His gaze wandered to his daughter and he sat back. “So, what are you doing with yourself nowadays?”

“I'm working,” she announced. “For a real estate firm.”

Mateo stepped in again. “Bailey and a friend of mine clicked. Natalie said Bailey had what her agency was looking for.” He caught her gaze. “Didn't she, darling?”

Bailey's heart lifted to her throat. Mateo had only ever addressed her by name and yet he'd chosen this moment to call her an endearment. A well-educated, respected professional in his field, Damon Ross was challenging his daughter and Mateo was defending her without causing waves, by letting
her father know she was his “darling” and insinuating she was selling properties rather than cleaning bathrooms.

She hoped the smile in her eyes told Mateo she appreciated his efforts. But honestly, she'd sooner he didn't intervene. Whatever came today, she needed to stand up for herself, not as a child standing toe to toe with a disapproving parent, but as the self-respecting adult she'd become, and without too much of her father's help.

“Bailey's going back to school,” Mateo was saying.

Her father looked half impressed. “Well, well. I said one day you'd regret dropping out.” While Bailey set her teeth, Damon Ross spoke again to Mateo. “My daughter didn't attain her high school diploma,” he said under his breath as if she hadn't learned to spell her own name.

Bailey studied that wedding portrait and, hands on the table's edge, pushed her chair out. She'd come here hoping—she'd wanted to make their father-daughter relationship work—but she was only hurting herself. Still, she wouldn't argue. Neither would she sit here a moment longer.