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Damn right she did. Who would be so callous as to send their teenage daughter to a fat camp—or withhold that pertinent bit of information? It made him want to head down and punch the old man in the face right then and there.
“I just—” His throat closed up as he was choked with emotion. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Waverley. That your father would do that do you? That must have been devastating.”
She looked at the picture. “I wish I could say that was the worst thing he ever did to me.”
He was almost too afraid to ask. But he wanted to know. “What was worse than springing a fat camp on a young, impressionable teenage girl?”
She smiled wanly. “Picture a little girl arriving home from school on her sixth birthday and spotting a large white box tied with a bright pink ribbon and a card from her father sitting on the kitchen table. Of her excitement at opening the box and seeing piles of pink tulle and a bodice of the softest satin sitting on white tissue paper. Only to find, as she tried to pull the dress down over her head, that the princess dress she’d always wanted was three sizes too small and no amount of squeezing and tugging would make that fit her chubby little body.”
It was worse than the fat camp story. Barely.
He took her hand and led her over to a small navy-and-white-striped sofa and sat her down, taking the seat next to her. He brought her hands, now cold and icy, into his own and held them in his.
“What happened? Tell me that your mom set him straight.”
“Oh, my mom was furious, all right. She got on the phone with him later that night when she thought I was asleep and laid into him. I don’t know what he said to her, but I could tell his response didn’t improve the situation when she slammed the phone down.”
“At least he learned his lesson,” Reynolds said, although he didn’t feel particularly optimistic.
“You’d think. He did the same thing the next year, but by then I was more cautious when I opened that box. By the time the next box came for my eighth birthday, we didn’t even open it.”
“Okay. I now officially hate your father.”
“Yeah. I think I did too for a little while. But it was those early experiences that probably prepared me for the infamous fat camp scenario. I wish I could say that, despite all of what happened and my mom’s constant love and support, I no longer cared about his opinion. But I did. And by the end of that summer, when I arrived home to Idaho and my mom, I was finally the perfectly sized daughter he’d always wanted. But my victory was short-lived when I took one look at my mom and saw how wasted away and sick she looked.”
He nodded. Ovarian cancer. Stage four.
“She died a few months later, which was when I came here.” She looked around the room. “You can see, though, that I had it pretty good. A beautiful new room, a pool in the back, servants who made my bed and cleaned my bathroom without me having to lift a finger, and finally the skinny figure to fit in all the clothes I’d ever coveted before.”
“Hell, Waverley,” Reynolds said, his voice all low and gravelly, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her against him, settling instead on hoping that the warmth and weight of his hands holding hers offered her some comfort. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the loss of your mom and for having such a shit for a father.”
She smiled. “Maybe don’t lead our goodbyes with that one.”
They sat there for a few more minutes, enjoying the quiet of the room and neither feeling the need to fill it with conversation.
Finally, she spoke. “We probably should go downstairs and join the party.”
“Probably. Or at the very least let Stanton Chrysler know in no uncertain terms that whatever matchmaking your father was attempting, you’ve already landed the man of your dreams.”
She giggled. “That’s going to be hard to do since I think the guy’s convinced he’s the man of every woman’s dreams.” Her stomach gurgled, and she quickly pulled a hand from his and rested it over it in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t have much of an appetite down there with everyone watching me so closely.”
Not that he could blame her. Too bad he hadn’t been similarly inclined.
“You know what you need?” he asked, pulling her up to her feet. “You need some real, stick-to-your-bones food surrounded by people who don’t give a flying monkey’s butt about your weight, the calorie count of the food on your plate, or the whereabouts of your criminal ex-husband.”
“Real food? You nearly ate your weight in butterscotch scones, so they must have been real enough.”
He considered that. “Okay, those were spectacular. But the rest of it? Pigeon food. And the caviar? Who wants fish eggs before noon? Hell, who wants fish eggs ever?”
She laughed again, her mood already lighter. “What did you have in mind?”
Chapter 12
“Here we are.”
Waverley stared up at the house that Reynolds declared their destination.
Her first impression was how perfectly situated the home was in the graceful, older neighborhood filled with mature trees and well-maintained lawns. She noted the flower beds that ran along the property edge and the front of the house that even the dusting of snow from earlier couldn’t hide the early starts of tulips pushing through the ground. She would bet it was going to look spectacular once they all bloomed.
