He rubbed the back of his neck. “For not handling it better.”
Better.
Not differently. Not correctly. Better.
“Do you know what I heard when she said that?” I asked.
He glanced up. “She was upset. She didn’t mean—”
“Do you know what I heard?”
He fell silent.
“I heard that no matter how educated I am, no matter how kind, no matter how much I have built, I will always be, in her eyes, the child no one claimed.” My voice was calm, which seemed to unsettle him more than anger would have. “And when you said nothing, Derek, I heard you agreeing.”
“That’s not fair.”
The words came out too quickly. Defensive. Injured on his own behalf.
I almost laughed.
“Fair?” I repeated. “Your mother told an entire salon that I was unworthy of wearing white because I don’t have parents. I stood there while strangers looked at me like a charity case in couture, and your concern is fairness?”
He set down his glass. “You know how my family is.”
“Yes. I do.”
He stepped closer. “She’s obsessed with appearances. It doesn’t excuse it, but it explains it. She’s been under a lot of pressure with the wedding and the guest list and my father’s firm and—”
“Stop.”
He did.