Page 84 of Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” she said quietly, focusing her eyes out the windshield.
“Said what?”
“That I work hard. That they’re… proud of me,” she said, her voice a rough whisper.
Rake opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him. That seemed so wrong to him.
Lizzie deserved all the praise in the world. She did so much that warranted pride every single day. The woman was a force of nature, a vibrant living flame that lit up everything she touched.
Rake couldn’t process that the people who raised her could look at their incredible creation and not burst with pride. Not say the words every day.
“Well, I am,” Rake said at last, looking out the windshield. “Proud of you. Incredibly proud.”
Lizzie nodded but didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive.
Chapter 38
RAKE couldn’t name anything that was glaringly off about the Blake residence as he looked around the family room—pristine furniture and spotless china surrounding him—but there was something undeniablycoldabout it. Sterile. Like walking through a well-preserved museum of an idyllic upper-middle-class residence, but certainly not a home.
Claire had opened the door upon their arrival, giving Lizzie a rather stiff hug and Rake a brief handshake before retreating into the kitchen to check on dinner. Rake had been introduced to Lizzie’s father, Douglas, who was a portly man who oozed self-importance, before he strode off to his study to take an important business call.
Rake looked over at Lizzie as she stood in the corner, waves of uncomfortable energy radiating off her. It seemed impossible that a firebolt of a person like her could ever have grown up in such a dull, contained space.
Perfectly placed frames lined the walls, almost all of them holding an image of the man Rake assumed was Lizzie’s brother, Ryan. Rake could only find two pictures of Lizzie: One was of her in her graduation gown and cap, her red hair spilling out from beneath, thick black liner rimming her eyes, a certain mischievousness to her smile. The second was a family photo,everyone dressed in black pants and a white top. Douglas, her father, was seated in a leather chair, Claire resting her hands on his shoulder as she stood behind him, both with perfect smiles. Ryan looked young, maybe eight, his hair gelled and combed, a reserved smile on his own lips as he stood next to his dad.
And then there was Lizzie, her eyes wild and grin huge, her two front teeth missing. Her arms were stiff at her sides, the tension visible in the tiny little body, like she’d been told to hold still and the effort to do so was physically challenging. Rake loved the picture so much, he wanted to steal it.
The doorbell rang, and moments later it opened, a friendly female voice calling out hello. A couple, just a few years older than Rake and Lizzie, entered the living room. The woman was impeccably dressed, and layers of honey-colored hair framed her delicate and lovely features. The man was a younger version of Douglas, offering a genuine smile as he took in Lizzie and Rake.
“Lizzie!” the woman said, stretching out her arms and walking toward the corner. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been so long.”
“Hi, Mary,” Lizzie said, wrapping her arms around the petite woman, an uncharacteristic level of delicacy in the way she did it. Lizzie usually hugged with the joyful force of a bulldozer.
Ryan cut in, giving Lizzie a hug that seemed to catch her by surprise. “It’s good to see you,” Ryan said, pulling back.
Ryan and Mary turned to Rake, crossing the room with smiles as they shook his hand.
“And so good to meet you!” Mary said, her voice bubbly and kind. “Glad you could make it this weekend.”
Claire walked in, Douglas right behind her, and she beamed as she looked at her son.
“Ryan, Mary, so glad you’re here,” Claire said, moving to them with outstretched hands, her greeting one hundred degrees kinder than anything she’d given to Rake and Lizzie. “Dinner is all ready,” she said, looping one arm through Mary’s as they walked toward the dining room.
A pristine white tablecloth covered the table, fresh flowers in a crystal vase sitting in the center of the grand display of china. Each setting had already been served, steaming roast and vegetables placed in perfect portions on each plate.
They sat, Rake and Lizzie on one side, Ryan and Mary on the other, with Claire and Douglas at either end.
An awkward silence fell over the table as they settled in. Rake glanced at Lizzie, her body humming with energy as her eyes flicked around the room—plates, ceiling, flowers, silverware, corner—no spot safe for her to land on.
Mary delicately cleared her throat. “Tell us about yourself, Rake,” she said, fixing him with a kind smile. “What do you do for work?”
Rake gave his basic spiel about marketing for Onism and mentioned some of the freelance projects he’d picked up, wondering, for the first time, why adults spent so much time working and the rest of their time talking about work. Rake noticed the subtle pursing of Claire’s lips as he explained Onism was a swimwear line, but Mary and Ryan both asked interested, if not predictable, questions about it.
“And what do you two do?” Rake asked.
“I’m an electrical engineer,” Mary said, her smile bright. “And Ryan practices law like Douglas,” she added.
“They’re both exceptionally accomplished young professionals,” Claire said, nodding toward Mary.