Breakfast in Bed

chapter 12


RICH SAID HE MADE THE COFFEE AND TOLD HER HE PUT together a beautiful fruit salad and even thought to garnish it with mint, no less. Either Becca was the world's best Domestic God coach, or Rich was playing fast and loose with the truth.
"You're awful quiet. You're not in shock, are you?"
Becca took a sip of coffee and shook her head. "No, not shock, precisely."
Her mind raced trying to make sense of all the changes. Rich thought she was close to broke and offered her money. He said he loved her. He was amazing in bed, and if he wasn't lying, he made a damn good cup of coffee. Could it be that she'd discovered the perfect man?
Rich sipped his coffee and stirred his fruit salad. "Is there anything you want to do today before heading home?"
Becca sat straight up. "Oh my God, it's Sunday. Don't you have to go to dinner at your parents'?"
Rich removed a newspaper from a plastic bag and scanned the front page. "I called Mama yesterday and said I was helping a friend move so there's no rush. I think checkout is at noon ."
She tossed the covers off her legs. "Shit, I'm supposed to meet Mike and Annabelle at ten."
He folded the paper over, seemingly unconcerned. "Doesn't look as if you're going to make it."
"Yeah, thanks. Like I couldn't figure that out on my own."
"Happy to be of help."
Becca swatted him with her pillow and scooted away. "I better call and cancel." Becca crawled to the foot of the bed and reached for her phone in her jacket pocket. Walking on her knees back to Rich, she flipped the phone open, turned it on, and saw at least a dozen messages from her brother. "Oh, God."
"What?"
"Mike's been calling me all night." She didn't even bother listening to them. "Something's wrong."
"You don't know that."
"Why else would he call a dozen times?" She hit the connect button, and Mike answered on the first ring.
"Becca, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick. You think you can just disappear off the face of the earth and not tell anyone where you've gone?"
Becca's heart raced from its new position in her throat as she had flashbacks of Chip's death, and Mike was yelling at her. "You called me a dozen times because you were looking for me? I thought something happened to Annabelle and the baby. You scared me."
"Well good. Now you know what I've been going through for the last eight hours. Dad said you'd left yesterday afternoon, and you were going to meet friends for dinner before coming home. You never answered your cell. Rich didn't answer his either. No one knew where you were."
Becca reminded herself that Mike had, until recently, been an only child. He wasn't used to having a sibling and obviously didn't understand the fact that older siblings are not parents. She took a deep breath and spoke to him slowly. "I didn't know I had a curfew. Nor did I know I had to answer to you. I'm an adult, and believe it or not, I've been on my own since the day I turned eighteen, almost nine years ago. I'm not used to answering to anyone, and I don't plan to start now. I suggest you calm down and stop treating me like a six year-old." Becca heard some commotion on the line.
"Becca, it's Annabelle. I'm sorry. I told him he was overreacting, and you probably just went off with Rich. You did, right?"
"Yeah. He's here."
"See, I knew you two were perfect together."
"Annabelle, I just wanted to tell you I can't make it back by ten. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure, just promise me one thing."
Becca ran her hands through her hair, which she realized was sticking straight up. "What's that?"
"As soon as Rich is gone, call me, and fill me in. But I really don't want specifics because he's my brother, so there's that whole ick factor. You know?"
Becca laughed. "Yes, I can totally relate."
"Just promise you'll call. I'll take care of Mike."
"You don't have much choice. You married him."
"There is that."
Becca heard the smile in Annabelle's voice. Mike might drive Annabelle crazy, but she loved him. Becca leaned back against Rich. "Good luck with my pigheaded brother."
Annabelle chuckled. "Good luck with mine."
"Thanks, I'm going to need it. I love you. I'll call you later." Becca flipped the phone closed. "You might want to ignore any messages from Mike. He's been trying to track me down."
Rich tossed his paper down and wrapped his arms around her. "Yeah, I heard. Don't worry. He'll be okay and so will Annabelle and the baby."
It was nice to hear, but it didn't stop that niggling fear she seemed to carry.
"Breakfast should be here in forty-five minutes or so."
