“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.
Bastian squeezed gently. “I wouldn’t have missed any of this, for anything.”
“Even if you knew how it would turn out?”
“There’ve been many times I could have walked away.” He kissed her forehead. “I didn’t have to jump in and fish you out. But I’m glad I did. No matter what, I’m glad for this chance--to love you.”
“My mother wants to have lunch tomorrow.” Kaylee closed her eyes.
Bastian laughed. “Should I say ‘congratulations’ or ‘my condolences?’”
Kaylee sniggered. “Probably the latter.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if the opportunity comes up. She’d be easier to talk to if she’d just keep her mouth shut once in a while. Yeah, like that’ll happen.” Kaylee shrugged and shifted her legs. Her toes were tangled in the sheet, but a swift kick freed them. Kaylee closed her eyes and saw her mother’s displeased face, the very same the woman had been wearing when Kaylee had asked her to leave.
“Do you want me to come with you or stay here?” he asked quietly.
“Probably stay. After all, you wouldn’t want her to get out her Taser again.”
“Hell, no. That woman is dangerous. It’s hard to believe you’re even remotely related to her, let alone her daughter.” He felt his body tense in memory of his last encounter with Denna Renard.
“Besides,” Kaylee began, “she’ll want to discuss why I have a man here, and I don’t think your virgin ears are up for the choice words I’d have to say to her.”
Bastian kissed her arm. “It’s nice to know you’re only thinking of protecting my innocence. After all, I certainly wouldn’t want it compromised by your use of dirty language.”
“I’ve been meaning to change my evil ways.” Kaylee laughed.
“Don’t bother. I like your ways, woman.” Bastian nuzzled Kaylee’s face, pushing her head to the side, finding her earlobe and trilling his tongue across, forcing a muted gasp from Kaylee’s lips. “Now why don’t you be an evil little girl and corrupt me.”
Kaylee kissed his neck. “Gladly.”
Chapter Twelve
Kaylee sat in her car just outside of Martin’s Café, where she’d pulled down the visor mirror. She frowned at the pallor of her reflection. Still, she looked healthy enough, considering. A half-hearted grin played upon her lips. She both lamented and rejoiced in the illusory appearance. Since she looked well, her mother would never know she was sick. Then again, it seemed wrong somehow to be dying and look normal.
Kaylee brushed one last stray lock into place. Kaylee started to open her door, but a van whizzed past, and she yanked the door shut, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the road had cleared, and she tentatively stepped out, smoothing her skirt as she stood. Striding into the I, she slid her keys into her purse.
“Will there be anyone joining you?” a tall maitre’d asked, tapping a menu against one of his palms.
“No.” Kaylee shook her head and pointed at her mother’s table. “My party is already here.” Without waiting for a response, she brushed past and sat across from Denna.
“I’m waiting for an explanation about yesterday. This isn’t like you,” Denna snapped as she unfurled a cloth napkin from around her silverware. Waiters constantly bustled past, forcing Denna to keep her voice to a seething whisper.
“What? ‘No good morning’? No ‘I’ve missed you’?” Kaylee, too, unwrapped her utensils and placed the napkin in her lap. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled Kaylee’s senses. She picked up the menu and hid behind it, avoiding her mother’s glare. Despite the skillful dodge, Kaylee felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
“Good morning,” Denna snapped. “And you know I’ve missed you. That goes without saying.”
“Lots of good choices.” Kaylee scanned the sandwiches. “And what exactly am I supposed to be explaining, Mother?”
“What was that man doing at your house yesterday?”
“What hasn’t he been doing at my house? Let’s see.” Kaylee set the menu on the table and stared vacantly ahead as though trying to think. “Eating? Done that. Sleeping? Nope, done that. Having sex with me?” Kaylee touched her cheek in artificial shock. “Good gracious, he’s done that, too.” She watched her mother’s jaw drop, laughed, and held up her hands in surrender. “You know, I guess he’s been living there. With me.”
“Stop that this instant.” Denna snarled, glancing to see if anyone else had heard. No one looked at them. “You’re making a scene.”
