Staring at the spot on the floor where the baby’s breath lay, Luke muttered, “Perhaps this secret admirer is in love with you.”
If Luke had not been in such a gloomy state, Rebecca would have laughed uproariously at his asinine comment. She sucked in a breath and bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing.
With deliberate seriousness, she replied, “Luke, this so-called secret admirer is most certainly not in love with me! How could he be? He has never even seen me.”
Luke regarded her as though she were insane. “You said that he’s been to three consecutive performances! How could he not have seen you?” He thundered, causing Rebecca to flinch.
Cautiously, unfamiliar with this explosive side of Luke, Rebecca explained, “He saw a character I was portraying. He saw the princess Pamina, not the woman Rebecca. You are the one who convinced me to remove all those layers of cosmetics and reveal my true self, don’t you remember? He has never been privy to that, whoever he is!”
A flicker of understanding temporarily illuminated Luke’s face, to be quickly replaced by a darkness that rivaled his previous explosiveness in its jarring intensity.
Tightly, Luke gritted, “Whoever he is, the man clearly has a scale-tipping wallet.”
Luke would have continued, but Rebecca interrupted furiously, “So what? Who cares how much money this lunatic has?”
“I don’t understand why you think he is crazy. Aren’t you women supposed to find such gestures romantic?”
Rebecca scowled fiercely, in her indignation feeling much of her strength resurge. Countering his foolish inquiry with a question of her own, she demanded, “Why would receiving flowers from a man whom I have never seen be romantic when I have you in my life?!”
“Never mind, Rebecca. I shouldn’t be quarreling with you right now. You need to get some more rest or you will relapse before sunset.”
Shaking her head wildly, irritated that he was about to dismiss her as though she were some sniffling child, Rebecca exclaimed, “I will decide if and when I need more rest. You are not going to stimulate my temper and then walk away!”
Completely ignoring her brewing outrage, Luke hurled himself off the sofa and began striding towards the door. Rebecca burned to follow him and stop him from leaving, but she had too much dignity.
With as much gentleness as he could muster in his current flaring temperament, Luke excused himself from the room. “Pardon me, Rebecca, but I stand by my earlier notion that you need your rest. I will come for you later when perhaps you’ll be ready to walk home.”
Scrunching a pillow in her fist, Rebecca seethed, “You shall do no such thing! I am perfectly capable of walking home on my own when I’m good and ready!”
No one was going to dictate orders to this daring twentieth century woman who traveled thousands of miles across the sea, rented her own apartment, and nabbed a leading role in an international musical production. She sat erect on the sofa, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.
Luke eyed her warily, now quite familiar with her tirades. “Do as you please, Rebecca. As for me, I’ve been traipsing across Vienna since the crack of dawn, and I find myself in need of refreshment. I’ll be having lunch now. Good day.”
With that curt good-bye, Luke shut the door firmly behind him, immediately longing to run back inside and take the maddening woman in his arms. Even suffering from dehydration and fever, Rebecca was stunningly beautiful. Her brief but powerful outburst had brought warm color back to her sickly cheeks, rendering her as radiant as she had been at the poolside in her royal blue maillot with water droplets glistening on her skin.
As he walked out into the peaceful Sunday afternoon, Luke felt like an utter buffoon. He had caused that entire scene when he should have been taking care of Rebecca. What had come over him? Admittedly, the sight of the flowers had injected him with a jealousy previously unknown to him. Even when Greta’s hulking fiancé had confronted him on the street, he did not feel as jealous. Dangerous as it might be, Luke had a sense of proprietorship over Rebecca, perhaps since she had gifted him with her virginity.
But it was more than that. Even if Rebecca had entertained a string of lovers before him, he would still be equally jealous. And he would still be equally poor. Luke reflected with a grimace that the real reason for his anger towards Rebecca had not stemmed merely from jealousy, but from a suffocating notion of inadequacy. Earlier in the day, when he had learned of Annabelle, for all intents and purposes Rebecca’s future adopted daughter, the wheels of failure had already begun turning in his head, and he knew he had nothing to offer. But to be faced so soon with the prospect of a wealthy competitor for Rebecca’s heart was more than he could handle.
