“Baby!” His mother threw her arms around his neck. She looked beautiful in a dark blue dress, a string of pearls around her neck, and a smile as welcoming as the sun.
Emery mouthed, Baby? with an amused smile.
Dean couldn’t suppress his smile. There was something about being doted on by his mother that always made him want to go back in time, to the years before his father had taken over his grandfather’s medical practice and become a prick. Not for the first time, or the hundredth, he wondered why she put up with him. Granted, they never seemed to fight when he was around, and he’d seen her give his father looks that had, on occasion, kept his sharp comments at bay. Their whole relationship confused him, but he’d decided a long time ago, it wasn’t his place to worry about their life choices. So he did what he could to make sure Jett’s feelings didn’t make her life any worse.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you look dashing,” his mother said, straightening his tie. “And you matched your tie to your gorgeous date’s beautiful necklace. Doesn’t that tell us something special?” She turned her attention to Emery, whose eyes sparkled like she’d already decided she liked his mother. “If you haven’t guessed, I’m Dean’s sugar mama.”
His mother laughed a little loud and throaty, the laugh he’d heard all his life. And it made him laugh, too.
“Mom, please.” Dean shook his head. “Emery, this is my mother, Sherry. Mom, this is Emery Andrews.”
“Emery…?” His mother hugged her. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. But your name is familiar.” Her eyes widened and she glanced at Dean. “Emery, from Virginia? The one you were chatting with over Easter?”
“Yes,” Emery said. “Sorry we stole Dean away to meet my brothers on FaceTime. They can be pretty demanding.”
“Oh, honey, are you kidding? I’ve never seen him smile so much.” She touched Dean’s cheek. “Until tonight. Sweetheart, why don’t you go say hello to your father.” She put her arm around Emery and said, “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get to know each other.”
Dean knew his mother was making an effort to shield Emery from his father, which meant his father must be in prime form tonight. He opened his mouth to say he’d rather go with them, but his mother said, “I promise I’ll bring her back,” and guided Emery away.
Emery glanced over her shoulder, smiling so brightly he knew she’d be just fine without him.
Dean followed them into the ballroom, which was decked out in shades of gold and accented with black and white. There were enough designer suits and diamonds in the place to open a store. He lifted a flute of champagne from a passing tray and watched Emery and his mother sipping the same. His mother held Emery’s arm like they were old friends, and knowing the two of them, they probably already felt like they were.
He took a long pull of his drink and scanned the crowd for his father. The familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach hit at the same second his gaze landed on the man his mother had so wisely guided Emery away from.
He glanced across the room, where Emery and his mother were now talking with his ex, Diana. Fucking hell. He hadn’t thought about her being here. He should have warned Emery. Could tonight get any more awkward? Diana looked…well…like Diana. Prim and proper in a blue and white striped dress. Her dark hair was twisted on the top of her head in a complicated knot that had probably cost a fortune and taken several hours to get just right. She was a beautiful woman, and she’d make a different man a good wife, planning every minute of their lives to perfection, tossing out yes, honeys, laughing, and building up her man’s ego at every opportunity. She’d been groomed to be a doctor’s wife, which was probably why she and Dean were not well suited for each other.
As he watched Diana, he wondered how he’d ever let their relationship go on for so long. They were compatible friends at best. Dean had gone out with her at the request of his father, and she was eager to please, always available, and she had filled a gap in his life. Going out with her was easier than hanging out in bars trying to meet women, or hooking up with random tourists.
Emery said something that made the three of them laugh, and she touched Diana’s arm. Diana covered her mouth, her laughing eyes turned in his direction. Dean shifted his gaze to his father again, feeling as though he were caught between a lion and a spider web. His father looked regal in his dark pinstripe suit with a matching pocket square and tie. Dean didn’t have to look to know the buttons on his father’s shirt were mother-of-pearl, and his cuff links were twenty-four-karat gold with sapphires or yellow diamonds surrounded by enough high-quality diamonds to feed a family of four for a month.
Dean guzzled his drink and set the empty glass on a table. He brushed a hand down one of the three non-designer dress shirts he owned, trying to talk himself into walking over and saying hello. His father was speaking with his business partners, Carl Longhorn—Diana’s father—Prescott LaRue, and Tim Macalbee.
Four of the sharpest minds in medicine. His father’s voice trampled through his mind, and his gut twisted. He turned away, reminding himself they only needed to make an appearance. He searched the room for another glass of champagne and spotted Emery and his mother heading his way. Thankfully, without Diana. They were both smiling, and Emery wasn’t good at faking a damn thing. Maybe she hadn’t made the connection between him and Diana yet.
Emery looked graceful and somehow also fierce as their eyes connected.
He reached for her. “Everything okay, doll?”
His father’s cologne infiltrated his senses seconds before he felt his heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder and noticed the familiar straightening of his mother’s spine, the narrowing of her eyes, and the silent Behave yourself, Douglas she cast toward his father before being swept away by a group of women.
Emery’s gaze moved from him to his father, and her body stiffened. Dean looked at his father, whose eyes were filled with malevolence. He instinctively tightened his grip on Emery.
