The Billionaire's Bedside Manner

by Robyn Grady

  “Perhaps we should stay here forever.”

  His stomach slowly twisted. Not because he disagreed but because as outlandish and flippant as her suggestion may be, he was attracted to the idea. As far as he and Bailey were concerned, this trip was supposed to be about nothing more than short-term companionship. Was meant to be about acting on physical attraction. This minute physical attraction was dangerously high…but he was feeling something more. Something new. And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

  A woman’s voice, emanating from around the corner, brought him back. It was one of the caregivers, the auburn-haired Madame Prideux. Bailey obviously heard too. Her dreamy look evaporated a second before she straightened her blouse and patted away the long bangs from her blushing face.

  “Is she looking for you?” Bailey whispered.

  “No. Eleanor. She wants her to wash up and come to the office.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Mateo remembered Nichole’s comment about a child leaving.

  “My guess is,” he said, “that this is little Eleanor’s lucky day.”

  They came out from behind the corner. Eleanor was holding Madame Prideux’s hand as they walked together toward the main building. Clairdy sat by herself on a miniature kitchen chair. Mateo felt this little girl’s jumbled feelings as if they were his own.

  “Don’t worry, Clairdy,” Bailey said. “Monsieur says Eleanor isn’t in trouble.”

  Not understanding, Clairdy gave Bailey a blank look, let out a sigh then spoke in French. Bailey’s eyes widened at the words Mama and Papa. Clairdy knew Eleanor wasn’t in trouble. To Clairdy’s mind her friend was being rewarded for being the best little girl at the orphanage.

  Bailey lowered into the second tiny chair and spoke to Mateo. “Is she saying what I think she’s saying?”

  He nodded. “Nichole explained this morning that a couple, who’ve been waiting years, have jumped through the final hoop and obtained consent to adopt.”

  “Eleanor?”

  “It would appear so.”

  They both studied Clairdy watching her friend walk away toward a different tomorrow. And as Mateo’s gut buckled and throat grew thick, he was reminded again of all the reasons he loved coming back. And why he hated it too.

  Bailey gazed down at the little girl who a moment ago had been bubbling with life. Now Clairdy’s tiny jaw was slack and her shoulders were stooped. When she held her tummy and spoke to Mateo, Bailey guessed the ailment. The innocent she was, Clairdy would be happy for Eleanor finding a mother and a father—a mama and a papa—but how could she not also miss her friend? Likely envy her.

  “Does Eleanor get to say goodbye to her friends?” Bailey asked as they escorted a pale Clairdy back to the dorms.

  “I have no doubt.”

  “That’s something at least. Not that I’m unhappy for Eleanor,” Bailey hastened to add. “It just must be so hard on the ones left behind.” She examined Mateo’s intense expression as they walked. “But you know that better than me.”

  “There’ll be someone for Clairdy too one day.”

  She read his thoughts—for them all, I hope—and had to stop herself before she blurted out, I wish it could be me.

  But she’d known this child a couple of days. Even more obvious, she was in no position to think about children in that context and hadn’t before this moment. But the brave way Clairdy held her head as they strolled up the main path brought a stinging mist to Bailey’s eyes. She might have lost her mother but she’d known and loved her for fourteen beautiful years, and, as difficult to understand as he was, her father had never considered putting her up for adoption. Damon Ross cared about his daughter. These past years, he simply hadn’t been able to show it.

  They were all three entering the nurse’s office as Remy showed up, a scuffed football clamped under his arm. When they came out a few minutes later, Remy was still there, waiting to see how Clairdy was. Something older than his years shadowed that little boy’s eyes; he knew she needed a friend more than medicine. Remy said a few words to Mateo—something in French, of course. Mateo nodded and Remy took Clairdy’s hand and led her upstairs to the girls’ dorm to rest.

  They both watched until the pair disappeared around the top balustrade. Bailey let out a pent-up breath. She couldn’t stop thinking about what her mother would’ve done in this situation.

  “We could stay and read her a story,” she suggested and stepped toward the stairs, but Mateo’s hand on her arm held her gently back.