Kaylee flushed, and her fingers curled to fists. “Then stop treating me like I’m five and don’t have a clue.”
“You’re acting like you’re five. How else am I supposed to treat you?” Denna grabbed her purse and pulled out a compact to check her hair.
Shaking her head, Kaylee threw the napkin on the table and stood. She pushed the chair in and grabbed her purse. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
Sitting at the dining room table, Bastian toyed with the newspaper, only half-reading the headlines and barely glancing at the sports section. Instead, he paid more attention to his watch and the passing of time in Kaylee’s absence. He slouched and propped his feet on the chair across from him, trying to get comfortable, when he heard the front door open and slam shut. A few minutes later, Kaylee stalked past him, so quickly her skirt billowed in her wake. He smelled the expensive floral perfume, but it seemed a forced pleasure, meant to express her financial status. The perfume seemed so out of place on Kaylee that Bastian knew she had chosen it as a concession to her mother.
Instead of stopping to talk, Kaylee continued to the fridge, yanked the door open, and pulled out a can of soda. Fingers trembling, she smacked a glass with ice on the counter, opened the can, and began to pour.
“Hi to you, too,” he said slowly, willing her to look at him. He dropped his feet to the floor and sat up.
“Yeah,” Kaylee muttered, taking a gulp from the glass.
“How was lunch?” Bastian neatly folded the paper.
“I didn’t eat,” she managed through clenched teeth. Kaylee tapped the glass on the counter and looked out the window.
I take it your mom didn’t exactly approve of me.” Bastian frowned, folding his arms across his chest.
“It doesn’t matter.” Sighing exasperatedly, Kaylee shook her head. She touched her neck, trying to massage away the tension.
“That’s bullshit. Your whole body is shaking, and you’re so mad you could spit fire.” Bastian crossed to her, and his hand joined hers. He pressed against her back, trying to support her, but she was rigid, unyielding.
“I said it doesn’t matter.” Kaylee’s hand dropped. She stepped away and glared at him. She filled the rest of the glass and downed it in one long draught.
“You’re going to have to repeat that a thousand times to believe it. Want to talk about it?” Bastian leaned on the counter next to her.
“No. I said it doesn’t matter, and I meant it. Now lay off.” Kaylee slammed the glass on the counter and savagely jerked a stray strand of hair from her eyes and brushed it behind her ear.
“I can do that, Kaylee. But I don’t think that’s going to help.” Bastian straightened and nodded. He walked out, and, as he passed through the living room, he grabbed the painting he’d completed of Kaylee. He then headed out the front door, yanked the keys out of his pockets, and got into his truck. What were the odds that the engine would turn over and get him the hell out of Dodge?
The odds were in his favor. The truck revved to life. He peered through the windshield at a sky swollen with clouds freighted with new snow. As he backed out of the driveway, he half-expected Kaylee to appear in the doorway and try to stop him from driving away. But the heavy wooden door remained as closed as Kaylee’s heart, at least for the present. He was surprised she hadn’t told him to go jump in the lake, but then again, that had, on so
me small level, been what had gotten him into this mess.
Bastian muttered and drove toward the art studio in a silence that the thunder of a rock beat couldn’t have filled, had he felt like turning on the radio. Instead, he sporadically tapped the steering wheel and tried not to think.
At the studio, he grabbed the painting and entered through the front door. To Bastian’s relief, the desk where Rosie normally sat was unmanned, but the chair pushed away from the desk and the papers scattered across her Dayplanner suggested she’d return. Still, he took advantage of the opportunity and slipped past the desk, down the hallway, and into the main area of the studio, where he quickly hung a painting.
“Wow. That’s incredible,” a voice said from behind him. “Kaylee said you were talented.”
Bastian turned to find Rosie standing in the doorway. She wore a pink dress and a black blazer. Her long hair had extensions woven throughout, and the room suddenly became thick with the scent of her perfume.
“Kaylee said I made her look sad.” Bastian scrutinized the portrait.
