A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert Page B

stare. He said his amen and wrapped his fingers around his glass.
    Lord, if You want me to see her as You do, I’m going to need some help .
    Ivy stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork. She crunched the bite between her teeth and ran her pinkie along the crest of her bottom lip. “I’d love to go tomorrow. Thanks, Marilyn.”
    Discomfort weighted the room and didn’t leave, not during the crab casserole and biscuits, not when Marilyn brought a french silk pie from the refrigerator, and not when talk turned to Something New and Marilyn’s I Do bridal wear line.
    “I’m excited you’re taking pictures again.” Sara smiled a smile that was so uncalculated, so sincere, Davis had to look closer. How she could smile like that—especially about him and his camera—would never make sense.
    Grandfather huffed. “He shouldn’t be taking pictures.”
    Marilyn brought her fingers to her temples. “Dad, please, not tonight.”
    Davis swallowed his bite. “He’s right, though.”
    Sara turned in Ivy’s direction, her gaze landing a little left of her intended target. “He’s amazing. Have you seen his work?”
    Ivy circled the fork tines around her half-eaten piece. “He told me he didn’t have any work to show.”
    “I think Marilyn kept his magazine photos.”
    “I did!” Marilyn’s chair scraped against polished wood. Davis held up his hand to stop her, but she ignored him and left the room.
    “Tear sheets?” Ivy raised her eyebrows. “How professional.”
    He tightened his grip on the fork and pushed remnants of pie around the china. When Marilyn returned, she waved torn-out magazine pages in her hand and pushed them across the table while Grandfather muttered something under his breath.
    Ivy took two of the sheets—one from Harper’s Bazaar and the other from his last shoot for Vogue —the one featuring supermodel Clarissa VonSteuben. The one that had fashion editors and agencies still calling from time to time. He watched her flip the pages over and study the other side, loathing the sliver of pride lodging in his chest. He hated that he cared what Ivy thought or that these tear sheets proved his worth in her eyes. Davis looked down at his plate. His worth didn’t come from his photos or women or success.
    Forgive me for forgetting it once. Don’t let me forget it again .
    “So I guess I don’t have to worry anymore. I’m convinced.”
    He looked at Ivy across the table. “About what?”
    She fanned herself with the magazine pages, something hungry glinting in the caramel of her eyes. “That you know exactly what you’re doing.”
    If only he felt the same way.

12

    Hot wind tangled through Ivy’s hair. Early July in South Carolina was an awful time to drive around a rented car with a faulty air conditioner. Davis watched from the corner of his eye as she gathered it into a bundle and held it captive with one hand, stray wisps fluttering in her eyes. “Your grandfather’s a charming man.”
    He pulled into the entrance of the Primrose Plantation. Before he left last night, Marilyn had taken him aside and told him about the conversation Ivy had overheard before dinner. It had made his chest ache, and as far as he knew, he hadn’t inherited any of Grandfather’s heart problems.
    “I mean, seriously, charming.”
    “He’s picky about who he likes.” That was a gross understatement. Grandfather rarely approved of anybody, which meant Ivy didn’t stand a chance.
    “Well, he definitely likes me.”
    “I wouldn’t let it upset you.”
    “Do I look upset?”
    He turned from the road and stared at her arched eyebrows. No, she didn’t. She looked bored or maybe untouchable. The ache in his chest returned. And with it, his father’s words …
    Yet when it came to the woman in his passenger seat, Davis wasn’t sure Dad was right. He wasn’t sure he knew what he saw at all. The brakes squealed as he pulled the borrowed Mazda up to the gate where a boy sat inside an entrance booth. He