Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(78)

“I think it’s rather clever,” Mary said, exuding a calming energy around the room. “But have you heard anything about it?” Mary asked Lizzie. “I was stunned that someone could come up with so many different ways to do … that.”

Lizzie shot Rake a horrified look as she opened her mouth, like she was begging him to stop what she was about to say.

“That’s the shop I work at,” Lizzie blurted out, whipping her head to stare at the space in front of her like she could see the words hovering over the table, and she wanted to grab them back. “It’s called Bernadette’s Bakery, and we specialize in sexually suggestive pastries.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Douglas said, dropping his silverware with a clang and rolling his eyes.

The rest of the table was silent.

Mary blinked at Lizzie, her pretty mouth dropping open in surprise. Ryan looked more confused than anything. But Claire’s displeasure radiated off her in palpable waves as she stared at Lizzie.

“This is your idea of work? This is your job?” Claire said, her voice a whisper. “Something so … so tasteless and tawdry?” Color rose on her cheeks. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes like someone had struck her. “You’ve always had so much potential, Elizabeth. Every door open to you. And this is the one you chose? An erotic bakery? Why would you do this? Do you enjoy embarrassing us?”

“Mom—” Ryan said weakly.

“Lizzie is extremely hardworking and clever and deserves respect,” Rake said, his temper flaring. “Her work may be … unconventional to you, but it’s hers and she’s happy and that should be enough.”

“Excuse me?” Claire said, looking at him as though she’d forgotten he was there. “That’s quite a declaration from someone she’ll likely grow bored of by next week. Who even are you to her?”

Lizzie stood, nearly knocking her chair over with the abruptness. She bolted from the room, the sound of her feet pounding up the stairs echoing around them. In a move that stunned them all, Ryan shot up, following behind her.

“I’m her goddamn partner,” Rake said, pushing back from the table and throwing his napkin on his plate. “And I’m really fucking proud of her.”

Rake walked out of the dining room, ready to mount the stairs when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he found Mary staring at him in earnest.

“Would you…” Mary drew in a deep breath, her eyes flicking up the stairs and back to Rake. “Would you let Ryan try? To talk to her, I mean. I know it’s probably not who she wants to talk to right now, but Ryan wants to at least try.”

Rake stared at her for a moment, his heart tugging him up the stairs, but the sincerity in Mary’s eyes convinced him to at least give Ryan a shot to be a good brother to Lizzie. He nodded.

Mary’s shoulders sagged at the gesture. “Thank you.”

They stood in awkward silence at the base of the steps, the gentle clink of silverware against dishes and phrases like she’ll never change and I hope no one at the club hears about this drifting from the other room as her parents continued their dinner.

“He feels a lot of guilt, you know,” Mary said at last, her eyes roaming over the wall of photos dedicated to Ryan. School pictures and sports shots, graduations and marriage all frozen in perfect snapshots of what an outsider would think was a family of three. Ryan, Douglas, and Claire, smiling at the camera.

“Guilt for what?” Rake asked, not really caring. As far as he could tell, they’d all tried their damnedest to crush Lizzie down, and he couldn’t wait to get her back to the sanctuary of their apartment.

Mary shot him a knowing look. “He’s starting to realize how unfair it’s been. How differently they grew up. I don’t think he really understood it as a kid, but he sees it now and he’s trying to figure out how to change it.”

Rake let out a rude snort and Mary’s lips pursed. “He is. The guilt eats him up. He’s been trying to reach out to her more, but he’s dense and bad at expressing himself. He’s trying to make amends, I think.”

“Amends for what, though? Why were they treated so differently?”

Mary sighed, moving closer to the wall of picture frames. She stood in front of a large wedding photo, her flowing white dress contrasted with the perfect blackness of Ryan’s tux, a waterfall of flowers cascading from her hands. Douglas and Claire were on either side, beaming as though they’d been the ones to tie the knot.

“I wish I knew,” Mary said, her voice cracking and surprising Rake with the genuine emotion in it. “It always seemed weird, to be completely honest. But if it’s not your family, how much can you push for details? Who are you to come in and turn over the stones of a family dynamic?” She reached out, tracing a manicured pink fingernail over their smiles. “Ryan and I were high school sweethearts, but I’ve known the family longer than that.”

Mary turned and looked at Rake. “What you have to understand is that a small, wealthy bubble of a town like this comes with a sort of ingrained natural order of things. I’m not sure what it was like where you grew up, but here, it was always that you loved your town, you lived and breathed for Friday night football and homecoming dances. Your family belonged to the country club, and you’d play tennis in the summer while your dad golfed and talked business. You ventured as far as the closest university, then came back and settled here, bringing up the next wave of devotees.