Lovestruck Forever (23 page)

“Got
it.” I turned to my dad who also hugged me.

“We’re
very proud of you, sweetheart,” he told me. I closed my eyes,
breathing in the familiar scent of him—a combination of ivory
soap and peppermint—and feeling incredibly grateful that we had
patched things up.

My
mom looked a little teary when I turned to her, but when her eyes met
mine, they were intense, fierce even. “You are going to do so
well. I know it, Lizzie.”

“Thank
you, Mama.”

She
took me into her arms and I closed my eyes. When I had met with the
Ellen Jacobs back in Los Angeles, I had wished so desperately that my
mom could be there to wish me luck. There was something about her
embrace, about the certainty in her voice that gave me strength. I
squeezed her tightly and she held on for a long time.

“I’m
so proud of you, Elizabeth,” she murmured, her hands smoothing
my hair. I pulled back to look at her—all traces of tears were
gone now, her gaze sure and steady on me. “Go get ’em.”

It
was a cheesy line, the kind of thing only a parent could get away
with, but it somehow made me feel much better. Strong. I smiled at
her and nodded. “I will.”

***

By
the time I got back to the hotel that afternoon, I felt dazed and
overwhelmed. Ciara had arranged four different meetings for us, with
two more scheduled for the following day. The editors came from both
large and medium-sized publishing houses, but all of them had been
identical in their approach—they had all raved about my book,
pitching me their plans for how we could make it a huge hit. I was
relieved that not one of them mentioned any kind of tie-in with
Thomas’s career, but didn’t fool myself—I knew I
more than likely wouldn’t be getting this kind of reception if
it wasn’t for the fact that a photograph of Thomas and me had
graced the cover of several weekly entertainment magazines just last
week with news of our engagement.

I
tried not to let those thoughts get the better of me, though. There
was way too much to focus on without worrying about those kinds of
things. Every editor we met with wanted to give me detailed
explanations of their process and their marketing plans. I found
myself hoping that Ciara was doing a better job of keeping it all
straight than I was.

“This
is good,” she had told me in the taxi as we left the last
publishing house. “They all seem very committed.”

“Really?
They don’t give that spiel to everyone?”

She
grinned at me over her Blackberry. “They give
some
kind of spiel to everyone. But not like that—they’re
courting you, Lizzie. It’s a good thing.” She returned
her attention to the Blackberry, a satisfied expression on her face.
“It should be quite interesting to get the offers in.”

I
fiddled with Sofie’s necklace. “And when do you think
that will be?”

“I’ll
let everyone know we’ll accept offers on Friday, extending to
Monday if response is good. Then you’ll have a few days to
decide.”

I
looked out the window at the teeming streets of Manhattan as we
slowly made our way down Madison Avenue. It was nice that she was so
confident, but I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she had it
all wrong. Was there really any chance that these publishing houses
would actually make an offer on my book?

My
family was still out when I got back to the hotel, and I reveled in
the chance to relax on my own, to get my thoughts in order. I pulled
off the uncomfortable heels Sofie had lent me and stretched out
across my bed, staring at the flowers on the nightstand. I had to
admit that today had gone much better than my prior brief experience
meeting with editors. That day had ended with Thomas and me having a
major fight as I accused him of arranging the entire meeting.

A
knock on the door startled me. I pulled myself from the bed and went
to look through the peephole. My father stood in the hall, waiting
for me to answer the door.

I
quickly unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. “Daddy,”
I said, surprised. “I didn’t think you were back yet.”

I
moved out of the way so he could enter the room. “Thomas booked
a pedicure for your mother and cousin at the hotel’s spa,”
he said. “I thought I’d come up to see if you were back
yet.” He looked around the basic room, shaking his head
slightly. “I would have thought he’d splurge on the suite
for you, not us.”

“He
wanted to do something special for you,” I said.

My
dad’s face grew very serious. “Please make sure he knows
he doesn’t have to try to impress us, Lizzie. He’s going
to be a member of the family.”

