“Swell. In fact, don’t be surprised if I barely eat anything,” Tess said.
Her father said the blessing. No sooner had they all said, “Amen” than Gillian said, “When you called to tell me you were coming for dinner, I half expected you to bring a guest.”
“You did? Why?” Tess had never once subjected anyone else to one of these strained meals.
“Bitsy Harper said she saw you out last weekend on a date. She seemed to think it looked...” Gillian shot a glance toward her husband before dropping her voice. “Passionate. I do hope you were comporting yourself with decorum?”
“Oh, for crying out... I danced with him. Once. That was all.” But, Lord, what a dance. Tess stabbed at her mashed potatoes. She wished she were somewhere with Nick now. “Bitsy Harper has an overactive imagination. Nick and I—”
“Nicholas Pfeffer?” her mother asked, her eyes gleaming. “The lawyer?”
“No, Nick Calhoun. The cowboy,” Tess added with relish.
Gillian frowned. “The one who stutters?”
Right, because heaven forbid one of Gillian’s daughters date someone with a defect. Would it do any good if Tess pointed out that he hadn’t stuttered in years but that even if he did, he was a kind, loyal, sexy man with an adorable daughter and a gift with horses? “Yes, the one who stuttered. But it could be worse, right? He could have frizzy hair!”
“Why are you raising your voice to me?” Gillian looked genuinely shocked. “Howard, tell her not to raise her voice at the table.”
Tess stood. “I shouldn’t have come.” Not when she was apparently spoiling for a fight. She’d spent her teenage years arguing with her mother and it had accomplished nothing. What was the point in wasting her breath now and ruining her parents’ dinner?
“Contessa Gretchen Fitzpatrick, you sit down and finish your meal.” Her mother pointed at the chair. “Honestly. You know, your sister would never behave like this.”
“Trust me, I am aware. If I knew how to be more like Regina, Mom... Don’t you think I would have loved the solos, the boyfriends, the approval from my parents?” Tears blurred her vision, and Tess hurried to the kitchen, wanting to be alone when they finally fell.
She leaned over the counter, pressing her hands to her eyes in a futile attempt to stem the flow. The click, click of Gillian’s heels wrung a damp groan from her.
“Not now, Mom.”
“Shush. Mothers know best.” Her mom stood beside her and, for a brief second, put her arm around Tess’s shoulders and squeezed. It wasn’t much as hugs went, but Gillian had never been demonstratively affectionate. “Now, what’s this really about?”
Because a lifetime of resentment at being a second-class citizen in her own family wasn’t enough of a reason to snap?
“You’ve always been outspoken, but you’re not typically this emotional,” Gillian said. “So what’s changed? Is it this Nick?”
Yes. “Despite whatever Bitsy told you, he and I are not a couple. I am single.” Utterly and spectacularly single.
“Well, you’ve always been a very independent person. Not everyone is meant to be in a relationship.”
“Jeez, Mom! You don’t have to make it sound as if I’ll die alone. I want to be in a relationship. Regina’s not the only one who’s dreamed of a big white wedding and her day in the sun as a beautiful bride. I deserve happiness, too.” Her voice broke. “Don’t I?”
“Tessie.”
Both women turned in surprise to find Howard Fitzpatrick standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He locked gazes with his daughter, his eyes full of compassion, and simply opened his arms. Tess threw herself into the bear hug, letting her father soothe her as if she were a little girl. She sniffed, trying not to cry all over his polo shirt.
He held her silently, proving what she’d told Nick once. Sometimes, the words didn’t matter. It was okay if you didn’t know what to say. Actions were more important anyway.
Hypocrite. If actions were so important, why was she clinging to Nick’s words, hiding behind them as if they were a shield? Yes, he’d said his feelings for Farrah dated back years. Yes, he’d made it sound as if he’d once considered her the Holy Grail of girlfriends. But those were statements, not actions.
His dance with Tess—that had been an action. Kissing her. Coming to her house the other night. Bringing her flowers.
Was she letting her own insecurities and a few words stand in the way of the happiness she claimed to deserve?
* * *
IT WAS STRANGE FOR NICK to enter the high school Monday evening. He himself had graduated from this school, but that seemed like an alternate universe. There was a disconnect between the kid he’d been and the man escorting his nervous daughter to the auditorium. Her hair was tamed into a sleek dark bun and she wore a red leotard with white tights. He was supposed to deliver her backstage so she could get her tutu and some light makeup. Tess was using this as a way to prepare some of the younger dancers for the much-more-complicated spring recital.
Nick had to admit, he wasn’t particularly in a Valentine’s mood, but he looked forward to watching his daughter dance. “You are going to be great!”
“My tummy feels funny,” she admitted.
His, too. This would be the first time he’d seen Tess since his ill-advised plan of showing up at her house.
If the backstage area was a piece of artwork, it would have been titled “Pandemonium in Pink.” Girls were giggling and crying and looking for a missing ballet slipper. Mothers were lacing tutus and applying makeup to little faces. Younger siblings were zipping around, ducking between the curtain panels despite repeated reminders that there was no running.
“Miss Tess!” Without waiting for Nick, Bailey ran up to the woman in the center of the chaos, hugging her beloved ballet teacher.
Nick actually experienced a moment’s envy that she was allowed to express her affection so unreservedly. He settled for a crisp nod. “Miss Fitzpatrick.”
Her gaze was surprisingly warm, like melting chocolate. “Actually, I prefer Contessa.”
It wasn’t so much her words that threw him as the timbre of her voice. Something had changed, but this probably wasn’t the time or place to ask her what.
She swallowed. “Nick, I—”
“Tess, I can’t get the music to work!” A teenager with a frantic expression and pink streaks in her blond hair approached Tess. “And Mom asked if we’ve got any more of those sequined bows?”
“Okay, be right there.” Tess looked at Nick. “Can we talk after the performance? Please?”
He wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but he instinctively recognized the vulnerability in her voice. It echoed how he’d felt for the past week. Was there still a chance that she would believe what he’d been trying to tell her? “Absolutely. Anything I can do to help in the meantime?”
“Would you be willing to handle the door-prize announcements and take over raffle tickets? Heather was selling them, but we need her for last-minute costume emergencies. Unless you’re handy with a needle and thread?” Tess’s dimple appeared unexpectedly, and he badly wanted to kiss her.
“Raffle tickets it is.”
A few minutes later, Heather had handed him the roll of tickets and the zipped pouch of cash. “Make sure people know it’s for a good cause,” she said. For each class at the dance studio, Tess held slots for a couple of students from lower-income families, girls who showed promise and a real love of dance but whose parents couldn?
?t quite afford lessons. The raffle was to help with a fund that allowed those students to buy shoes and costumes.
Determined to make Tess proud and raise money for something important to her, he approached everyone—mothers, fathers, grandparents—and poured on as much charm as he could.
“I’ll take ten,” a female cooed.
When he turned, he saw Farrah smiling up at him. “That’s great. It’s for a worthy cause.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “You are such a good father, getting involved like this. My ex probably won’t even bother to show up and support his daughters, yet here you are. Volunteering backstage, getting involved at PTA meetings... I’m a little hurt, you know.”