  “She might like to be alone with Remy now.”

  Bailey wanted to argue, but it was as much herself as Clairdy she wanted to console. This was a small taste of what Mateo must see each time he visited. There was the fabulous welcome and smiling familiar faces, time set aside to make plans for improvements he knew would be appreciated. But those same faces who were overjoyed to see him couldn’t help but be sad when he drove away. He must want to take each and every one of these children home with him, and realizing he couldn’t…

  Bailey hung her head.

  A lesser man might simply send a check.

  As they moved away from the building toward that big sprawling tree out front, Mateo circled his arm around her waist. “Let’s take a drive.”

  She hesitated but then nodded. If they went out, talked, her mind, and his, would be taken off a situation over which they had no power. And she had to be happy for Eleanor and pray that Mateo was right. A perfect family was around the corner for Clairdy. Remy too.

  Mateo drove over that ancient stone-bridge and into the village with a towering gothic church, two restaurants, one bakery…and right on through.

  Bailey shot over a glance. “Where are we going?”

  “Thought you might like to see something a little different. A fortress. A ruin now. Word is it’s haunted.”

  Determined not to be sullen, she set her mittened hands in her lap. “I’m in.”

  After a few more minutes traveling along the country road, they reached the foot of a rocky cliff that jutted over the river. Ascending a series of rock slabs that served as steps, Bailey, with Mateo, reached near the summit a little out of breath. But given their incredible surroundings, she soon forgot her tired legs.

  “Nine-hundred-years ago this began as a motte—a large mound—and wooden keep,” Mateo told her. “An earlier word for keep is donjon.”

  It clicked. “As in dungeon?”

  He winked, took her hand and led her toward the ruins. “By the fifteenth century, the fortress consisted of three enclosures surrounding an updated keep. Only the château of the second enclosure still stands.”

  Bailey soaked up the sense of history effused in the assorted moss-covered arches, sagging stone steps, the remnants of sculptures hanging to cold gray walls. Above what once must have been an imposing door rested a worn coat of arms. Shading her eyes, she peered up. A giant might have taken a ragged chomp out of the second story wall.

  “Who are the ghosts?” she asked. “Why do they haunt?”

  “It’s said that a lord once kept his daughter locked in this tower. Apparently no man was good enough, but everyone knew the true reason. The lord didn’t want to lose his only child.” Holding her elbow, he helped her over rubble through to a cool interior that smelled of mold and earth. “Then, one day, a knight rode through and was invited to stay for the evening meal. The knight heard the maiden singing and crying. He asked if he could speak with her. But the lord wouldn’t allow it.”

  Bailey had been picking her way up the stairs. Now she swung around to face him. “Don’t tell me they both died while the knight was trying to rescue her?”

  “The knight succeeded in freeing his lady and they rode away that night to be wed. The father was furious and set out on horseback to bring his only child back. Taking a jump, his horse faltered and the lord broke his leg. Infection set in. He took six weeks to die, but he moaned and howled for his daughter’s return until his last breath. He wanted her forgive
ness,” he added.

  Bailey studied the lonely crumpling walls and coughed out a humorless laugh. “Funny thing is that lord never enjoyed his daughter’s company while he had it.”

  Reading between the lines, Mateo crossed the dirt floor and joined her midway up the steps.

  “If you’d like to see your father when we get back,” he said, “I’d be happy to go with you.”

  She cupped his bristled cheek. “Thanks, but I can’t see any happy ending there either.”

  “I’m sure if you gave him a chance—”

  “Maybe he should give me one for a change.” Gathering herself, she blew out a breath. She didn’t want to discuss it. There was no point. “I wish it were different, but it’s not.”

  A muscle in his cheek pulsed as he considered her response.

  “I suppose it’s not easy.”

  Bailey frowned. Did he mean for her or her father? How would he handle the situation if he ever became estranged from his child? How would he handle any situation as a father? She wanted to ask. And now seemed the time.

  “Natalie mentioned at dinner that night she wouldn’t be surprised if one year you came home with a child from France.”

