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There was a knock on the door, and with a last check at her teeth for any errant lipstick, she went to answer it.
It was her father.
Speaking of dragons…
“Good evening, Waverley. I thought we might have a word before we went downstairs to greet our guests.”
“Okay. Come in,” she said unnecessarily as he was already striding inside.
Her father paused as he looked around him at the chaos that working twenty hours a day either bent over her sewing machine, cutting out patterns sprawled out on the floor, or spreading various fabrics across chairs and tables to get a feeling for their color and texture had brought about in the room. “You have been busy. I take it this is why you’ve been hiding away up here instead of helping with the planning for tonight’s event?”
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in what she’d accomplished, as she followed his gaze around the room. “It is. I’m creating a line of clothes, a line that an actual boutique here in Denver wants to feature. Can you believe it?”
He raised his brows as he met her gaze. “You want to sell…clothing?”
“I know that you have never approved of my interest in design, and it’s why I focused my studies on communication instead in college. But in the past few months, I’ve found that I really might have a knack for this. For fashion and style.”
“Fashion? You want to go into fashion?” He asked it in a tone that told her his doubts. But she didn’t care. She’d given his opinion too much importance and control in her life for too long.
“Yes. Me, Dad. I know that you don’t approve of me or how I look or some of my recent choices. I know that you’ve always wanted a daughter to carry on the Abbott line who was slim and elegant and who could host the parties and rub elbows with high society just like Grandmama could. Mom always said what a grand dame your mom was, something she could never live up to during your marriage, which was why it could never work out. I’m realizing that no matter what I do, I’ll never be the daughter you want, the daughter you could be proud of. And that’s okay. I’m not going to twist myself into a tight knot trying to please you anymore. This is who I am,” she said, stepping back and hoping he would really see her. “And I hope one day you might be able to be okay with that.”
He didn’t say anything as he stood there, his face like stone, and she tried not to flinch under his unwavering gaze.
“Waverley,” he said finally, his voice suspiciously low and full of emotion. “I’m not one of those fathers prone to heaping praise on his offspring. I wasn’t raised that way. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you or that I am not proud of you. I am proud of you. Immensely. You’ve done well for yourself, seeing your way through the loss of your marriage and the scandal that followed. If I’ve been harsh, it’s because I know what society can expect from a young woman, the burdens. And I only want you to have everything you deserve. I guess I may have tied that in to looking a certain way if that makes things easier. But maybe I was wrong. If this is something you wish to pursue, then you should do it. Even if it will be a tough road, very subjective, I understand,” he added, sounding a little more like the man she knew.
“It definitely is going to be tough. But I’m going to go into this with two goals. To design clothes that represent me and my values, and to offer those clothing options to other women so they can have the confidence they need to go on a job interview, or maybe go out on a first date, or even host a party for a hundred of Denver’s finest.”
“You designed this?” he asked, looking at her dress with renewed interest. She nodded. He met her eyes with something that she thought might just be approval. And pride. “Well done. You look quite regal in it.”
Regal? She laughed. It was as close to a flattering comment as he probably would ever make. “Thank you.”
“Shall we head down then?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Definitely,” she said and took it as he led her down the hallway and to the staircase, where he seemed to waver a moment on the top step, reminding her how fragile he was getting.
“So what about this fellow who was here last time?” he asked. “The fake boyfriend private investigator who you told me would be here. Will he be arriving soon?”
She didn’t blink or flinch, just kept her gaze on the steps and the people wandering around sipping champagne at the end of the staircase. “Reynolds isn’t going to be coming. We’re not really seeing each other anymore.”
“Oh? But you actually were seeing him in a romantic capacity at one point, right? What happened?”
“I guess he just didn’t see our potential.”
Her dad paused as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his attention on something across the room. “You sure about that?”
She followed his gaze through the crowd until a lone figure staring intently in her direction stopped her.
Her heart nearly jack-rabbited out of her chest as she recognized Reynolds.
He was dressed in a tuxedo and looking as uncomfortable as if its lining was made of porcupine quills. But he was here, and he looked so heartachingly handsome with his hair slicked back, his chiseled jawline shaved smooth, and those shoulders barely contained in his jacket that she was having some trouble catching her breath.
He must have been walking, because suddenly he was in front of her, his brown eyes that familiar shade of dark spicy rum, leaving her knees weak and her belly fluttering.
“Good evening, Mr. Abbott. Waverley,” he said and paused to stare at her until she was sure she would drown in their richness. “You look beautiful. Just like always.”
Why was he standing here being so polite to her dad and saying such wonderful things to her? He’d gotten rid of her. Crushed her entirely. Coming here now was only making it harder. “Why are you here, Reynolds?”
He’d said everything he’d needed to before—or rather, he hadn’t said anything, a silence that had spoken volumes and wounded her more deeply than anyone else had wounded her before.