Spying a tavern down the road, Luke headed in that direction. He was not much of a drinker, but certainly a few shots of whiskey with his lunch couldn’t hurt. He needed to calm his nerves and, for the time being, whiskey was the most accessible method to accomplish that feat.
Chapter Nineteen
That evening, Rebecca sat in her grandmother’s hotel room, rocking Annabelle in her lap. After Luke’s departure, she had passed several more hours in the dressing room, vainly hoping that he would come back and apologize for his inexplicably rude behavior. Finally, disgusted with herself for waiting, Rebecca had left the building and successfully walked back to her apartment without a remnant of nausea. The aspirin had worked wonders in reducing her body temperature to a normal level, and the fruit and water had revitalized her. Now, as she sat holding the drooling baby in her arms, she watched her grandmother prepare for an evening on the town.
Gloria Meadow was carefully selecting a bracelet and matching earrings from the few pieces of jewelry that she had brought from Michigan. Turning from the vanity to Rebecca, she queried, “Would rose quartz or mother-of-pearl look better with this ensemble?”
Rebecca studied her grandmother, elegantly draped in a heather green dress that whispered of autumn. Around her shoulders, she wore a taupe shawl that complemented the muted shade of her gown.
Thoughtfully, Rebecca replied, “The mother-of-pearl would look radiant.”
“Thank you. You’re right, darling! The rose quartz wouldn’t even match. I don’t know what I was thinking!” Gloria crooned, reminding Rebecca of a teenage girl attending a debutante ball and anticipating a dance with her first partner.
In fact, Gloria had recently celebrated her sixty-fourth birthday but, ever since arriving in Vienna, was miraculously flowing backwards in time. The name of that miracle was Christopher Graysen, with whom she was having dinner that evening.
Despite her low spirits, Rebecca grinned, delighted to see her grandmother so excited and actually doing something for herself. Most memories Rebecca had of Gloria were of her stirring a pot of stew, swabbing a skinned knee, or sewing a button. The woman deserved to be treated to dinner with a gentleman, and Rebecca could think of no finer one than Mr. Graysen. At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, as the women turned to each other, both knowing who the caller was.
“Have a wonderful time, Grandmother.” Rebecca said cheerily.
Gloria gave her a playful wink and opened the door to Mr. Graysen, dapper as ever in a silver suit and black necktie. Rebecca wondered where his bowtie was; perhaps on very special occasions he wore a necktie instead, she thought.
Gloria offered him a radiant smile and bid, “Good evening, Mr. Graysen.”
“Good evening to you, milady.” He bowed before her, sending Gloria into a fit of giggles. “A very good evening to you as well, Miss Meadow. Your niece is fortunate to have such a doting aunt.” Mr. Graysen called warmly to Rebecca who replied with a wave, unable to rise and greet him with the baby in her arms.
“Thank you, Mr. Graysen. Good evening.” Rebecca called gaily, reinvigorated by the elder folks’ enthusiasm.
Arm in arm, Gloria and Christopher departed the hotel room, leaving Rebecca feeling suddenly vacant. Alone in the room, Rebecca thought with hostility of her last encount
er with Luke and how coldly he had behaved. It disturbed her that the dynamics of their relationship could change so quickly. As she was wallowing in these dreary musings, a knock sounded at the door. Gloria’s white dinner gloves perched on the dresser.
Assuming that her grandmother had returned to collect them, Rebecca hollered, “Come in, Grandmother. The door is open.”
Instead of Gloria, it was Luke who waltzed into the room, startling Rebecca as she immediately ceased rocking the chair and stared at him open-mouthed. “Luke,” She breathed, wondering how he had known she was there.
“Hello Rebecca.” He said awkwardly. “I was taking an evening stroll and ran into Mr. Graysen and your grandmother on the street. They told me that you were here watching Annabelle, so I thought I might keep you company.”
