“Yes, there’s a café on the next floor down.” The hostess makes it sound like that’s our best bet.
I would agree if my mother’s fire breath wasn’t directed down my throat.
“Café? I’m not eating at a café.” My mom’s face contorts into some sort of disgusting image.
“Bea,” Dylan says, standing a foot away from me, “no tables?”
I push back my ego. “Not for two hours. But we’re going down to the café.”
My hand lands on my mom’s arm, and I step back. If she were half of a mother, she’d read my body language and the fact that I needed to run out of here.
“No, we are not. Hello, I’m Caroline, Bea’s mother. Who are you?” My mom barges in between the two of us, pushing her hand out in front of Dylan.
“Hi, ma’am. I’m Dylan McCain. I work with Bea at Deacon Advertising.” Dylan’s perfect white teeth shine and he shakes my mother’s hand with barely a swing of motion.
“So, you are the coworker she came to Chicago with?”
I watch my mom’s eyes roam over his body.
“That’s me.”
“I see why she was hiding you away.”
“Mom,” I sigh.
“Please, why don’t the two of you take my table?” He looks over to the hostess. “Would that be okay?”
She nods, but I absolutely am not accepting his invitation.
“Not unless you join us,” my mom says.
I close my eyes, wishing for some magic dust to make me invisible.
My eyes open.
Dylan’s staring directly at me. “No, ma’am, but thank you.”
She glances back at me, narrowing her eyes, and then links her arm through his. “Don’t worry about boring Bea. She’s just temperamental this evening.”
I inhale a deep breath, searching for peace. Dylan glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes swimming with apology.
At the table, my mom situates herself next to Dylan, and I sit across from him. It’s like choosing to sit in front of the Evil Queen or the Beast. Well, that’s not fair. Dylan isn’t a beast, but if I ignore his prince personality, it’s easier to stay away. Then, he smiles at me, and those dimples undo me every time. I guess I made the wrong decision by having him in my direct line of vision.
“Bea!” my mom exclaims, making a few heads turn our way. “Look at those dimples.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, staring into my menu to divert my own stomach from flipping.
“You must claim all the girls’ hearts with one look using those dime-size indents.”
“Not all,” he says.
I tip my menu down in shock.
My mom looks between the two of us and waves me off. “Bea has different tastes. She likes the high-power men who treat her like shit. Don’t you, dear?”
She’s not looking my way though. Actually, she’s only looking at Dylan and then the young waiter who has stopped at our table.
“Man, oh, man. I need a fan with all the hotness around me,” she says.
I slam my menu down on the table, and all their eyes peer over at me.
I look at the waiter’s name tag. “Mike, I’ll have a vodka tonic, extra lime, and the tilapia with roasted vegetables.”
He scribbles it down and nods.
“Bea, we should do courses.”
“I have an early morning, Mom,” I lie because this dinner will be excruciating at best.
“She’s such a bore, Dylan. Hence, the nickname.”
“The one you gave me.”
Dylan’s eyebrows rise up in the air at the animosity between us. He clears his throat. “Please, Mrs. Zanders, go ahead and order.”
“Ha, Mrs. Zanders. Not ever. I’m in between men right now, so you can call me Caroline only.”
She touches his arm, and my head falls back.
“Okay, sweetie.” She gives the waiter her attention and points to the menu. “Unlike my daughter, I’m not going to drink like a middle-aged man. I’ll have a glass of chardonnay and the tuna, medium.” She closes her menu and hands it over the table.
Dylan goes ahead and orders, and we all sit there in silence for a second.
“So, Caroline, are you from Chicago?” Dylan asks an innocent question. An innocent question that will gain him more information about my life.
“Oh God, no. Bea was born here.” She looks at me with love, as though my birth was the happiest day of her life. More like a nightmare. “But I mostly live overseas, in Europe.”
“Nice. Whereabouts?”
Okay, Dylan, you can stop inquiring anytime now.
“France, London, but I’m leaving for Spain tomorrow.”
“You’re what?” I practically spit out my sip of water.
“I’m meeting a friend.” Her lips turn so high that her crow’s-feet show around her eyes.
“What about Dad?”
“Honey, there’s nothing I can do for your father.”
My breathing halts, and my voice locks in my throat. As I concentrate on taking deep breaths, a fury burns through me. I’ve taken her shit and her insults and never wanting to be around, but this? She can’t even be here for me.
“What about me?” I wish I could take back my words once they leave my mouth because it makes me sound whiny and childish.
“Sweetie, you can handle yourself.” She looks over to Dylan. “Sometimes, she can be needy.”
Dylan says nothing, his eyes solely on mine. “You okay, Bea?” he asks.
“She’s good,” my mom assures him, patting my clenched hands around the edge of the table.
I should have known she wouldn’t notice my white knuckles.
“Always is,” she adds.
“Always has to be,” I correct her.
“Come on, Bea. Your father doesn’t want me here.”
My nose begins to tingle, my eyes burn, and then panic hits me because I’m on the verge of crying.
“Excuse me.” I stand up, tossing my napkin on the table.
