Even Gracie's mother, who had a reputation as a bit of a control freak, seemed relaxed and was having a lively discussion with Paul's father. If Libby's father attended an event like this he would spend most of the evening complaining about the food and acting too important to partake in the conversation.
The very thought of her father made Libby's throat clench. Why couldn't he love her the way she was? Why couldn't he be proud of her?
The waiters arrived at the table carrying dessert in an alternate drop. Chocolate mousse with raspberries and a heavenly slice of baked cheesecake. Too bad her appetite had been whittled away by the bad taste left in her mouth from that afternoon.
"Don't you like mousse?" Paul touched her leg under the table. "We can swap if you like. I'm not fussy when it comes to dessert."
She shook her head. "I love mousse."
"Then why are you looking at it like it's the spawn of the devil?"
"Dad came to see me today," she blurted out, unable to carry the weight of that burden by herself.
"Ahh." Paul put his fork down and turned to her. "Tell me what happened."
"I know there's no point rehashing it-he'll never change." She toyed with the ornate desert spoon, scooping out a miniscule amount and letting herself have a taste. "But he makes me so … so … "
"Speechless?" he offered with a gentle squeeze of his hand.
Despite herself, Libby smiled. "Ashamed."
"Why ashamed?"
"Nothing I do is good enough. He never fails to make me feel like I'm this big." She gestured with a small space between her fingers. "I'm like a failed experiment that he's desperately trying to get back on track. I wish he'd leave me be."
"No you don't." Paul's dark eyes cut through her, seeing the truth that she tried so hard to keep hidden.
The little girl who'd only ever wanted to be loved by her family.
"You want him to accept you," he continued. "That's why it hurts when he speaks to you like that. If you really wanted him to leave you be then you'd simply avoid him."
She blinked. "Well, look at you, Sigmund Freud."
"Not just a pretty face." He winked and slung an arm around her shoulder, the tips of his fingers tracing a pattern at the edge of her sleeve. "I know a thing or two about difficult families."
"You don't know how lucky you are. At least your parents love you."
"I'm sure yours do, too. If your father really thought you were a failure do you think he'd keep trying?"
"Well … no," she admitted. She'd seen her father cut ties with people he'd deemed not worth his time, and he'd done it without a backward glance. "But he's trying to make me fit into his life plan."
"Yeah, because he thinks he knows what's best."
She huffed. "He doesn't. He said I'm wasting my life."
"Have you ever sat him down and explained why you want to work for yourself? What it means to you?"
Of course she hadn't, she'd decided to "stick it to the man" by putting her studies on hold without telling him and then she'd gone and done her own thing. She'd always done her own thing … that's what you did if you were alone.
She valued her independence even if it was borne out of loneliness.
"I take that as a no." Paul pressed his cheek to the top of her head.
She turned, her face tucked in to the crook of his neck, the scent of aftershave on his skin kicking up memories of them together, of his hands on her. Of the way he made her feel wanted, desired. Whole.
"You think I should talk to him?"
He nodded. "It's worth a shot. What's the worst that can happen? He still doesn't agree with you, and you're no worse off than you are now."
She swallowed, already dreading the conversation. But Paul was right, her sudden rebellion must have come as a huge surprise to her father since she'd been so obedient her whole life. She hadn't taken him through her business plan or told him her long-term goals. He didn't know about the charity she hoped to set up once her business was stable, nor the volunteer work she'd signed up for at the local community center.
Her business might not seem as important as his career as a surgeon. In reality, it probably wasn't. She wasn't saving lives, but she would make a difference to the women she worked with, the ones she'd eventually employ when the company grew. The ones she'd teach and nurture in her volunteer work.
"Thank you," she said, sitting up and dunking her spoon into the mousse.
A warm smile spread across his lips. "You're very welcome. I'm glad to see the appetite is back."
She nodded. "This is amazing."
Beside her, Paul shifted in his seat. He pulled a set of white index cards out of his jacket pocket and tapped them against his thigh, bouncing his leg in a steady rhythm.
"Is it speech time now?" she asked, trying to peek at his scratchy handwriting.
He pressed the cards between his hands, hiding the words from her. "Almost."
"I thought best man speeches were only a duty for the big day."
He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I'm giving a speech then, too, but this is something just for the immediate family. Don't worry, I'll be wheeling out all the embarrassing tales of Des's childhood tomorrow."
"How far back did you have to go to get any dirt on him?"
Paul crinkled his nose. "Too far. He's always been the more serious brother. But there is a story about a disastrous tattooing incident."
She took a sip of her champagne, grateful for the diversion from her inner turmoil. "Do tell."
"You'll have to wait till tomorrow like everyone else. You don't get privileges just 'cause I put a ring on it." He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe before planting a kiss on her cheek.
Libby caught Des and his mother watching them, their heads turning back to each other when she caught their eye. Leone looked so happy she might spontaneously combust. Had Paul kissed her because she was looking? Libby couldn't tell what was real and what was for show anymore.
Swallowing her unease, she smiled at Paul just as a blissfully happy fiancée would … or at least how she imagined one would. "What's this speech about?"
"You'll see." His face turned serious, the playful sparkle in his eyes replaced by an unreadable blankness. "Listen carefully, though."
What on earth was that supposed to mean? Before she could ask, Paul stood and held the cards loosely in one hand. He looked powerful and handsome in his suit, the cut making his broad shoulders look even more imposing and his slim waist even more defined. Though with a body like his you could dress him in a paper bag, and he'd still look incredible.
"My brother has asked me to say a few words tonight," Paul started. "But first I'd like to raise a toast to Des and Gracie. May tomorrow be everything you hoped for and more."
Warmth spread through Libby's chest as she watched Paul toasting his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. When it came to crunch time, Paul was every bit the kind of man she'd once hoped to end up with. Kind, articulate, sexy. Most of all, he'd never tried to change a thing about her.
"With all the jokes and embarrassing stories I've saved for tomorrow I really didn't have much material left for this speech. So I got a little philosophical." Paul winked at Des.
"Here we go," Des said with a chuckle. "Just remember who'll be giving the speech at your wedding one day."
"I thought about the ideal relationship and the kind of qualities one might need to have a happy marriage. Now, I'm no expert as you know." Paul took a sip of his drink and placed it back down on the table. "I know some people have a bit of a wish list when it comes to the ideal partner."
Some eyes at the table turned to Gracie, who flushed and waved them away. "I've changed, I promise!"
"A lot of people say they want a partner who's funny, intelligent, good-looking, rich. All of those things are great, but a true partnership requires something more." He stole a glance at Libby. "For a relationship to last you need someone who's going to inspire you. Someone who's going to push you, change you for the better, and challenge you. When that person comes into your life you'll question everything … including your sanity."
The table tittered, but Libby couldn't drag her eyes away from Paul. Had he reached into her mind and plucked those very thoughts from her head? He made her question everything she believed about family and relationships. He pushed her and challenged her to think creatively, to solve problems without getting stressed out … even when she'd blurted out the lie about them getting married. He was her opposite in the best way possible.
"If you can wake every day beside the same person and say that you still feel inspired a year, ten years, fifty years from now," he paused, his eyes flicking down to Libby for the briefest second. "Then that's the best possible thing you can ask for."