‘She took me to a therapist who helped me overcome my shyness. She took me to a stylist who trained me in what clothes and make-up best suited me, and she found me an up-and-coming young hairdresser who was an absolute whizz.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Obviously, it didn’t all happen overnight.’
Rick unclenched a hand to reach for a cupcake. ‘You know your parents were wrong to have such expectations?’ They should both be horsewhipped for making her feel like a failure, because she hadn’t met their specific designer mould. People like that shouldn’t have kids.
‘I do now.’
He took a savage bite of cake and frosting. ‘I mean, would you ever do that to a kid?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘No!’
He set the cupcake back on his plate and eyed her for a long moment. ‘Why all this determination to avoid self-pity?’
Something inside her eyes hardened. ‘Because, regardless of my gripes about my parents, I never had it as tough as you or Tash or even Crazy Cheryl who you went to prison for.’ She gave a half smile. ‘Cheryl used to throw stones at me whenever she saw me in the garden.’
It didn’t surprise him. Cheryl’s home life had been beyond shocking. But...there was more than one way to damage a kid.
‘It’s not a contest, Princess.’ She was entitled to her pain and disappointment.
‘Tell that to my parents.’
Exhaustion hit him at the expression on her face. ‘It didn’t work, did it?’ He slumped back. ‘Did they notice at all?’
‘They noticed. It just took me a long time to realise that it didn’t make any difference, that it didn’t make them love me more. It just meant they didn’t mind parading me around their friends so much.’
He wanted to swear, but he knew she wouldn’t like it so he didn’t.
‘And then I realised I was wasting all of this time going to parties I didn’t enjoy, buying clothes I didn’t want and doing coffee on a weekly basis with women who called me their friend but who haven’t had the decency to return my phone calls since calamity came calling.’
He did swear this time.
She transferred her glare to her coffee. ‘That was when I decided to be done with all that and focus on something more important.’ Her lips lifted. ‘Like cupcakes.’
He’d have laughed except he suddenly saw it all too clearly, could see now why she’d done what she had.
‘You handed your trust fund, your apartment, and your car over to your father because you wanted to make a clean break with your past.’
‘Bingo, tough guy.’ She might sound sophisticated and self-assured, but she couldn’t hide the vulnerability that flickered through her eyes. ‘Do you think that’s stupid of me?’
‘I think it was smart and brave. You don’t need to be beholden to people like that.’
‘Thank you.’
She smiled and for a moment he swore he saw glitter flickering at the edge of his vision. He blinked it away. ‘There’s one thing I don’t get.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Why are you fighting to keep this old relic of a house? Why don’t you rid yourself of the responsibility?’ And rake in some much-needed moolah while she was at it?
‘This house belonged to my grandmother. She’s the only person who loved me unconditionally. And she loved this house.’
She wouldn’t have wanted it to become an albatross around her granddaughter’s neck, surely?
‘My parents lived here once they were married, not because it was convenient for the factory but because they wanted to be seen living in the Big House, as you call it. They never loved the place. They look at it and all they see are dollar signs. I look at it and...’
She didn’t finish the sentence.
‘And you see a Victorian teahouse.’
‘You think that’s dumb?’
‘I think it’s an interesting business plan with definite potential.’
She leaned towards him, her face alive. It was the way she’d looked at him fifteen years ago when she’d given him her locket. Only she wasn’t a little girl any more but a woman. And he was a grown man.
Heat circled in his veins to pool in his lap. He surreptitiously tried to adjust his jeans, reminding himself about trouble and complications and grief and misery. He was not going to travel down that road with Nell. This wasn’t a fairy tale. It wouldn’t end well. He gritted his teeth. Business—this was just business.
‘I’ve done my homework. High teas have become big business in Sydney. Lots of clients are looking for themed party venues—something a bit different. I think Whittaker House will fit the bill perfectly. I predict my Victorian teahouse will become a big hit, not only for birthday parties, but for hen parties, bridal showers, anniversaries and family reunions too.’
He didn’t doubt her for a moment.
‘I know Whittaker House isn’t Downton Abbey, but it does have its own charm and I happen to think other people would enjoy the location too.’
‘Absolutely, but...’
Her face fell. ‘But?’
He hated being the voice of reason. ‘It’ll take a lot of start-up capital to get the business off the ground.’ The house would need a lick of paint both inside and out. The grounds would need to be not only wrestled into shape but manicured to within an inch of its life. She’d need to kit out the entire operation with suitable tables and chairs, pretty linens and crockery. It wouldn’t come cheap.
‘Which is why I’m preparing a business plan to take to my bank manager with projected costs, profits et cetera in the hope I can secure a business loan.’
‘Which, unless you have some other asset you’ve not told me about, will mean putting Whittaker House up as collateral.’
He watched the fire leach out of her eyes. ‘How’d you know that?’
It wasn’t an accusation but a genuine bid for knowledge. ‘I did a business course when I was in prison.’
She chewed her lip and nodded. Her glance sharpened. ‘Do you have your own business?’
He shook his head.
‘If you’re as handy as you say, then maybe you should start up your own building business.’
He choked. ‘Me?’
‘Why not?’
‘There have to be at least a million reasons!’
‘And probably just as many