“No, it’s not sadness.” Rosie stood beside him. “Actually, you just painted all the things she keeps locked away. Has she...never mind. It’s not my place.” Rosie shook her head and started to walk away.
Bastian caught her arm. “Has she told me she’s sick? Yeah. That’s more than she’s done for Attila--I mean her mother.” Bastian caught her arm.
“I guess you’ve met her, then. She’s rather intrigued with you.” She pushed her black blazer sleeves higher up on her arm.
“Like hell she is. The woman is ready to spit nails. She’s all but come at me with a crucifix and holy water, and that’s after she realized the Taser was only temporary.” Bastian perched atop a stool and felt the cushion give in to his weight.
“She used her Taser on you?” Rosie’s eyes widened. The beads in her weave clicked together as she shook her head.
Bastian half-laughed. “Yeah. I’ve been staying at Kaylee’s, and she thought I had broken in. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel like having a Q & A session before she used the damned thing.” Bastian touched the side where the Taser had struck.
“She never does.” Rosie stared at the portrait. “She’s like a bull in a china shop-–break things first and sweep up later. Don’t take it too personally.”
“Come again? There aren’t too many ways you can take ‘Don’t mess with my daughter’ impersonally.”
“It’s really not about you.” She noticed that Bastian had opened his mouth to argue, but she raised her hand, effectively silencing him. “It wouldn’t matter who Kaylee was dating. She’d be running background checks, DMV reports, and credit ratings on them, too.”
“Credit ratings?” Bastian rested his hands on his hips and glared at her.
“Gotcha.” Rosie’s lips turned upward, forming a wicked grin.
“So you’re telling me that if Bill Gates were to ask Kaylee out on a date, she’d have a problem with him, too?”
“Yup. Since he’s married, I don’t think adultery is too high on Mrs. Renard’s positive list. But even if he wasn’t, she’d find something deplorable about him.” Rosie curled her fingers inward and examined her nails. Considering the length, she must had one hell of a manicure. Bastian laughed, a hollow chortle that matched the mirthless expression on his face.
“Okay, what about Richard Gere?”
Rosie arched an eyebrow. “The man is too pretty.”
“Ewan McGregor?” Bastian paced around the room.
“God save us.” Lifting her nose in the air, Rosie gave her best impression of Denna before she slipped her hand into her blazer pocket, pulled out an Emory board, and filed her long, painted nails.
“The woman is too damned picky,” he growled. Bastian stopped in front of one of the windows. As he stared at the traffic below, a few tentative snowflakes fell here and there.
“My point.” Rosie leveled her Emory board at him. “Saint Francis of Assisi could come back from the dead with a herald of angels, and Kaylee wouldn’t be going anywhere with him. After all, who can trust dead men?”
“Who in the hell made her God?” Bastian leaned against the windowsill, half sitting on it.
“Bastian, people aren’t like art. In art, there are certain truths that even colors can’t deny--unless you’re lookin’ at an Andy Warhol painting, and then you’d better get some aspirin and blink awhile until things look right. But that’s art. It relies on light and shadow, and the rules are set. People don’t work that way. I’ve known Mrs. Renard since before Kaylee twinkled into her tummy. The thing is, Kaylee comes by keepin’ secrets honestly. Her mother has her share, and they color the way she treats Kaylee. The sad thing is, keeping quiet isn’t doing a damned bit of good for either of them.”
“That woman has a reason for being as cold as ice to her own daughter?” Bastian hefted himself from the sill and strode around the room.
“She’s not cold.” Rosie stopped filing again and stared ahead vacantly, as though composing her thoughts.
“You’re gonna tell me she has a good reason for living so far away from Kaylee?”
Rosie slipped the board into her pocket. “There are reasons for everything.”
“Yeah, well, she has more than enough reasons to want me out of Kaylee’s life.” He nodded and looked away.
“So it would seem. But are her reasons for wanting you to leave stronger than your reasons for wanting to stay?” Rosie looked back at the painting.