I
squirmed a little, uncomfortable. I had been wondering if my dad
would be turned off by the amount of money Thomas had clearly spent.
“He knows that, Daddy. He just…he would consider it a
sign of respect. Putting the two of you in a suite. I swear he’s
not trying to be flashy.” I swallowed hard and fidgeted with
the cuffs of my sleeves. “I’m sorry if it makes you
uncomfortable.”

“No,
Lizzie,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
He peered into my face. “You look exhausted. I haven’t
even asked you how the meetings went. Come on, let’s go
downstairs and get some coffee, and we can talk about it.”

“That
sounds great.” I allowed him to steer me from the room. In the
hallway, he took my hand and slipped it into the crook of his elbow.

“Your
mother and I are having a wonderful time,” he said, pushing the
button for the elevator. “I didn’t mean to sound as if
that wasn’t the case.”

“I’m
glad, Dad.”

The
elevator arrived, and I could tell he was watching me as we entered.
“Does the money issue bother you?” he asked.

I
nodded, not meeting his eyes. “It’s always been strange
for me, since we first started dating.”

“Why?”

I
finally looked at him. His expression was genuinely curious. “Because
you and Mama always raised us to take care of ourselves. To be
self-reliant, like you guys are. I…I’ve never really
been comfortable with him spending money on me. It feels too much
like a hand-out.”

Before
he could answer, the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the
lobby. We didn’t speak as we made our way to the restaurant
where we’d had breakfast that morning. A waiter greeted us
immediately, and my dad ordered us each a cup of coffee and a plate
of pastries. Once the waiter had gone, my dad folded his arms on the
table, giving me a searching look.

“Lizzie,
your mother and I raised you and your brothers and sisters to take
care of yourselves.” I looked away, feeling like my fears were
confirmed. He didn’t approve of Thomas’s money, either.
But then he went on. “We want you to be proud of yourselves and
what you’ve earned, but you need to remember that pride can be
a sin.”

I
looked up at him, surprised.

“Once
the two of you are married, you’ll be a family. What’s
his will be yours, and vice versa. You can’t go around
resenting his money—that will lead to serious problems in your
marriage. I don’t want that for you.”

“So…you’re
saying I should just shut my mouth and let him spend money on me?”
I asked. He chuckled.

“I
wouldn’t say it quite like that. But I think Thomas has proven
that he’s a levelheaded young man. He hardly seems like the
type to be wasteful with his money.”

“He’s
not,” I assured my dad. “His apartment in London is about
the size of our garage, and he’s been there for years.”

“That
sounds like him. Besides, wouldn’t you rather he be generous
than stingy?”

“Of
course.” I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but
Thomas was one of the most generous people I’d ever known. I
couldn’t imagine anyone ever describing him as stingy.

“To
be honest with you, it makes me happy that you’ve chosen
someone who can take care of you.” I couldn’t help but
roll my eyes at his patriarchal point of view. “I know,”
he said, seeing my expression. “You can take care of yourself.
But I’m your father. Of course I want what’s best for
you. And it gives me comfort to know that you’ll never be
without.”

Our
order arrived and we both busied ourselves adding cream and sugar to
our coffees. “Look, Lizzie,” my dad finally said. “Your
mother and I are having a wonderful time here. We’re so
grateful to Thomas for making this happen. I only brought it up
because I want to make sure he knows he’s welcome in our
family. He doesn’t owe us anything. Do you understand?”

I
felt like crying. I’d wanted to hear those words from my dad
for so long. “I do, Daddy.”

He
smiled at me. “Good. I know I… It wasn’t right,
the way I acted toward the two of you. I’ll probably always
regret that.”

The
part of me that hated to see him upset wanted to tell him that it was
fine, that I’d forgotten all about it, but the part of me that
had cried countless tears over his disownment wouldn’t let me.
Instead, I merely nodded.

“I
realize now that you were right—right to leave, right to go
back to him. You’re supposed to fight for the people you love.
I’m…I’m proud of you, that you were able to do
that.”

My
head snapped up, shocked. I had never imagined I would hear him say
he was proud of me for defying him. But his expression was solemn,
and I knew he was telling me the truth.