  His face hardened. “Natalie’s sweet but she doesn’t have all the facts.”

  “What are the facts?”

  “For a start, nowadays the adoption process in France is a longwinded one.”

  “So you’ve looked into it?”

  “Madame and I have conversed for many years.”

  Be that as it may, he hadn’t answered the question. “Then you’ve never considered adopting?”

  His voice and brow lowered. “Remy will find a perfect home.”

  “Maybe it could be with you.”

  The muscle pulsed again before he headed back down the steps. “It’s hard, Bailey, I know, to think about leaving those kids behind. But they’re well looked after. I do what I can.”

  Bailey let out a breath. Of course he did, and far more than most people would. Resigned, she admitted, “It’s probably best we’re leaving tomorrow or I might never want to go. Those kids have a way of wrapping themselves around your heart.”

  From the foot of the stairs, he found her gaze. “That’s the way it is. When you have to stay, you don’t want to. When you’re free to leave…” His gaze dropped away.

  That’s the way it was for her with Mateo, Bailey realized walking with him back out into the open. When she’d had nowhere to go and Mateo had convinced her to stay to rest up, she’d been intent on leaving. She’d ended up sharing his bed for two weeks then flying with him here. And in these few days she’d become frighteningly used to the sight of him sitting before a flickering fire in their cottage. Used to his earnest evaluating walks around the orphanage, as well as his warm smile when any one of the children brought him a drawing or sang him a song. She felt so close to him. As if they’d known each other before.

  What would happen when they returned to Australia? She’d be earning her own money…would be free to live her own life. She had no real reason to stay at the Celeca mansion any longer.

  Only now she wasn’t so keen to go.

  Eleven

  Mateo looked over the children playing in the late October sunshine and ran damp palms down his trouser legs. He and Bailey had spent three days at the Chapelle. At the end of each day they returned to his stone cottage to talk and make love into the night. The French countryside this time of year, the children’s laughter mixed with memories…he didn’t want to leave.

  Bailey didn’t want to go either. If she hadn’t seemed so determined to start work again next week, he’d tell her they would stay a few more days. She seemed to fit here among the trees and the quiet.

  He wanted to see more of her when they returned to Australia. But he also wanted to be clear on his position. He was not after marriage. Children of his own. If she accepted that, he’d be more than happy to continue what they shared for however long it lasted.

  Bailey was strolling along the paved path with Madame Garnier. Clairdy walked a step behind, looking a little recovered from her news yesterday about her friend leaving. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Mateo headed toward them. All those years ago, he’d been overjoyed when Ernesto had taken him away from here, like his friend Henri had left before him. The friend he’d so love to know again. It hurt to see that little girl’s malaise but that’s all he could wish for each of these children. That one day soon they would find a family of their own.

  A stiff breeze tugged at his coat. He examined the sky. Rain on the way. He should call Bailey now, say their goodbyes and, if they were going, head off.

  Bailey and Madame strolled over.

  “Are you ready to leave, Monsieur?” Madame asked.

  Mateo folded Bailey’s gloved hand in his. “We’d best go now or the mademoiselle will miss out on seeing Paris.”

  Nichole clapped twice, loudly, and children, coming from everywhere, promptly lined up.

  “Monsieur Celeca must leave now,” Nichole said in French. “Would you all thank him and the mademoiselle for visiting?”

  In unison, the children said in French, “Thank you. We will miss you.”

  But even as Mateo’s chest swelled at the sight of so many adoring little faces and their heartfelt words, his gaze skated up and down the line and soon he frowned. One was missing.

  “Where’s Remy?” he asked.

  “Remy is a little under the weather today.” Madame reached into a pocket. “He asked that I give you this.”

  She fished out a handmade card. When Mateo opened the paper, his heart torqued in his chest then sank to his knees.

  Don’t forget me, Monsieur.

  There was a drawing of a smiling boy holding a football.

  Mateo groaned, then, setting his jaw, started off. “I’ll go see him.”

  But Madame’s firm hand on his arm pulled him up. Her green eyes glistened with sympathy and understanding.