Rebecca remained stubbornly silent, still reeling from his abrupt departure earlier in the day. With giant blue eyes, Annabelle stared at Luke, making gurgling noises and exclaiming, “Hi!” Rebecca felt a surge of pride hearing the saccharine voice of her niece, who had begun to piece together small sentences, expressed mainly when she wanted something.
“How old is she?” Luke inquired, stroking the baby’s tiny, sticky hand.
“She will be one year later this month.” Rebecca answered coolly, not meeting his gaze. If he thought that he could simply sweep back into her good graces without an appropriate apology, then he was gravely mistaken.
Luke said casually, “I saw Ryan back at the apartment earlier. The poor fellow combed more square miles of Vienna than most coaches do in a month. But I assured him that you were fine, and he was relieved to hear it.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want him to fret over me.” Rebecca replied, clutching the baby closer to her bosom. Luke could stand there until infinity pretending that nothing had transpired, but she was not going to let him chip away at her brick wall without an apology.
“Rebecca, are you angry with me?”
Sarcastically, she replied, “Why in the world would I be angry at you?”
“There’s no need for that tone, Rebecca.”
“I shall adopt whatever tone I please, Luke! Forgive me for being cross that you left me wasting away on my sick bed this morning! All because of a bouquet of flowers from a stranger!” An imploring wail from the baby quickly snuffed out what had promised to be an impassioned rant, and Rebecca fell silent. “Now you have upset the baby.” She accused.
At her ironic comment, Luke exploded into mocking laughter, thundering between guffaws, “I made her cry?! Rebecca, you are a gem, my love.”
Peering at him through veiled eyes, Rebecca tended to the baby, grabbing the milk bottle and offering it to Annabelle, who drank for a moment then pushed it away. Misunderstood, the baby wailed even more loudly, scrunching her hands into little fists and flailing around in Rebecca’s arms.
“What does this child want?” Rebecca wondered aloud. Then, remembering the soothing rocking motion that she had stopped when Luke barged in, she cooed, “Oh, I think I know what baby wants.”
Luke observed Rebecca swaying back and forth with the now subdued child nestled in her arms. Rebecca was such a versatile woman, excelling as opera singer, maternal figure, even student swimmer, he marveled. For a fleeting moment, he imagined that she was holding their own baby, and that this bedroom was not in a hotel but in their countryside house. As quickly as the vision appeared in his mind, it faded away, leaving Luke with the same fears that had plagued him before.
“Rocking chairs always console babies.” Rebecca explained.
“Then Annabelle would love a transatlantic boat ride.” Luke quipped, earning a brief smile from Rebecca.
“Yes, I doubt she would suffer seasickness as I did. Would you like to hold her?” Rebecca asked, already positioning the baby for a transfer of arms.
Luke looked nervous for a moment, but then, perceiving the baby’s docile state and Rebecca’s trust in him, accepted the tender bundle. Cradling the baby against his hard-muscled chest, he felt her squirm a little, no doubt adjusting to the sharp change from Rebecca’s softness. To his surprise, the baby relaxed against him, letting out a fragile sounding sigh and allowing him to walk with her around the room.
“I’ve never held a baby before.” He admitted, trying to imitate the rocking motions that Rebecca had used to calm little Annabelle.
“Well you’re doing wonderfully. It looks like this is something you don’t need to be taught.” She graced him with a smile.
Looking down at the baby girl, Luke’s mind wandered again to the scattered flowers and the mysterious man from whom they originated.
In a faraway voice laced with unhidden contempt, he muttered, “I suppose you are on the hunt for a father for this precious babe.”
Mystified, Rebecca asked blankly, “What?”
“Ryan told me how you will be expected to adopt Annabelle at some point in the future. If you are to officially become her mother, then you shall need a husband.”
If Ryan had been present, Rebecca would have tackled him to the ground. How dare he convey something so intimate to Luke?
“My brother had no right to discuss that with you. Please don’t feel that I am trying to corner you into marriage and premature fatherhood. In fact, you are the one who sought me out in this hotel room, knowing that I was caring for the baby.”
