Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery

should get over it. But jeez, I was held back twice in school and she barely noticed. Do you have any idea how hard that was? How the kids tormented me? And then I got very, very tall. That didn’t help.”

      “I like that you’re tall.”

      She felt herself smile. “Really?”

      “Tall women are sexy.”

      Could she extrapolate from that? Probably not while dressed as a hotel maid, but maybe there was hope.

      “Joyce always said that I was her redemption,” he said. “I think of myself more as a do-over.”

      “No. Go with being her redemption. That’s way cooler. Who gets to say that about themselves? Of course, there is a lot of responsibility that goes with it, but it would be worth it.”

      “You’re an idealist.”

      “Mostly. You’re a cynic.”

      “You can’t know that.”

      “I can guess.”

      “Because I’m older and wiser?”

      “And you’ve seen the world.”

      He laughed. “While you’ve been trapped here in Los Lobos. Life happens everywhere.”

      “Yes, but it’s not exciting here.”

      “It’s not exciting anywhere. Don’t buy into the press reports. They’re lying.”

      She felt as if there was a hidden meaning in his words, but she had no idea what it was.

      “How old were you when your father died?” he asked.

      Talk about an unexpected shift in conversation. “Three. I don’t remember him at all. I don’t remember much about that time. I’m sure it was horrible, but it’s all blurry to me. I know it was tough for my mom. She worked as a secretary at my dad’s office, but she wasn’t an accountant like he was. When my dad died, a lot of people in the company quit and most of the clients left. There wasn’t any life insurance and my mom lost the house.”

      “What happened?”

      “Joyce took us in. Funny how she took you in, and then when you left for college, she took us in.”

      “I doubt the events are related.”

      “Probably not. Anyway, we lived in one of the bungalows. My mom studied accounting at night, hung on to the employees and clients she could and slowly built her way back. Over time, she became a CPA, bought a house, then a bigger house, put Sienna through college.”

      His gaze was steady. “You must be proud.”

      “I am.” The words were automatic.

      “But?”

      “There’s no but. I’m very proud of my mother. She went through something really horrible and came out the other side. Her three daughters are productive members of society.”

      “But?”

      “I love my mom.”

      “No one is saying you don’t.”

      He had a nice voice, she thought absently. Low and kind of seductive. Compelling. She found herself wanting to answer the unspoken question. Not because she felt the need to share, but because he was drawing it out of her.

      “I’m still angry.”

      “For not noticing you got left behind?”

      “That and other things. I had a learning disability. That’s why I didn’t do well in school. It wasn’t diagnosed until I was ten. Nothing that dramatic, just a slightly different wiring in my brain. With the right tools, I started doing better. Plus, it was the kind of thing I would eventually outgrow.”

      She reached for another fry. “Once I could read and understand, I worked really hard to catch up with everyone else. I started doing well. I was transferred out of the remedial classes and into mainstream ones. I got As and Bs. My mom never noticed. I tried to tell her, but she never had time.”

      Courtney rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I’m still the baby.”

      “Why would you say that? You went through something difficult. You feel how you feel. You’re not wrong.”

      “Are you secretly a woman?”

      He leaned his head back and laughed. “I work with artists. I’ve learned how to be sensitive. But thank you for affirming my masculinity.”

      “Anytime.”

      “How did you let your mother know you were angry?” he asked.

      “What makes you think I did?”

      “You wouldn’t have suffered in silence. Not your style.” He smiled. “I know because you’re not afraid of me. A lot of people are.”

      “Maybe I hide my fear with humor.”

      “You hide a lot of things with humor, but not fear.”

      Yikes. This was not a topic she wanted to deal with. The how did you let your mother know you were angry? now seemed so much easier by comparison.

      “I left high school when I was eighteen. Just walked out. There was nothing the state could do. She didn’t like that.”

      “I remember. You had a promising career at Happy Burger and you threw it all away.”

      “I had the chance to do more, so I did. Not everyone has that chance.”

      “Point taken. What else?”

      “I didn’t speak to her for a year. Or my sister Sienna.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that Sienna and I have ever been close.”

      “Why not?”

      “I don’t know. Have you met her? She’s so perfect. I mean physically beautiful. Which I guess I don’t technically care about, but things come easily to her. She was good in school without really trying, and the guys were all over her. She’s been engaged twice and broke it off both times. No one’s ever wanted to marry me.”

      “Have you wanted to marry anyone?”

      “No, but that’s not the point. I want to be asked. I never was. Not to a school dance or anything.”

      “You’ve had boyfriends.”

      Not a question, but close enough that she felt compelled to answer. “I’ve had guys in my life. When I turned eighteen, I didn’t just leave high school, I left home. I was on my own. I got involved with some real jerks. They were a little older and I thought they were so cool.” She picked up the last fry. “I was wrong.”

      “You figured it out.”

      “After a while, yes.”

      “Some people never do.”

      “That’s sad. Anyway, I didn’t speak to my mom or Sienna. I stayed in touch with Rachel. She and I are close. Eventually, she talked me into meeting with Mom and we reconnected.” Sort of. They were a family, but they weren’t all that involved in each other’s lives. Or to be completely honest, she didn’t let anyone know what was happening with hers.

      “Oh,” she said brightly, “I got a tattoo. The day I turned eighteen. It was supposed to be a symbol of my freedom.”

      “Is it?”

      “No. It was silly. And because I was so young, it’s on the small of my back.” She held up a hand. “Don’t judge.”