The Doctor's Damsel (Men of the Capital Book 3) (12 page)

Maybe medicine was his calling, or maybe he’d run from the idea of becoming his dad, who was the son of a Jewish father and Greek Orthodox mother. When he put it to himself in those terms, it seemed awfully juvenile—he was a boy who’d been mad at his father and did everything he could to anger his dad in return, even if it meant breaking his Opa’s heart. Frankly, it made Abe feel like an asshole.

He approached the bed, touched his grandfather’s papery hand, so ashen and chilly. He bent down and kissed the old man’s brow.

“I’ll be back. There’s somebody I want you to meet,” he said, his voice stronger, more sure.

Oo00oO

Abe dashed out of the house, his sharp footfalls making a jarring noise against the old wooden floors, jangling the crystal drops on the chandeliers with his haste. He brushed past everyone who tried to stop him, taking a cab instead of waiting for one of his grandfather’s cars.

When he reached the hotel, even the elevator seemed too slow in the face of his urgency to reach Becca, to beg her to come meet his Opa, to have the introduction she deserved. It took three attempts before he got his key card to open the hotel room door and when he did, it wasn’t the scene he expected. He’d thought to find her asleep and wake her with a kiss and apologize. Instead, there was his golden-haired actress, weeping and red-faced, jerking dresses off hangers wildly, wadding them up and stuffing them into her duffel bag.

“Becca, what’s wrong?” he asked, rushing to her side, wondering if something was seriously wrong with her sister.

“You! You’re what’s wrong!” she snapped. “I’m wrong, too. I should never have come here, flown across a goddamned ocean to be your concubine. I’m not a geisha!” she shrieked, throwing a silky blouse at him. It drifted toward him and landed on his shoulder, a gossamer thing, oddly light as it slithered down his sleeve to the floor.

“Of course you’re not a geisha,” he said, trying very hard not to laugh at the phrasing that manifested her histrionics. “I didn’t bring you here to, um, attend me. I brought you here to meet my family, but when I got here, I was—” He broke off, looking for the right word.

“Chicken shit?” she supplied, retrieving the blouse and cramming it into her overflowing bag.

“Well, yes. I suppose I was,” he conceded. “I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here like that. It was a shitty way to treat you, and you deserve better.”

“Is this the bit where you say it’s not me, it’s you?” she challenged, hands on her hips.

“No, this is the bit where I say I was wrong and I beg you to come meet my family. They’re mostly assholes like me, but I think you’ll like my grandpa. I know he’ll be crazy about you. I’d go so far as to say you’re probably just his type.” Abe ventured a grin and Becca’s answering smile reassured him.

“That’s too bad, since I only seem to like assholes like you.”

“Come here,” he said, pulling her unresisting into his arms and kissing her. “I want to take you home to meet my parents, but I gave us both a scare, acting like that, and I’d feel much better if I debauched you before we leave.”

“Did you seriously just say ‘debauched’?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been debauched properly. I’m intrigued,” she said, loosening his tie.

“That’s too bad. I intend to debauch you most
im
properly.”

“I was right. You are a knight, Abe. Who else would suggest debauching me improperly? It’s positively courtly.”

“I don’t think knights did the things I’m about to do to you. They had to take sacred oaths and the like, which forbad such behavior.” He grinned wickedly and unbuttoned her jumpsuit, reaching the zipper and staring, puzzled, at the garment. “Is this some sort of giant onesie? What is this?”

“It’s a jumpsuit. Clearly you don’t subscribe to Vogue,” she said, feigning offense as she shucked off the jumpsuit and stepped out of her heels. “It’s one long piece, and once you remove it, it’s nothing but this.” She turned around, modeling the lacy panties she had on beneath the jumpsuit.

“No. I don’t like those either. They’ll have to go,” he said, hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling them off, trailing his calloused fingertips along her legs as he did so. She shivered deliciously, ready to squeal with relief that Abe wasn’t just a bastard who’d used her; he was a man who’d come back. A man who might, someday, love her back.

Becca pulled him onto the bed and rolled him onto his back.

“Now,” she said, sitting up on his stomach. “I expect you to win me back.”

“I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do?”

“Sing,” she said. “Cat Stevens. The REAL words.”

