by Robyn Grady
They looked at trucks, action figures, miniature drums. Bailey drifted toward a nearby girls’ section while Mateo kept searching. After a few more minutes, satisfied, he called and gestured toward a shelf.
Bailey hurried over from a jewelry stand and picked up the pack. “A builder’s kit, suitable for eighteen months to three years,” she said. With a plastic hammer, automatic wrench, an “electric” drill that buzzed when you pressed a red button. “But Reece is only twelve months.”
“Believe me, he’ll grow into it quickly.”
She quizzed Mateo’s eyes and smiled.
“You would have liked this when you were young?”
“More than anything, I wanted to be a builder.”
“And you ended up becoming a doctor?”
“Ernesto wanted me to make the most of my grades.”
She smiled knowingly. “But there’s still a part of you that wants to hammer and saw and create.”
He rolled that thought over and admitted, “I suppose there is.” Although he hadn’t thought about it in decades. He straightened his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be a hit with Reece with this.”
At the counter, Mateo pulled out his wallet but Bailey held up a hand. “I have money enough for this.”
He wanted to argue but finally put his wallet away while she extracted some French currency. He hadn’t known she’d exchanged any cash. But given her backpacker history, of course she’d be well up to speed on such things.
The lady behind the counter insisted on gift wrapping. Mateo was checking his watch again as they headed for the exit when a large well-dressed man materialized directly in front of them. With a stony expression, he studied Bailey who, looking uncertain, slid a foot back. Mateo wasn’t uncertain. He was annoyed. They had a jet to catch.
Before Mateo had a chance to speak up, the man addressed Bailey in French.
“I am a security officer for the store. Please empty your pockets.”
Bailey clung to his arm. “What’s he saying?”
Mateo stepped in front of Bailey and demanded of the officer, “What’s this about?”
“I have reason to suspect your wife has something in her pocket for which she did not pay.”
Bailey’s hushed voice came from behind. “Why is he upset, Mateo?”
He looked over his shoulder. “He thinks you’ve shoplifted.”
Her eyes rounded. “That’s crazy.”
Yes. It was.
And yet he couldn’t help but wonder why a security officer from a well reputed store should stop them if there was no basis to the accusation.
Stepping beside her again, Mateo assessed her knee-length coat. “He wants you to empty your pockets.”
“What on earth does he think I stole?”
“The quickest way to end this, Bailey, is show him the contents of your pockets.”
If she had nothing to hide, she would have nothing to fear and, doing his job or not, he would then demand an apology from this man. If, of course, the security guard was right…
As shoppers swirled around them and a toddler, trying a mini slide, squealed close by, Bailey reluctantly dragged something shiny from her right pocket then held out her hand, palm up. The officer preened his moustache before leaning in to take a better look. Mateo didn’t need to. He knew what Bailey had hidden in her pocket.
The officer angled his head and frowned. “What is this?”
Sheepish, Bailey found Mateo’s eyes. “You were right. The clasp broke when I was looking through a display. It fell in with some necklaces. I put it in my pocket and was going to have it fixed, first thing, when we got home.”
Mateo let out a lungful of air. Her charm bracelet. She was lucky she hadn’t lost it. He knew how much it meant to her. He should have made her listen.
Mateo explained the situation to the officer who accepted the story with an apology before allowing them to be on their way.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said as they walked out onto the pavement. “It could have slipped off without me knowing.” She cringed. “I hate to think what my father would say.”
“He wouldn’t be happy.”
“I’m used to that. But you don’t need to be upset.”
He didn’t reply.
As they cabbed it back to the suite, Mateo mulled over the incident. What really bothered him was that for a moment he’d been prepared to think the worst of Bailey—again. But it had been a misunderstanding, something similar to when he’d jumped to conclusions the second she’d confirmed she’d taken that money from Mama. But that hiccup was long behind them. Bailey wasn’t dishonest. Wasn’t manipulative.
He stole a glance at her profile as she watched the Parisian streets flash by in her borrowed designer clothes, perhaps thinking of her visit to the Champs-Elysees, and confirmed she wasn’t that type. She couldn’t be.
He couldn’t feel this deeply about someone who was nothing better than a fraud.
Or, more correctly, he couldn’t make that mistake again.
They packed, checked out and boarded the jet with time to spare. Bailey felt as if she were grieving for a friend as she gazed out the window, bid goodbye to France and the jet blasted off. She felt as if she were leaving home, leaving her family—Nichole and the children at the orphanage.
Mateo had said they would visit again, and she was over the moon about that. But now, more than before, she also needed to know what would happen to “them” when they arrived back in Australia.
As the jet climbed higher and clouds began to interfere with the view of the receding ground below, she considered hedging around the subject, trying to get an answer without sounding needy or obnoxious by asking directly. Because she hadn’t the money to find her own place and wanted to pay that loan back as quickly as she could, she’d agreed to live at Mateo’s home…his mansion.
But as close as she believed they’d become—as close as she’d come to acknowledging feelings she’d been determined to stay away from less than three weeks ago—she had to know where they were in their…well, their relationship. She couldn’t land in Sydney and simply walk through his front door as if she owned the place. She needed to know what the next step was, and the best way was to ask straight out.
She set her magazine aside. “You know, with the wage I’ll make cleaning, I should have that loan paid back in a couple of weeks.”
He looked across, smiled. “That’s great.”
When he looked back at his obstetrician periodical, she folded her hands firmly in her lap. Since that incident at the toy store, he’d seemed distracted. A silly part of her wondered if, for just a second, he might have believed the security buffoon’s accusation. But she hadn’t pilfered a thing in her life. He might have set out thinking she’d shammed his grandmother but surely, after the week they’d spent together, he knew her by now. She’d even begun to think that he might be falling a little in love with her. That left her feeling dizzy and, perhaps, even a bit hopeful.
She shook herself. This mooning wasn’t getting her any closer to finding out what came next. If either of them truly wanted a next.
She drummed four fingertips on the magazine page. “I thought I should start shopping for a place to live before then.”
He froze then lowered the periodical and studied her eyes. “Do you want to find a place of your own?”
Bailey swallowed a fluttery breath. What kind of question was that? What kind of reply did she give? Honest, she supposed.
“Depends. Do you want me to?”
His gaze dropped to her hands and again she realized how naked she felt without that bracelet on her wrist. She was squirming a little when he announced, “I thought you might like to stay with me.”
Her entire body lit with a blush. She coughed out a laugh, shrugged, tried to find words while attempting to sort out if she really did want to “live with a man” so soon after her pseudo engagement catastrophe, even if that man was the uber attractive, thoroughly irresi
stible, Mateo Celeca.
Bowing her head, she let out a shuddery breath. This was a thousand times different from Italy. She and Mateo had a connection, something she wanted to pursue…if he did.
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.”
Fourteen
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 shr
ugged. “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.