Rich got up and walked into the bathroom leaving the door open. It sounded as if he was brushing his teeth. "What do you want to do with the rest of the day?"
Becca followed him into the bathroom, and he rinsed off the brush and handed it to her. When she looked at him funny he laughed. "Babe, we've been swapping spit for the last two days. But if you want, I can check the other bathroom for a fresh toothbrush."
"No. I just never … it's fine." Scratch that. It was weird. She'd had a lot of sex and more than a few partners. She wasn't a slut, but she liked sex, so when she did have a partner, she had a very active sex life. In all that time, she'd never done anything as intimate as share a toothbrush or take a shower with any of her lovers. That suddenly struck her as sad.
She put toothpaste on the brush and caught Rich looking at her funny. "I want to go home. I need to figure out what to do with my work and maybe update my portfolio." She stuck the brush in her mouth as she recapped the toothpaste and began brushing.
"Sounds good."
Becca finished brushing as Rich watched. She put the brush back in the holder, turned, and kissed him. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For everything. This is the first time I have a chance to have my work judged on its own merit. Not because of my name, or because my dad got somebody's kid into med school, or they belong to the same country club. Emily Stewart is going to look at my work without knowing any of that. For me, that's huge."
"She's going to love it. You've got incredible talent."
"You're biased."
"Of course, but I'm no idiot. I love your work. It's a part of you."
Becca didn't know what to say to that, so she kissed him.

One thing Rich found out pretty quickly was that if he and Becca were ever to truly live together, they'd need a much larger place. He looked around the already crowded apartment, and they hadn't even emptied out half of the work they brought home.
"Where do you want this one?"
Rich turned to find Wayne holding the metal sculpture. He shrugged. "Just put it anywhere it won't be in the way for now. We'll figure it out later."
Wayne walked past Annabelle who had come to help, too, and tsked, "Don't you dare lift anything heavier than your purse." He turned and took a long hard look at her red-and-purple purse. "Come to think of it, you might want to re-think your choice there too. It's supposed to be a purse, not an overnight bag."
"I bought it to use as a baby bag. I'm trying it out to see if it'll work."
Wayne put his hand on his hip and shook his head. "That will only work if you plan on borrowing a baby to go along with it. Now stop this nonsense and enjoy carrying a little purse while you still have the chance."
Annabelle poured herself a glass of orange juice and rolled her eyes as Mike walked back into the kitchen from the mud room where he'd been checking out the fire damage. He came up behind her and took her in his arms. "Listen to Wayne , he knows what he's talking about."
"No, he just doesn't like the bag. It's two very different things."
Wayne laughed. "Sorry, Doc. But she's right. Red and purple are so last year."
Rich caught Becca looking at him funny. When he shot back the universal "huh?" gesture, she mouthed words. When it became obvious that he had absolutely no clue what she said, she walked into his bedroom and motioned him to follow. Great—just what he wanted to do with Mike watching his every move. If the look on Mike's face was anything to go by, he was not thrilled with Becca's choice in roommates or lovers. She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a pissed off bull or just gone and painted a target on Rich's back.
"Close the door."
Rich did and leaned back against it. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"
Becca hugged her arms around her. "I can't find Annabelle's present. I went to get it out of the car, and it was gone."
Rich smiled. "I'm one step ahead of you, babe. I took care of it just as soon as I found out she was on her way over from my parents' place." Rich slid the door to the closet open and pulled an old milk crate from the back. He dug through the dirty T-shirts and workout shorts. "I stuffed it in here."
"What's that on top of it?"
"Camouflage."
There was a knock on the door, and then it swung open. Mike poked his head in. "If you guys are done showing each other your etchings or … sorting laundry. We finished unloading the car, and everyone is heading to DiNicola's for supper, like anyone is going to be able to eat after lunch or dinner, or whatever your mother calls it."
Becca tossed Rich's clothes back on top of the crate covering the sculpture.
Mike gave Rich a sideways glance. "I thought this was your room."
"It is. Becca was just teaching me to sort laundry." Rich slid the closet door closed and kicked Becca's shoe under the bed. The last thing he needed was for Mike to see Becca's clothes littering Rich's bedroom.