Luke listened objectively, forced to acknowledge that she was right. How could he tell her that nothing in the world would please him more than being her husband, even if it did mean raising another couple’s child? It would be selfish to give her false hope, but it would be cowardly to run out again with no explanation. Battling with his conflicting concerns, Luke chose to be honest, even if it meant wounding his pride.
“Rebecca, don’t blame Ryan for confiding in me. Your brother is a comrade whom I like and respect. I came here knowing that the baby would be under your tutelage, and I’m glad I did. Interacting with you in Annabelle’s presence simply reaffirms the reality that you need to find a suitable, and financially solvent, father for her. Unfortunately, I am not that man.”
Rebecca regarded him contemptuously, disappointed by his apparent willingness to walk out of her life because of his own projection that she needed a wealthy spouse. She imagined that Luke deemed himself noble for stepping aside and allowing her freedom to locate such a partner. But he was forgetting several pertinent details: she was no longer a virgin, Annabelle’s adoption would be tarnished with the scandal of her parasitic relatives and, most importantly, she was in love. Though she had not dared to speak the words to Luke, she knew beyond reason that she loved him. Her heart pleaded with her to shower him with the sentiments, but her head would not listen. He had disappointed her, trying to push her aside as though they had shared a stolen kiss rather than an entire summer of bonding.
Making her way over to him with long strides, she held out her arms for him to hand over Annabelle. Wordlessly, he complied and gently placed the sweet, dimpled baby in her arms.
Placing the baby down on the bed for what Rebecca hoped would be the beginning of a long nap, she said icily, “You have made yourself abundantly clear and are free to go, Mr. Springwell.”
Inwardly, the frost in her demeanor morphed into kindling, and if he were to touch her now, all her concealed passion was likely to catch ablaze. He walked slowly to the door and lingered there, feeling her eyes penetrate his back, compelling him to reach for her as though he were hypnotized. Spinning around and locking eyes, he ran shamelessly to her, forcefully pressing her against him and drawing her into a desperate, melting kiss. Willing him to stay, she returned his passion with more vigor than she had ever known herself to possess, rubbing her lips against his until her mouth felt raw and abused.
On the bed, Annabelle stirred, erupting into a fit of tears, apparently not ready to go to sleep. Resentfully, Rebecca pulled away from Luke’s scalding embrace and turned reluctantly towards the bed. Mastering himself with difficulty and then reverting to his previous
feigned indifference, Luke walked to the door and opened it decisively this time.
As he walked out, Rebecca called after him, “I don’t need a wealthy man, Luke!” When she knew he was out of earshot, she added in a shaky whisper, “I need you.”
*****
Frustrated, Luke walked out into the obsidian night, the obscurity of the sky brushed with a sliver of moonlight. Shivering without a jacket, Luke felt sorely tempted to return to the tavern where he had dined that afternoon and order up a calming nightcap, but he resisted, roaming the streets aimlessly. When he passed his apartment building, he merely sneered and crossed to the other side of the street, determined to stay as far away as possible from that bittersweet place and all the memories it housed.
Like a drifter, Luke forged farther and farther away from his sentimentally charged dwelling, not caring if he walked until dawn. The more his familiar surroundings faded in the distance, the more Luke regretted his hasty actions. That last kiss had communicated unequivocally how passionate and sincere Rebecca’s feelings were for him, and her desperate assertion as he was leaving that she did not need a rich man made him feel like a prideful moron. Perhaps he did fixate too much on money, and she could be perfectly happy with him, as modest as their lifestyle might be.
In those brief moments at the hotel, he had felt that the three of them could truly form a family. Why had he run out on her again? In retrospect it seemed dangerously rash, perhaps killing her feelings for him. Turning around and walking resolutely towards the apartment building, he vowed to atone for his error the very next time he laid eyes on the beautiful Rebecca Meadow.
Chapter Twenty
For the next several days, Rebecca avoided her apartment building completely. She passed all of her time with Gloria and Annabelle at the hotel, recuperating from the most turbulent week she had ever endured. Ryan dropped by on just one occasion, and Rebecca scolded him for interfering in her affairs.
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