“I
couldn’t imagine anyone better for you, Lizzie. I really
couldn’t.”

“Thank
you,” I whispered, hoping he could tell how much his words
meant to me.

He
reached across the table to lightly punch my shoulder, more of a tap,
really, the way he had since I was a kid. It was such a
quintessential dad move, it made me want to cry even more. “Don’t
you go getting sappy on me.”

I
laughed. “Okay, Daddy.”

He
grinned at me, and I could feel whatever resentment and anger that
had remained since I left home melt away. I thought I’d
forgiven him a long time ago, but now, for the first time, I realized
that I really and truly could let go of the hurt of those bad months.

“Now,”
he said, reaching for a raspberry scone. “Tell me about your
meetings.”

On
Thursday, our last day in the city and my first day with no meetings,
we picked up Callie at her office to join us for some wedding dress
shopping. “I’m so excited!” she squealed once she’d
hopped into the hired car. “I’m so glad Thomas thought of
this—I would have been so sad if I missed you trying on wedding
dresses.”

“Me,
too,” Sofie agreed. “And you get to try on dresses in New
York!”

“They’re
probably not all that different from dresses at home,” I
pointed out. Both Callie and Sofie scowled, making clear their
opinion on my knowledge of fashion.

“It
will be a lovely day,” my mother said, looking out the window
as the car pulled out from the curb and into traffic.

“So
what have you guys been doing since you got here?” Callie
asked. “I can’t believe you’ve been here for three
days and this is the first I’m seeing you.”

“Lizzie
has been very busy with her fancy schmancy literary meetings,”
Sofie said. “And we’ve been running around the city
checking out all the sights.”

“How’ve
the meetings been?” Callie asked, even though we’d texted
back and forth several times since the first one on Tuesday.

“Good.”
I almost felt scared to say more. Ciara was feeling very confident.
Everything seemed almost too good to be true, and I was afraid I
might somehow jinx the whole thing if I appeared too sure of myself.
Callie met my eyes, and I could tell she knew there was more I wasn’t
telling her.

“So,
what are you thinking for the dress?” she asked, wisely
changing the subject.

“I
have no idea,” I said. “I got so confused last time with
my sisters. I thought I knew what I wanted and then they started
taking over—”

“Of
course they did,” she said, her eyes sparkling in amusement.

“Yeah,
well, by the time we left, I was in worse shape than when I got
there. I have no idea what I want now.”

“It
will be easier today,” she soothed. “How many times have
I helped you pick out clothes in our lives?”

“Lots.”

She
snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “You got it. Between the
four of us, we’ll figure it out.”

Thomas
had asked Callie to make the dress appointment, figuring she would
know the best place for us to go. She didn’t disappoint. The
driver brought us to a large storefront in Brooklyn. Inside, we found
a dizzying array of dresses and two very helpful boutique owners,
Reese and Carla. They got us settled in a pink-walled waiting room
furnished entirely with purple velvet. Ornate gold mirrors hung on
all four walls, and a giant vase of fake orchids filled one corner.
The boutique had a slightly tacky air to it, but I found it put me
quickly at ease. I felt much more comfortable here than I would have
in a super high-end couture type of place. While Reese went to get
our complimentary champagne, Carla asked me about my dress shopping
experience up until that point. I explained to her how frustrated I
was feeling after my first appointment.

“We’ll
get you sorted out,” she promised. “We’ll start
with a few basic silhouettes to see what you feel comfortable in and
go from there.”

I
nodded. She seemed so calm and confident, I couldn’t help but
trust her. Reese returned with our champagne—and a glass of
sparkling apple juice for Sofie—and Carla told us to relax
while they went in search of some dresses to start with.

“How’d
you find this place?” I asked, looking around the small room.
“It doesn’t really seem like your style, Cal.”

“Three
girls from my office bought their dresses here last year,”
Callie explained. “When they described it, I knew it would be
perfect for you.” She winked at me. “I didn’t think
that you’d be really comfortable in some sleek, over-the-top
salon in Manhattan. Besides, the selection here is supposed to be
second-to-none, and you get really personalize attention.”