"Nice sheets."
Rich raised his chin in acknowledgement and walked past Mike. "Yeah, that's what happens when you don't sort your laundry."
Wayne stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the apartment and looked around. "What is Becca going to do? Start her own art gallery?"
Annabelle sipped her juice. "I've offered to take it off her hands. Lord knows, I've been trying to set up a showing for Becca for the last two years. She accuses me of nepotism. The fact that we're related has nothing to do with it, but she doesn't believe me."
Becca blew her bangs out of her eyes. "She's right. I don't believe her. If I make it in the art world, I'm not going to do it because my sister-in-law gave me a showing at her gallery. Sorry. I'm going to do it under my own steam or not at all. Besides, I have a few irons in the fire."
Annabelle gave her a questioning look, and Rich had the urge to put his arm around Becca and stand with her. He understood. He just wasn't sure if she would welcome that, or the scrutiny their relationship would receive.

Rich and Becca begged out of dinner and ordered pizza instead. He was impatient to see everyone leave, but there was no way to shoo them without it looking as if he had ulterior motives.
By the time they'd found places for all of Becca's work, the apartment looked like a small art gallery, and Rich loved it. The only problem was that there was no longer any room for Becca in the den.
They stood crammed together in the small room. Rich was never one to beat around the bush so he just tossed it out there. "Since we're sleeping together anyway, there's no reason not to move your stuff into my room. What do you think?"
She didn't say anything. Rich had heard of pregnant pauses, but he never experienced one quite like this. When he finally faced her, the only way he could describe her expression was shocked.
Okay, he knew things were a little awkward. They were both feeling their way through this new chapter in their relationship, but shit, you'd think she could say something. Leave it to Becca to make this difficult.
It was like waiting for the next act to begin. The inter mission lasted long enough for him to take a piss and grab a beer if he'd wanted to, but instead he just watched her mind working—an amazing thing. It seemed like she mentally made her list of possibilities and crossed them off after she examined each one.
She opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it only to double-check her list and finally took a deep breath. "But that would mean we're living together, living together."
Well duh. "Did you think we were going to go back to being platonic roommates after last night?"
"I didn't think. You told me not to."
"Since when did you start listening to me?"
"I don't know."
"And if you did listen, you'd remember I said we'd deal with all that later. So babe, it's later. Deal."
Okay, so he lost his temper. But shit, he said he'd loved her. He'd never told anyone but family that he loved them. He shocked the shit out of himself when he'd blurted it out the way he had. Forgetting she was standing in front of him, he swore in Italian.
"Are you cursing me or yourself?"
Rich sat on the edge of her bed. " Me. Look, Bec. I've never been where we are before. Lord knows, I doubt I could have found a worse way to tell you that I love you than in a fight—"
"Well, it was original, but you missed the mark if you were trying to make me melt."
"I made you melt eventually, didn't I?"
Becca sat beside him and knocked shoulders. "Yeah, and you did sleep on the wet spot."
Rich grinned. They were going to be okay. "Becca, for as long as we're together, I promise that you will never have to sleep on the wet spot."
"Ah, and I thought you weren't romantic."

While they waited for their pizza to be delivered, Rich pulled out his laptop and went through his work email. Several students had already emailed him their assigned papers; one of them was Brad. Rich opened the document. "What the hell?"
Becca looked up from her computer where she was going through slides of her work. "What's wrong?"
Rich shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "I have this student who has been struggling. We've met several times, talked about the tests. Hell, I spent an hour last week helping him outline a paper. He just turned in the paper, and it's not the same one we outlined."
"Do you think he cheated?"
"I don't know." Rich scrolled down through the paper. It was a good paper. "Why would he write a completely different paper after outlining one with me if it wasn't someone else's work?"
"What are you going to do?"
"God, Becca. I don't know. I hate this. The kid's been trying, I've been helping him, and he's getting by. If he needed more help, I could have suggested a tutor. I guess I need to talk to him."
"Maybe he did find a tutor."
