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“I understand,” he said and glanced at Waverley, who was chewing her bottom lip nervously. He smiled at her, hoping to reassure her, but that only had her eyes opening wide in alarm as she stared back at him.
Yeah, he got it. He didn’t smile much.
“Now, RJ,” Sabine asked, her light blue eyes twinkling with mischief, “tell us. How did the two of you meet? Was it love at first sight?”
He chuckled as he pulled Waverley closer to him, his hand still draped casually on her hip. Probably unnecessary but there was something about being able to hold her against him like he’d thought about a few too many times that he couldn’t resist.
“I can’t speak for Waverley, but I can certainly attest to the fact that, the moment I saw her, I knew she was special.”
“Details, please!” Sabine continued, draining almost half of her mimosa in one gulp.
“Want to take this?” he asked Waverley.
“W-well, I guess we first met here in Denver,” she said, her voice trembling slightly enough that an untrained ear might not have picked up on it, but to his ear, it betrayed her nervousness. “It was at one of the fundraising events the foundation put on last spring. I thought he seemed very kind and generous, but of course, I hadn’t thought much beyond that at the time. I didn’t see him again until a couple months ago. In February. He was back in the city meeting a client at the Four Seasons and had gone for a walk around Skyline Park, where I happened to also be walking, and we ran into each other. It started to snow, so he invited me to get coffee, where we spent the next couple of hours talking and getting to know each other.”
“And when she realized how late it was and tried to get away,” he added, just as they’d practiced, “I insisted she join me for dinner, where we spent another two hours practically closing the place down. Unfortunately, my visit was cut short when I had to fly to Seattle to meet with another client, but we stayed in touch, talking almost every day. I like to think it was my influence that convinced her to move to Blue Haven since I knew she was looking for a fresh start and I was hoping for a chance to see where things might go.”
“Of course you did. It sounds so romantic,” Sabine said.
“Yes. Quite,” Richard Abbott added with a tone of derision. One of the waitstaff came over and spoke quietly in the older man’s ear before leaving them. Richard cleared his throat, raising his voice for all of his guests to hear. “It appears our brunch is ready to be served. Why don’t we freshen our drinks and head to the sunroom, where everything is laid out for our enjoyment.”
It was the signal everyone was waiting for as they headed to the large archway on the other end of the room and disappeared from sight as he and Waverley stayed back.
“You did great,” he said, not making any attempt to remove his arm from her.
“My father didn’t seem very convinced.”
He shrugged. “He’s a tough old bird, but I wouldn’t worry. The story only has to stand up to scrutiny for another week. Just long enough to get to the Keys, where we can get a decent lead on Spencer. Then you can tell him the truth.”
“Can’t wait for that,” she said sarcastically.
Yeah, he wouldn’t blame her for dreading that conversation. “I’m famished. Lead me to the food.”
They exited through the grand archway and were out in another hallway.
“After we eat, you have to give me a tour of the place,” he muttered after they passed by a room with massive shelves that rose toward the ceiling, then a formal dining room with a table fit for a king and his entire entourage.
The last room at the end of the hall had floor-to-ceiling windows facing the west and a large fireplace made of white granite, where a fire was crackling away. On the end of the room opposite the fireplace, where half the crowd was congregated, was a long table filled with silver trays heated by Bunsen burners that gave off a savory aroma of bacon and sausages, along with trays of fresh fruits, breads and rolls, and a couple varieties of quiches.
His stomach was already gurgling as he approached the table. For the next thirty minutes, he worked through the plate he’d piled with the delectable food while he and Waverley also worked their way around the room.
Ordinarily he hated the small talk that came with this kind of thing, but with half a plate left of the best butterscotch scones he’d ever tasted, he found it tolerable.
Small talk or not, however, he had noticed that most of the conversation was stiff and formal. The questions asked were asked with a hint of condescension.
And not directed at him.
“No word about Spencer then?” someone asked her for about the fifth time today.
She forced a smile. “No. But I wouldn’t expect to, seeing as how we’re divorced, Ethel. Perhaps you’ve heard something?”
Ethel. Right, this was Spencer’s great aunt, which gave him a greater appreciation to Waverley’s follow-up question about whether she had heard from her wayward great-nephew.
“Such a shame,” the woman said, shaking her silvery white hair. “How ever did you let him get away?” She glanced down over Waverley’s figure more noticeably, with a hint of judgment, as if answering her own question.
He could sense Waverley’s carefully maintained control slipping. Thinking quickly, and with his free hand still around her waist, he leaned toward her and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, just below her right ear. She shivered, something he might not have noticed had he not been holding her so close. “The better question might be, why would anyone let someone like her get away? Look at her. She’s beautiful,” he said, defying the woman to say anything differently.
“She certainly is something,” Richard Abbott said, coming to join them. “You probably didn’t see Waverley before the whole sordid mess. Things have been rough for her these past few months, but she’s working to get back to the woman she once was.”