Dylan moves to stand, but I’m up and out, searching for the restroom sign before he has a chance to do a gentlemanly act.
My footsteps rush toward a serenity absent of my mother. She brings out the evil in me, but there’s still a dying need buried so deep that wants her love, her approval, her heart. If only she’d give it to me.
There’s only one person who’s ever been able to calm me down when it comes to my mom, so I pull my phone out and dial Piper.
It goes right to voice mail.
“Hey, Pipe. Call me when you get a chance.” My voice breaks at the end, and I hope I won’t make her nervous of my well-being.
After a few rants in front of the mirror and more deep breaths, I escape the confines of safety and go back to the warpath of my mother.
But not before I find our waiter walking by.
“Listen, Mike, I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you get me out of here in half an hour.”
He smiles and nods. “Done.” He abandons the table he was about to approach and moves back to the kitchen.
As my dad always says, money can buy you anything.
As if my night couldn’t get worse, when I return to the table, my seat is occupied. I’d recognize that molded hair anywhere—Austin. He’s shaking Dylan’s hand in the exact moment I find him, and my heart sinks to my stomach. My feet freeze in the middle of the restaurant with servers sauntering around me with full trays. The tears I just fought come back in a flood, and I quickly realize there’s no way I can keep all this from Dylan. He’s about to find out every secret from my past.
As though a spotlight is on me, Dylan’s vision finds me standing there, motionless, and he stands, deserting his own napkin on the table. When he steps forward, Austin turns around with concern in his eyes, and I see my mom’s smiling lips. I shake my head and step back.
“Bea,” Dylan calls out.
But I hightail it out of the restaurant.
I know he’s coming, I know he’ll want answers, I know h
e’ll want to fix me, so I continue to run, and soon, I’m outside in the warm and muggy summer night of Chicago.
I’m huffing for a breath of air when I reach the river.
“Bea.” Dylan’s own voice sounds breathless as he approaches me.
“Please don’t.” I hold my hand up in the air, sitting on a nearby bench.
“No. I’m not going to sit here and not find out what’s wrong.”
He sits down next to me on the opposite side of the bench, keeping his distance. Thank goodness.
“What do you want to know then?” I ask him with annoyance sharp in my voice. “You want to know how I’m never good enough for her? That my dad rarely acknowledged me? Or that my mom carried me around like an extra piece of luggage from husband to husband? Better yet, Prince Charming, you want me to tell you how the years I was dumped on my grandmother’s doorstep were the best I had, only to find her dead one morning, awakening my nightmare of a life all over again?” I look away, unable to see the pitiful sad eyes looking at my life. “Jesus, Dylan, stop.”
I stand up, walking to the edge of the river, but the click of his heels follows.
“I’m just trying to figure it all out.”
His hands land on my shoulders, and as much as I want to twist out of his hold to show my independence, to show my dignity, to show my confidence, I can’t. I can’t put on that facade right now.
“I had a messed up childhood, that’s all. I’m no different than the majority of the world.”
“You are different,” he whispers.
I huff, “People have had it much worse than me.”
“I only care about you.”
I spin around on my heels, already regretting my decision, but the softness of his voice pulls at me every damn time. “I’m unfixable. I’m unable to truly love and trust someone. I tried, Dylan, and it didn’t work.”
His green eyes peer down at me, and his lips slowly creep up. “Not with me you didn’t.”
I break from his warm hold, unable to believe we could be more than what we are, which brings a question to mind. “What are we, Dylan? Coworkers? Fuck buddies?”
“I have my own baggage. I’m not going to lie about that, but maybe—”
There’s absolutely no way I can hear him say the words I know are about to come out of his mouth.
“We can’t.”
“But—”
“No. Let’s just forget tonight, okay?” I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Look, we’ve wasted a whole day, and we don’t have anything for Nike. Didn’t you say you had an idea at the park?” I smack on the usual smile I’ve mastered over the years.
“Don’t do this.” Dylan’s head shakes slowly, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Just let this be, okay?” I could fall down to my knees and beg him at this point because I cannot dig up the graves of my childhood in this moment, especially to a man I’m becoming more intrigued with each passing day.
He nods, inhaling another deep breath. “All right.” He holds his hand out for me. “Let’s go up to the room.”
“First, I have to say good night to my mom.” I accept his hand, and we start walking toward the hotel.
“I asked her to leave—her and whoever that Austin guy was.”
We stop, and I stand there, staring at him. Damn, he really is Prince Charming. Well, Prince Charming mixed with the Beast, being all protective.
“You did?” The tears well up in my eyes again because he knew what I needed without me saying anything.
“Well, your mom wanted Austin to go after you, but I couldn’t let that happen.” Again, a slow smile raises the corners of his mouth.
“Thank you.” I step forward, lifting on my tiptoes, and I give him a kiss on the cheek.
He covers the spot with his hand, his smile growing. “Never thought of you as a sweet one.”
“Hey, I have some sweet mixed in with my spice.”
He stares at me for a beat too long, making it slightly uncomfortable.
“You’re not the person you portray.” He links his fingers with mine and leads me toward the hotel.
I don’t refute his assumption because it’s nice for someone to think of me as something other than a bitch.