  “I think, Monsieur, it is best that you don’t. I’ll keep an eye on Remy. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Mateo held Nichole’s gaze for a long tortured moment as his thoughts flew and a fine sweat broke on his brow. She knew that if he went upstairs to Remy he would want to take him. And he couldn’t. For so many reasons. He had to go and let Remy find a couple who wanted a family. That boy didn’t need an overworked, set-in-his-ways bachelor.

  After the women and Clairdy hugged, he and Bailey headed to the car, and the children began to sing. Emotion biting behind his eyes, Mateo fought the urge to look back. Seeing out the corner of his eye that Bailey’s hands were clenched together, it was all he could do not to. But he was scared that if he did, he would see Remy, standing as he had once stood, at a second-story window, wondering if two friends would ever meet again.

  Mateo barely spoke the whole drive to Paris. Whenever Bailey tried to make conversation, he answered and that was all.

  From the first, she’d been aware of the connection he and Remy shared. Now Mateo felt terrible leaving that little boy behind. More terrible than she felt leaving Clairdy, and that was bad enough. But as Mateo had said, he did what he could. Neither of them was in a position to do any more…even if they desperately wanted to.

  Still, she wished she could have the happy, talkative Mateo back again.

  As the convertible hurled them ever closer to Paris and away from the Chapelle, Bailey told herself not to dwell on the possibility of Mateo being a father to Remy as Ernesto had been a father to him. Watching farmhouses and fields whiz by, she reminded herself that Mateo had a bachelor lifestyle—a busy career—that didn’t correlate with having children. Remy deserved a family who were prepared to give up anything and everything to adopt him. When Mateo flew over next year, Remy might well be gone. And that was best.

  Wasn’t it?

  They checked into the same hotel on the Champs-Elysees and, as if neither of them wanted to dwell on where they had been—how different it felt to be back in the bos
om of luxury as opposed to snuggling beneath the patchwork quilt of their stone cottage—they had their bags taken to their suite and immediately set off to sightsee.

  As they strolled arm in arm along the Champs-Elysees, Mateo explained, “The people of Paris refer to this avenue as la plus belle avenue du monde. The most beautiful avenue in the world.”

  Bailey had to agree. Finally soaking up the sights she’d heard so much about felt amazing. The atmosphere was effused with so much history and courage and beauty. Every shop and tree and face seemed to greet her as if they were old rather than new friends.

  She cupped a hand over her brow to shield the autumn sun from her eyes. “It seems to go on forever.”

  “Two kilometers. It ends at the Arc de Triomphe, the monument Bonaparte built to commemorate his victories.”

  They strolled beside the clipped horse-chestnut trees and lamplights, passing cinemas, cafés and so many speciality shops, before stopping for lunch at a café where the dishes marked on a chalkboard menu ranged from sweet-and-sour sea bass and lobster ravioli to more casual fare such as club sandwiches. After taking a seat among the pigeons at one of the many sidewalk tables, Bailey decided on the crab and asparagus salad, while Mateo liked the sound of braised lamb with peaches.

  “Is this a favorite café when you’re in town?” She asked, sipping a glass of white wine.

  “This is my first time eating here.”

  “Then I think today we’ve found the perfect place to simply sit and watch.”

  He raised his glass. “A favorite Parisian pastime. Keeping an eye out for the unique and the beautiful.”

  Bailey had been watching a pair of young lovers, laughing as they meandered down the avenue. Now her focus flicked back to Mateo and the intense look in his dark eyes made her blush. He wasn’t looking at the beautiful view. He was looking at her.

  They enjoyed their meal then headed off to the Louvre on the bank of the Seine. Bailey couldn’t stop from beaming. So much to take in…over thirty-five thousand works of art dating from antiquity to modern times…Da Vinci, Rubens as well as Roman-Greco and Egyptian art collections…she felt deliciously lost as more and more worlds unfolded before her. She adored Michelangelo’s The Slave and openly gaped at the Venus de Milo. But she fell completely in love with Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.