"Yeah, and maybe he bought the paper. Christ, he's a young kid. He's having a hard time adjusting to college life. If he cheated, it could ruin his whole future."
Becca put her computer down and scooted over to him. "Maybe you could give him the chance to correct his mistake. When was the paper due?"
"Not until tomorrow."
"Okay, what if you emailed him and told him you lost the email he'd sent. Ask him to resend the assignment—the paper the two of you worked on together."
"But I didn't lose it."
"I know that." She scooted toward him and took his hand. "Rich, don't you think everyone deserves one chance to correct a mistake? Don't you wish you got one do-over?"
Damn straight he did, but if he'd had one, he wasn't sure if he'd have learned from it, the way he'd managed not to learn from military school.
Becca continued. "If he did cheat, he's probably sitting there wishing he could jump into your email box and take it back. If you give him the opportunity, he might correct his mistake. He still has time to rewrite the paper. If he didn't cheat, he'll send the paper back along with a reasonable explanation."
Rich reached over and kissed her. "One do-over, huh?"
"Just one."
"Okay." Rich deleted the paper and wrote Brad a note explaining his confusion. He also asked to see Brad after class tomorrow. He hit send, put his computer down, and went to get a beer.
Becca followed him. "You're upset."
Rich shrugged, pried off the bottle top, and took a swig. "I am. I'm there to help kids learn. I haven't figured out how to help Brad yet, but I'm working on it. If he did what I think he did, he not only insulted my intelligence, but he's given up. I thought we were a team, and he just threw in the towel."
Becca was looking at him funny.
"What?"
She shrugged. "It's good you care so much. Give Brad a chance. He might just surprise you."
Rich pulled Becca toward him. "I hope so."

On Monday morning Rich awoke slowly, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't dreaming. Becca had her leg wrapped around him, her head just beneath his shoulder, and her hand curled under her chin. He'd never thought himself a very sentimental man, but he had to admit he'd be one lucky bastard if he had the chance to wake up like this every morning.
Last night after they ate they made love in the shower. It was in the shower that Rich realized that their apartment was so crowded with art, there wasn't room enough to stand with your back against the wall anywhere except the shower. Rich wasn't a huge proponent of sex against the wall, but after experiencing it with Becca in the shower, it was certainly growing on him.
Her clothes took up more than half of his closet, her surviving bras and underwear lay neatly beside his boxer briefs, and the first sculpture Becca created sat proudly on his bedside table. Life was good. He was tempted to kiss her awake, but after seeing the time, he thought he'd better not start something he couldn't finish.
He slid out of bed trying not to wake her and took a quick shower before dressing in the dark. With his newfound knowledge, he put on a real pot of coffee because he needed a caffeine infusion almost as badly as he needed to prove to Becca that the coffee he'd made the day before was, in fact, his. He also needed to prove to himself that his success wasn't a fluke.
After feeding the world's loudest, most demanding, and undeniably coolest cat, Rich remembered to heat the coffee cups. Since they didn't have an automatic hot water dispenser, he stuck the mugs in the microwave for a minute while he checked out what he could make for breakfast. He'd used his last bag of biscotti, and after the lukewarm reception to both his biscotti and his coffee in the past, he made the only other breakfast food he knew he wouldn't screw up. Toast. He buttered it, found a few of those little gift basket jelly jars, put them on the tray along with the coffee, and brought it to bed with Tripod bopping along beside him.
"Becca?"
"Hmm?"
"Wake up, babe. I brought you breakfast in bed."
Her eyes opened, and a smile teased her lips as she pushed herself up to sit with her back against the head board. "You made me breakfast?"
He did his best not to stare at her bare breasts and focused instead on her eyes. "Yeah, it's real coffee—and real toast."
He took a sip of the coffee just to make sure it didn't suck. He probably should have done that before he gave Becca hers. He sighed in relief when he found it to be almost as good as the coffee he made at the B&B.
She took a tentative sip and didn't spit it out. "Thanks." Opening the jar of boysenberry jelly, she slathered it on her toast. "This was so sweet of you."