“I’m not singing the wrong lyrics to classic seventies rock just to appease your whim, Bec.”

Becca leaned down and kissed him, long and slow.

“Okay, fine, I’ll do whatever you want.” He laughed. “
I hope you make a lot of nice friends out there/Just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware
.”

“EVERYWHERE,” she corrected, tickling him unmercifully. “There’s a lot of bad EVERYWHERE.” Becca kissed him again. He leaned up, his hands on her hips, and flipped her over onto her back. She squealed and laughed as he pinned her down.

“And.
Beware
,” Abe insisted, taking her hand, the one he had stitched, and kissing it softly as her legs wound around his hips and he pushed inside her with one smooth stroke.

“A lot of bad everywhere,” she argued, her breath coming in pants as his thrusts came faster.

“A lot of bad and beware,” Abe teased, punctuating each word with a deliberate thrust.

He levered himself up and reached between them, touching her between the legs. She threw her head back and screamed with pleasure. He kissed her chin, her throat, and finally, her mouth. Becca’s arms went around his neck and her moans as she clung to him overwhelmed him. He surrendered.

After a few minutes of holding her close, reassuring himself he hadn’t lost her, Abe made himself disentangle himself and get up.

“Here, put on your onesie and come meet my Opa,” he said, tossing her the jumpsuit.

“I’m not an expert on European etiquette but isn’t it customary to wear panties the first time I meet your family?”

“Eh, Europeans in general aren’t that particular about underpants, really.”

“Pass me the panties,” she said and got back into her clothes, pinned her hair back up. “I’m going to have to put on some makeup,” she said, peering at her blotchy, tearstained reflection.

“You’re gorgeous. Don’t change a thing.”

“Give me two minutes,” she said, swiftly reapplying concealer and eyeliner. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 9

Becca was subdued, walking into the gorgeous old mansion, the sound of the sea still in her ears as she walked through the door. She tried to imagine she was Claudette Colbert, with that louche aplomb, ready to master any situation. She didn’t feel one bit like a screen siren. She felt like hiding behind a potted palm. The mother came first. She’d been warned about the mother.

“I’m Harrison’s mother,” the woman said without offering her name or her hand.

“I’m Abe’s girlfriend. Nice to meet you,” Becca replied, offering neither herself.

“Mother, I’d like to present Becca Bennett. She’s an accomplished actress and has condescended to accompany me to my grandfather’s bedside because I need her. Becca, this is my mother. Her real name is Henrietta, but we’re not allowed to mention that in company. She goes by Claire,” he said with a hint of malice.

“Henrietta was a family name,” Claire said coldly. “So, Rebecca, have you been on Broadway?”

“It’s just Becca. I haven’t been called Rebecca since grade school, ma’am. As for Broadway, I’ve only been there when I’ve bought a ticket to a show.”

“We’re here to see Opa. I want Becca to meet him, so if you’ll excuse us.” Abe’s hand in the small of her back guided Becca up the sweeping staircase where the next gargoyle on the roster, his father, was smoking a cigar. “I can’t believe Oma lets you smoke in the house,” Abe chided.

“She’s too broken up over your grandfather to care. So for once in my adult life, I can smoke indoors,” the man grouched. “Who’s this?”

“This is Becca Bennett. Becca, this is my dad, Randalf Abrahemson. Dad, this is my girlfriend, Becca,” Abe said, a little more confidently this time.

Randalf was an older, broader version of his son, with a perpetual scowl on his face, his dark hair going to gray. Becca extended her hand and Randalf kissed it. She drew her hand back uncomfortably and looked at Abe.

“Don’t you dare scare her off. You already have a wife,” Abe warned. “We’re going up to see Opa now.”

A nurse was leaving the sickroom as they entered, finding Oma sitting on the foot of Opa’s bed, reading aloud from a poem book.

“I’ll just let you children have a few moments,” she said softly, a catch in her voice as she closed the volume and withdrew.

“Opa,” Abe said, taking the old man’s hand. “I want you to meet somebody. This is Becca B—”

“Abbracciabene,” she finished brightly. “I’m an actress and a waitress and I’m in love with your boy here.” Becca went round to the other side of the bed and took his right hand in both of hers. “He’s a good doctor, but he can be a handful.”