Bastian closed his eyes and, without trying, could see Kaylee’s face. He knew the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, and the harder line of her frown. He knew the gentle slope of her shoulders and the curve of her waist. He knew the swell of her hip, and the feel of his body inside hers. The only thing he didn’t know was how to let her go.
“You can keep silent, but I’m willing to bet you know the answer.” She paused for a moment and looked back at the picture. “I think the painting is crooked.” Rosie stepped toward the doorway.
Bastian frowned. “I think you’re right.” He reached to straighten it and heard the insistent approach of a woman in heels tapping across the stone floor. Half expecting it to be Kaylee, both Bastian and Rosie turned to find Denna Renard standing in the doorway. She stared at the drawing and then looked at Rosie, but her gaze avoided Bastian.
“Have you seen Kaylee? She held her handbag like a dangling weight.
“Not this morning,” Rosie said, edging toward the door.
“I left her at the house after your brunch date,” Bastian offered quietly, stepping back and double-checking to see whether the painting still hung crooked, which it did. He’d never been very good at straightening things.
“You’d do well to leave permanently,” Denna snapped.
“Really?” Bastian tried again to straighten it. “Funny, I wasn’t the one who made her mad enough to fly out of a restaurant before she’d even eaten.”
“This is none of your concern.” Denna tapped her heel on the floor angrily.
“Wrong.” Bastian seethed, stepping away from the painting. “Kaylee is my concern--whether you like it or not.”
“I think I can take care of my daughter without your help.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Bastian laughed hollowly. “You don’t even know your daughter. You live outside the states and fly in every so often to kiss her on the cheek. That makes you an expert on Kaylee? I don’t think so.”
“Get out.” Denna pointed to the door.
“You didn’t hire me, so I’ll be damned if you’re going to fire me.” Bastian looked back at the painting, which appeared to be hanging more level now.
“I do as I please.” She kept pointing at the door.
“Maybe you do most of the time. Maybe your money says you can treat other people any way you want, but not this time. I’ll leave whenever Kaylee tells me to. Not a minute sooner. So quit wasting my time and your breath. I’ve got a supply order to get ready for Rosie.” Bast
ian walked to the desk and pulled out a pad and pen, scribbling whatever came to mind so he didn’t have to look at the woman standing before him.
“We’ll just see about this,” she huffed and stalked down the hallway. The front bell jingled, signaling to both Rosie and Bastian that Denna had vacated the premises.
“That went well,” Rosie said, giving him a two-thumbs-up gesture.
Bastian shook his head. “Compared to what? Hiroshima?”
“Nobody’s ever stood up to her like that,” Rosie said and headed back to her desk.
“What a shocker,” Bastian muttered as he glanced around the room. In the corner by his desk, he saw a large sketchpad. Although he didn’t have any chalks, he did have a pencil. That, he mused while turning to a blank sheet, was enough to create magic.
* * *
Bastian’s vision began to blur. He rubbed his eyes and glanced from the sketch of Kaylee’s profile to his watch and found it was already 10:30. The day had slipped past as he worked. Peering out the studio windows, he saw a row of evenly spaced lamps glowing against the darkness, and he longed to hold Kaylee.
“That’s quite enough for today,” he said, tossing the pencil on the desk and getting up. For just a split second, he wondered if he should stay elsewhere tonight, but he figured the storm must have passed, even the one created by Denna Renard.
All the way home, Bastian drove on auto-pilot. He pulled into the drive, switched off the engine, and walked up to Kaylee’s door. He thought about knocking but instead twisted the handle and found, as always, that it opened at his touch. Slipping inside, he quietly walked through the foyer and into the living room, where Kaylee slept on the couch. One hand propped her head up, and the other rested on her abdomen. Her chest rose and fell peacefully with each breath, and her face looked calm. Her lips parted slightly, and Bastian heard the faintest whisper escape. He walked over to the couch and knelt before her, leaning close enough to hear whatever she dreamed about. He would have, had she repeated it.
He gently kissed her cheek near her earlobe.
“Bastian?” she whispered as her eyelids fluttered open.