Sweet wasn't exactly what he was going for, but what did he expect? It was coffee and toast. Rich took a big bite of toast and drained his coffee. "I wish I could stay, but I have office hours in"—he checked his watch—"forty-five minutes. So I'll see you back here for dinner?"
"Okay, I have to go to the brownstone and see about the electrical permits. I don't think I'll be late, but I'll call if something comes up. Oh, and let me know what happens with Brad."
"Will do." He sat his cup on the bedside table, and Tripod walked across Becca's lap heading right for it. Rich had forgotten to leave him some. "You might want to drink your coffee before Tripod does."
"Hmmm?"
"Tripod is a coffee-holic. Make sure he doesn't burn himself." He kissed away the confusion on her face. "Have a great day. I love you." Rich didn't wait for her response because as pushy as he was, he'd wait until she came to grips with the fact she loved him. He wasn't worried. Becca might be cautious, but she was one smart cookie. Once she made her lists and checked them twice, she would come to the only possible conclusion: she had fallen ass over coffee cups in love with him. He hoped.
Becca started to say, "You, too" about having a good day, not about loving him. But she stopped. She didn't want that because she wasn't sure she did. Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true; she wasn't sure she wanted to love him. Let's face it. The man was difficult and pushy and too good-looking for his own good. The phone rang. Becca put her coffee down and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Is he gone?"
Becca leaned back against her pillows and nudged Tripod off her lap. "Yes, Annabelle. Rich just left. Your timing is impeccable."
"Oh, good. Now, tell me all about it."
"I don't know what to say. I'm still trying to figure everything out."
Annabelle let out an obviously frustrated breath. "You're going to make a list, aren't you?"
"What do you have against lists? They help me see things."
"Sweetie, lists are for organization, not for feelings. If you need to figure out your feelings, you need to talk to your best friend—i.e., me."
Becca moved to grab her coffee only to find Tripod with his head inside her cup, his ears peeking out over the rim. "Tripod, stop that, baby. Coffee isn't good for cats, no matter what Rich says." She pushed him away from the coffee, and he began licking the toast crumbs off the plate. "Your brother has been feeding Tripod coffee."
Annabelle laughed. "Yeah, that sounds like something Rich would do. Remind me never to let him babysit."
"Well, not without supervision, at least."
"Are you planning to be the one supervising?"
That's exactly what she'd pictured, but she wasn't about to admit it. "How is Mike?"
"I'm not going to let you change the subject. How many times did you force me to talk to you when Mike and I were seeing each other?"
"Okay. You got me. What do you want to know?"
"Where were you when Mike was freaking out looking for you?"
"Rich and I met Tristan, Kendal, and the others at The Big Easy."
"God you're brave."
"Stupid is more like it. I don't know what I was thinking. It was so awful."
"Don't tell me Rich did something—"
"No, he was wonderful. It was Tristan. He actually told your brother that he couldn't believe I had the guts to show my face after losing the estate and half my trust to—excuse the expression—some bastard."
"And Rich let him live?"
"He looked like he wanted to kill Tristan, but just calmly told him that that bastard was his brother-in-law and one of his best friends and that Tristan needed to get some manners. Well, that's before I took over…"
"I'm sure you had a thing or two to say."
"You know I did. But Annabelle, I'm so ashamed. I dragged Rich there only to have them ask me what it felt like to go slumming. I swear, if I hadn't been in a public place, I would have ripped that little bitch Kendal's face off."
"I would have paid to see that. I always hated Kendal."
"Now Rich thinks I'm broke. He actually offered me money."
"We're talking about my brother—Richard Antonio Ronaldi? It must be love. Either that or he's finally gone off the deep end."
"Yeah, well, he did say he loved me. Of course, he blurted it out while he was yelling at me."
"It's the Italian way. Still, he must have meant it if he said it while he was upset. Be careful with him, Bec. I don't think he's ever said that to anyone who doesn't swim in the same gene pool with him—murky water that it is. Rich has had a lot of girlfriends, but no one he ever really cared about, at least not that I know of. Do you love him?"
"He looks at me sometimes like he sees something everyone else doesn't. You know?"