EMERY COULDN’T BREATHE as she stared into the cold eyes of Rose’s son and tried to make sense of his hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Son,” the man said, shifting his eyes deliberately away from Emery and pinning them on Dean with an accusatory slant.
Shivers crawled up Emery’s spine. Son? Her mind scrambled back to her visit with Rose, and the pieces began falling into place like dirt filling a hole. And my eldest, the son you met. The angry one. He buried himself in work at the expense of his own family.
She gripped Dean’s side, remembering the weeks after they’d met, when he’d told her about how, years earlier, when he’d been drowning emotionally as a trauma nurse, his grandmother had convinced him to leave the medical field and follow his heart.
She tried to find some semblance of balance in her mind, tried to imagine Rose going against her own son’s wishes. The thing was, she could imagine that, but the realization sparked an unexpected softening inside her toward the man who was looking at her like he wanted to say something hateful.
“Dad,” Dean said stoically, shifting his body as if he were doing his best to form a barrier between his father and Emery. “This is my girlfriend, Emery Andrews.”
His father’s lips tipped up in a terse smile. “The yoga girl?”
Dean bristled. His eyes narrowed, and his chest expanded. Emery was still processing that Mr. Stick Up His Ass was Dean’s father. She bit back the verbal lashing she wanted to hurl at him, and when Dean opened his mouth to say something, Emery squeezed his hand and gave a barely discernible shake of her head. She knew Dean would stand up for her, but she didn’t want to be the cause of a scene.
“Yoga back-care specialist. Yes,” she said proudly, and extended her hand in greeting.
His father looked down at her hand so long she didn’t think he was going to shake it.
Dean’s glare told of his disapproval, and in the next second, his father lifted his drink in a feigned toast and his lips curved up in a wry smile as he shook her hand.
“It’s a pleasure
to meet you, Emery.”
There wasn’t enough alcohol on the planet to ease this situation. Luckily, an announcement came over the loudspeaker for the guests to find their tables, and Dean swept her away from the Big Bad Wolf.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you anywhere near him,” he said as he guided her toward their table.
“I’m fine,” she said, although she was not fine. Hearing about his father was one thing, but experiencing him in person? She was barely holding her tongue, despite the initial softening she’d felt. The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped repeatedly as he visually tracked his father up to the podium.
Dean had enough worries tonight. He didn’t need to be put in a position to stick up for her, or feel as though he was to blame for the way his father had treated her. She reached up and cupped his jaw, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I’m here for you, not for your father.”
“I still shouldn’t have exposed you to him.”
They took their seats, and Emery caught sight of his mother heading toward their table. “I didn’t realize Rose was your grandmother,” she said quietly. “She was my first client at LOCAL. Is she here?”
“My grandmother?” A smile lifted his lips. “She and my father don’t get along. She hasn’t attended these dinners for quite some time. But my aunt Patty is with her tonight. She took her out for a nice dinner.”
The tightening in her chest eased. She was glad Rose hadn’t witnessed what had just happened. “I love Rose, and her friends Magdeline and Arlin. I met your father the first time I went to see her, but of course I had no idea he was your father.” She explained what had transpired between them.
“I’m going to murder him,” Dean said between gritted teeth.
“No, you’re not. Rose said he wasn’t always like this, that he buried his emotions in work after your grandfather died. I kind of feel bad for him. Not enough to think the way he treated me, or the things he says to you, are okay but enough to make me hold my tongue. Besides, he’s your father, Dean, and you don’t need to add my big mouth to the list of trouble between you two.”
His father tapped the microphone, and a hush fell over the room. Tension rolled off Dean like the winter wind, cold and insistent, as his mother slid into the seat beside Emery and whispered, “Did my husband behave himself?”
“He was fine,” Emery lied, wondering why such a lovely woman would put up with a man like him. There was no sense in upsetting her. The evening would be over soon enough.
Dean’s father’s authoritative voice brought all eyes forward, as he thanked everyone for attending and talked proudly about his father, Douglas Masters Sr., and his father’s reasons for establishing the Pediatric Neurology Foundation. He went on to detail the strides that have taken place in the field and how proud he was to carry on in his father’s footsteps by having taken over his pediatric neurosurgery practice. He spoke eloquently, injecting humor amid the technical details of the collaborative center that was the heart of the foundation. As Emery listened to him describe how the foundation served pediatric patients through advocacy, education, research, and support initiatives, she understood just how important the foundation was, and in turn, how vital his father’s medical prowess had been for the industry.
It became clear that both the pride and irritation in Dean’s eyes were well earned, and the more his father spoke, the more she realized just how much pressure he was probably under. It didn’t make his actions or his attitude forgivable, but it gave her a little better understanding of the man behind them.
Emery reached over and squeezed Dean’s hand.
He draped an arm around her shoulder and scooted his chair closer. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, making the ordeal with his father worth every uncomfortable second.
After his father’s speech and a round of applause that shook the ballroom, his father made his way toward their table, stopping at least a dozen times to shake the hands of appreciative people along the way. Emery watched him with interest. He was unassumingly charming, kissing the cheeks of women and patting the backs of men, as if they were all his closest friends. A stab of hurt slid through her. If he had greeted her with that smile, things would be very different right now.