Opa stirred, opening his eyes. Startled, Becca looked at Abe questioningly.

“The nurse said he’s been in and out for days. I guess he decided to do the courteous thing because we have a guest. See, Opa can ignore me, but never a pretty girl,” Abe said affectionately.

“Harrison? When did you get here? It’s been damned dull. Nothing but nurses and then your Oma coming in to cry over me occasionally—sometimes I pretend to be asleep. I told her to keep Randalf out; he’s too harsh for a sickroom. This one, however, I’ll happily entertain. Bit feisty, like your Oma.” Opa struggled to sit up. With Abe’s help and the addition of a few pillows, he managed it for a few minutes.

“I’m awfully glad to meet you. Abe’s spoken of you with such affection. Is it true you took him ice fishing?”

“Yes indeed, and deep sea fishing too. Always loved anything to do with boats until he was about fifteen. That was the year his father remarried,” Opa mused.

Abe felt stung by the memory. So that probably had triggered his years of rebellion—anger at his father’s abandonment of his mother, his remarriage. Abe felt uncomfortably like the sort of person who ought to be in therapy, or on a sensationalistic talk show.

“He’s been desperate to see you. He’s braved both his parents already,” Becca said.

“That’s devotion indeed. Neither of them is much to boast of, dear. I hope you’ll forgive us our oddities. We do love the boy and I’m sure we’ll love you, too.”

“She did brave my parents,” Abe put in.

“I’ll just step out and give you two a minute to catch up. I haven’t met your wife yet.” She touched Abe’s shoulder as she passed out of the room.

In the corridor, she saw an older woman seated on a plush bench beneath what looked to be a Renoir. Becca ventured over and sat beside her.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I came with Abe. He’s my—” she hesitated, wanting to be friendly but not sure what to call Abe to his Oma.
Boyfriend
seemed childish and
lover
seemed inappropriate for a deathbed introduction.

“I’m happy he has someone. He was always a lonesome boy, growing up,” Oma said.

“I love him very dearly,” Becca said. Oma took her hand.

“Of course you do. He has felt so alone, I know. We all love him, but he cannot accept our love for some reason. It has been the great heartbreak of our lives that Harrison has been lost to us. I cannot imagine what we’ve done to offend him so. He’s been angry, ever since his teen years, and the only thing that would suit him was to move back to America and be a doctor. We supported it, because what could we do? Lose him forever? It has been three years since I have laid eyes on my only grandson, Becca. It comforts me that he has you now, a woman who will travel very far to see an old man who loves his grandson, who will be by his side when—when his Opa is gone. I wish to help him, too, and to have him with us.” The woman’s sadness was palpable. “Will you help me?”

“I can’t promise to help you, but I’ll help Abe,” Becca said loyally. “If what you want will make him happy, I’ll do anything.”

“This is what he needs, someone loyal only to himself. I wish so much that he would come back to us. That he could be reconciled to his father, find pride in his family and take on some sort of role in the company.”

“You love him very much, I know, and it must be hard to be apart from him. I’m sure you want him to be closer to you but his life isn’t here any longer. He has made choices for himself, and for whatever reason, this family isn’t a part of them. I know he cares for you and his Opa very deeply, he speaks of you fondly, but I won’t force him to do anything. I love him too much.”

“It could be, part of the time. If he had an interest in the company, if he came even to a few board meetings...”

“When he is ready, I’ll speak to him about it, but if he is against it, that will be the end of it as far as I’m concerned.”

“Use your influence with him,” Oma pleaded.

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, with your husband lying in there, so ill. I’m really very sorry. There’s nothing I can do besides speak to Abe about your concerns,” Becca said as kindly as she could.

She was relieved when Abe emerged, and, kissing his Oma’s cheek, led Becca from the house. In the car on the way to the hotel, he was silent, holding Becca close and shutting his eyes.

In the hotel room, he stretched out on the bed, still in his sport coat and tie, stared at the ceiling.

“Did you ever want to be a shipping heiress?”
“Like the Onassis girl?’

“Yeah. Only less of a sad story.”

“Not really, why?”

“Because Opa wants to leave me the whole business. My dad would be furious, being passed over like that, and it’s really not fair to him. He’s the direct heir. I don’t want to give up medicine, but it’s his last wish.”