Dylan
WE WALK INTO THE LOBBY, and Bea hasn’t pulled away from me. I expected her to release my hand when we came in contact with spectators. I’ve noticed it’s her usual behavior. Public affection isn’t her thing. To others, we appear like a couple, and I wish I wasn’t enjoying it.
Tonight’s the first time I’ve thought about the idea of us as more than a hook-up. Have I wanted to fix her? Yes. Be a friend? Yes.
But to knowingly go back into a relationship, let alone with someone who despises commitment? No. The act of changing someone’s beliefs on love sounds exhausting to me, but Bea’s embedding herself into my heart with each day.
When I saw Bea so broken when we arrived in Chicago, a sense of protectiveness over her erupted within me. No one should grow up with the life she endured.
“Oh, look.” She points to where a bride and groom are dancing in the middle of a ballroom with their family and friends circled around them. “A wedding.” The two words purr out of her, as though she’s a die-hard romantic.
We stand outside the doors, watching the groom brush a few tears from his bride’s happy face. They share a sweet kiss and an even sweeter embrace before they face their loved ones, hands joined in unity. A little tug pulls on my heart because I envisioned Ava as someone I could marry. It was a thought in the future. That’s me—the romantic shit that gets stepped on over and over again, like a spider that won’t die. When will I learn my lesson and keep my heart at the door.
“Let’s go,” she whispers into my ear but never waits for my answer.
Instead, she pulls me into the ballroom, situating us among the guests.
“What are we doing?” I lean close, not to alert the strangers around us.
“Relax. There’s, like, five hundred people here. No one will notice us.” She searches the room and points when she spots it. “Bar.”
She drags me away, and I go willingly because maybe a little alcohol will ease my anxiety about crashing someone’s wedding.
We reach the bar, and a line slowly develops after the traditional dances are finished. Bea doesn’t hesitate to make conversation with a few people, constantly waving to strangers who act like they know her. She’s wonderful at positioning herself into other people’s lives.
Her hand is still tucked into my larger one, and it feels nice not to have her fight us, but when she leans her head on my shoulder, it’s even nicer.
“You two are a sweet couple,” an elderly lady says from behind us, making the two of us turn.
“Thank you,” Bea says in the sweetest voice I’ve heard come out of her mouth. “I’m Bea, and this is my fiancé, Dylan.”
Bea and I shake hands with the bluish-tinted-haired older lady who has a tube of pink lipstick smeared across her lips.
Bea comes right back to my side, her shoulder brushing along mine.
“When is the date?” she asks. A little of her pink lipstick has landed on her white dentures.
Bea lovingly stares up at me and places her free hand on my stomach. “We haven’t picked one yet.”
“Oh, well, don’t take too long. You don’t want that one to sneak away.”
Bea looks back up to me. “I won’t.” She locks her arms around my waist, as though I’m only hers. “There’s no escaping for him.”
The lady shakes her head. “You are darling. I meant, he shouldn’t wait that long. Otherwise, he’ll lose you.”
A wide smile spreads across Bea’s lips, and if I was really looking, I’d say her eyes watered from the compliment.
I quickly throw my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me, so I can kiss the top of her head. “No worries, ma’am. She’ll be officially off the market soon.”
The lady’s eyes light up. “Marge,
darling. The name is Marge.” The DJ in the corner starts playing a slow song. “Oh, you two should go dance.” She shoos us out of line. “I need my whiskey.”
After we step out of line, mostly because she insisted, she wiggles between people before a younger gentleman hands her a drink.
“Here, Grandma.”
She stains his cheek, leaving an outline of pink lips.
He starts to rub it off, and Marge moves with a crowd of people to a table.
Bea stands there, her feet not moving at the edge of the dance floor.
“Will you?” I ask.
She looks up at me, confused.
“Dance with me?”
She shakes her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”
But I selfishly want her body close to mine, so I pull her toward the makeshift dance floor that’s packed edge-to-edge full of couples.
I guide us through the invited guests in order to mask our identities. Taking her small body against mine, I begin to show her the dance moves my mom taught me when I was younger. Surprisingly, I never really lost my rhythm.
“Where did you learn to dance?” She allows me to lead, which I know is hard and foreign for her.
“My mom. I was her dance partner at weddings,” I embarrassingly admit.
“Not your dad?”
“No, he’s the jokester of the party. I was always dragged to the dance floor with my mom. Tanner was usually messing around with Brad somewhere.”
She stares up at me, and I quickly circle us to make her stop thinking too hard about the younger version of myself.
“Tell me what you were like in high school.”
“Why don’t you just lean your head on my shoulder, and I’ll circle us around the floor?” I pull our linked hands close between us, and step into her more, so my thigh rests between her legs.
The only problem is, she doesn’t get detoured.
“Come on. You didn’t have trophies or ribbons in your room. There weren’t any pictures or signs of a high school boy. It was just those model cars and planes everywhere.”
I inhale a breath because I don’t want to delve into my childhood. My past is embarrassing, to say the least.
“I really don’t want to dive into this right now. Can’t we just enjoy the night?”
Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3) Page 13