When he arrived at the table and took his seat, the easygoing air he’d carried only seconds earlier disappeared with a weary exhalation.
It had to be exhausting carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Didn’t he realize he had a family who could help him find some relief and happiness amid the pressure? Something as easy to share as a smile like he gave the others would go a long way for Dean and probably Jett and Doug, too. If only she could convince him to allow her to show him how to relax. But it would be a cold day in hell before that man reached out to a yoga girl.
His piercing blue eyes moved slowly around the table, lingering on Dean for so long, Emery found herself holding her breath.
Some sort of silent, stressful message passed between father and son before his father said, “Thank you both for attending tonight. It’s nice to see family here.”
Dean nodded curtly, his fingers curling around Emery’s shoulder.
Thankfully, dinner was served quickly, and they ate while carrying on strained conversation about nothing of importance. The only saving grace were the stories Dean’s mother shared of when he was young and how much he enjoyed the beach, the water, and helping his grandmother in the gardens. Emery had wanted to tell her about her sessions with Rose, but she feared it might elicit another nasty comment from his father.
“Dean was always very precocious,” Sherry explained. “While Jett couldn’t be bothered with slowing down enough to read a book and Doug was too busy reading everything he could get his hands on to want anyone else to read to him, Dean’s favorite bedtime stories were ones his father told about his patients. I remember Douglas coming home exhausted and Dean, as a young boy, pleading for one more story. He would tell Dean one story after another, until they both fell asleep right there in Dean’s twin bed.” She squeezed her husband’s arm, smiling warmly.
“I can’t imagine it,” Emery said before she could catch herself. “I mean, Dean wanting to hear so many stories.”
Dean and his father exchanged another glance she couldn’t read, but oh, how she could feel this one. It was markedly different from the tension that had been hovering around them like buzzards. This was warm, and it brought a smile to both of them, but those smiles disappeared just as quickly as they’d come, taking a piece of Emery’s heart with them.
“When the boys were teenagers, they’d drive me crazy, playing catch out back in the dark.” Sherry smiled at Dean’s father and said, “Remember when the boys would toss you a baseball mitt the minute you came in the door and bug you until you finally put down your work and threw the ball with them? Dean must have been twelve? Thirteen?”
His father wiped his mouth and set the linen napkin on the table. “That was a long time ago, when, like most young boys, Dean still saw me through starry eyes.”
Emery made a split-second decision to try her hardest to rise above the hurt she’d felt from his earlier dismissal and make the best of it. All she needed was common ground, and having worked in a physician’s office, she felt she had that.
“I enjoyed your speech,” she said to his father, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “You mentioned several neurological disorders that I’ve had some experience dealing with. When I worked for the yoga back-care practice in Virginia, I worked with patients who suffered from many different types of ailments. With specialized yoga plans and meditation techniques, we saw physiological and psychological improvements in patients who suffered from several neurological diseases, like epilepsy, stroke, multiple sclerosis, even Alzheimer’s. I realize you’re personally not a fan of yoga, but does your practice work hand in hand with any yoga professionals as complementary therapy to your patients’ medical treatments?”
His gaze flicked between her and Dean.
“That would be like putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. It might soothe the patient’s anxiety temporarily, but there is no replacement for modern medicine.”
“Obviously I’m not implying that you forgo medical treatment for your patients,” she said more forcefully than she meant to, but what the hell? Did he really believe medicine was the only answer to everything?
Dean pushed to his feet and took Emery’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to dance with my date.” He lifted Emery to her feet and quickly guided her away from the table.
“Dean!” she whispered. “I was trying to make some progress with him.”
His arms circled her waist, and the moment his hard chest pressed against her, the tension in her body eased.
“You mean well, doll, but you won’t win. He’s a man of science. He relates to statistics, facts, and documented research.”
“There have been studies—”
Dean pressed his lips to hers, kissing her slowly and tenderly, and just when she tried to pull away for a breath, he deepened the kiss. She came away a little dizzy, and warm all over.
“He’s arrogant, sweetheart. You think you’re having a rational conversation, but in his mind he knows more than anyone in the entire room. You’re not going to get through to him, and you’ll only get frustrated by trying.”
She sighed. “I just wanted to find some common ground. I hate that I’m causing more trouble between you two. And even though I hate that he just dismisses everything I stand for, which is wrong on so many levels, I wasn’t going to be confrontational. I just feel like, as a doctor, he should want to try everything possible for his patients. I was hoping if we could connect on some level things would be easier.”
“I adore you even more for trying, but I don’t want him to ruin this evening. Not when you look so beautiful and smell so sexy.”
His hand slid to the base of her spine, the other threaded into her hair. The familiar possessive and sensual hold was enough to melt some of her resolve. She rested her cheek on his chest and said, “Okay, but I still can’t believe Rose is his mother. She’s so nice. He should put her on a pedestal. It’s like he’s so busy keeping up this facade of who he wants people to see that he’s lost sight of the people who matter most.”
Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2) Page 24