"Uh huh. I saw him trying to figure you out yesterday. He's a smart guy, Bec. He's been in psychology for how long?"
"You think he's psychoanalyzing me?"
"No, I think he's tuned into you, and he understands you, or he's trying to. Why else would he fall in love with you? It's not as if you're the most open person. You always call me repressed, but let me tell you sister, you could give lessons on the subject yourself."
"I am not repressed."
"There's a difference between being sexually repressed and being emotionally repressed. I love you, but you have to admit that you hold so much of yourself back from people."
"But—"
"I know why you do it, sweetie. And it's okay, but you can't do that with the man you love. So go ahead and make your lists if they make you feel better, but I have a feeling the deed is done. You love Rich. He loves you. Now you just have to let him in and trust he's not going to hurt you. I told him I'd have his kneecaps broken if he did."
"I figured as much."
"Becca, just try to picture your life without him in it. If what you see is your everyday happy life, then the two of you have nothing in common but hot sex. You do have that, don't you? Hot sex, I mean."
"Yes."
"Good, hot sex is an important part of a relationship. Now, if you picture your life without Rich in it, and it sucks, then I suggest you open yourself up to him and see what happens. There's really no other choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Sure, okay, you can be miserable without him, or you can take a chance on becoming blissfully happy. It's a no-brainer, sister."
Becca laughed. "Yeah, that's easy for you to say, Mrs. Blissfully Happy."
"You got that right. Jump on in, the water's fine."
"Spoken like a true newlywed. I've got to go and find some coffee sans cat spit."
"Okay, I'll be at home all day if you need to talk."
"Thanks." Becca hit the end button and began her day. First thing, have a cup of coffee and then make a list.
Becca poured her coffee and went into the spare room to find her notebook. She had a real thing for notebooks. It was a sickness. Every time she walked into a store, she was in danger of finding a notebook she just couldn't live without. Sketchbooks, notebooks with lined paper she used for making lists, handmade, cheap—it really made no difference. She wanted them all. She grabbed her favorite, a robin's egg blue leather Levenger Circa notebook and the matching fountain pen she spent way too much for, and got down to the business of making a list. Probably the most important list she could make.

Pros
1. Rich was an amazing lover and had no problem keeping up with her sex drive.
2. He could take direction, both in bed and when it came to household chores. Not that he was the Domestic God he professed to be, but he was trying, and that meant a lot to her.
3. He liked and supported her work.
4. He wanted her even though he thought she was broke.
5. He liked her body just as God had made it. Long limbed, skinny, and flat-chested.
6. He put up with her eccentricities and wasn't trying to change her.
7. He said he loved her.
8. He loved Tripod. And the cat was near impossible to love.
9. He stood up for her, but allowed her to fight her own battles.
10. When she saw the fire truck outside the apartment and thought something had happened to Rich, she completely lost it.

Cons
1. He gave her cat coffee.
2.


She couldn't come up with any more cons. That was almost as annoying as the fact the pros came so easily. She'd never gotten above two or three pros with any other man she'd ever dated, and the cons were always too many to list.
Shit, Annabelle was right. Becca loved Rich, and she couldn't come up with a good enough reason to dump him.
Not that she was looking for a reason.
She didn't think she was looking for a reason.
So what if she was? She still couldn't come up with one, so that's what counted, right?
She slammed her notebook shut and threw it across the table. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She'd never fallen in love with a man before.
Becca did what she always did. She took her mood out on clay. She dumped a huge chunk and pounded it into submission. It took forever, but she loved the process, pressing all the air out of it, softening it, the feel of it when she'd worked it until it was perfect. Annabelle always said clay was like a drug to Becca. She'd go into a trancelike state, let the clay speak to her, a picture of what could be appeared in her mind, and then she'd work to create it. The picture that entered her mind was of a naked couple, the man holding the woman in front of him, his arms wrapped around her waist. She'd leave what they were doing to the imagination of the observer. She didn't need to make a sketch. She just pictured Rich holding her and went for it. Halfway through roughing out the piece, she'd decided to give it to Rich. Maybe then he'd replace that horrid first sculpture he'd grown so attached to.