Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Wade
“Would you like a drink?” I ask Dara, touching her lightly on the small of her back.
She turns away from her conversation with Oliver’s girlfriend, Shaye. Her eyes sparkle.
“I’m sorry, Wade. What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
I force a swallow down my throat and ignore the amused glance from Shaye. I’m sure I look like a fool. I feel like one. But it’s impossible to look at Dara without being rendered speechless.
She shines tonight. I don’t know if it’s her fucking dress that’s driving me out of my mind or the relaxed, carefree way she greets my family that keeps stealing my breath, but it takes everything in my power not to stare at her.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask again.
“No, thank you.”
I look at Shaye and ignore the grin on her face.
“Can I get you something, Shaye?”
She shakes her head.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and head to the bar. It’s only when I’m a solid ten yards away from Dara that I can breathe normally again.
I order a whiskey on the rocks and avoid conversation with the bartenders. Luckily, they’re busy and hand my drink over without too many pleasantries required.
There is a spot next to the gigantic cake, which Holt should really be ashamed of, and I tuck myself between it and the wall. I can keep an eye on Dara from here and gather myself.
I can’t relax with her here. I can’t think. Not that I was going to enjoy myself tonight anyway, but it’s impossible now.
Dara Alden possesses a quality that perturbs me. I’ve only known one other woman in my life who got under my skin, and that taught me a lesson. Don’t let people in.
It’s one I’ll never forget. And if I’m as smart as I think I am, it’ll behoove me to shut this shit down before it gets out of control.
The whiskey goes down smooth. I down the rest of it and start toward Dara when Rosie intercepts me.
“Wade!” Her little voice squeals through the greenhouse, and she bolts in my direction. “Hi, Wade!”
I brace myself for the impact that’s undoubtedly coming.
Rosie launches her body toward me and attaches herself to my leg. I look around for Jaxi or Boone, but they’re nowhere to be found.
“Hi,” I say, looking down at her.
“Hi.” She grins so wide that I think her face might split into two. “I’m so happy that you’re here. Did you see me sprinkle the flowers? They made my fingers a little red. See?”
She holds up her chunky little hand. Sure enough, her fingers are stained pink. As are my pant legs, I suspect.
“You did an excellent job,” I say, trying to extract myself from her grip. “Where are your parents?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s … separate ourselves.” I pry her right off from my leg. “And find Boone.”
“But I found you.”
“Yes, you certainly did.”
I glance up and spot Boone by the bar. He has watched this entire exchange and failed to save me.
Fucker.
“Who is this?” Dara stands next to me. “You were the flower girl, right?”
Rosie watches Dara with the skepticism most people save for politicians. She nods her head slowly.
“Rosie,” I say, “can you say hello to Dara?”
“You’re the famous Rosie.” Dara squats down to Rosie’s level. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Who are you?” Rosie asks, clutching my leg with both arms again.
“My name is Dara. I’m a friend of Wade’s.”
Rosie’s head tilts to mine. “I’m a friend of Wade’s too. I’m his best friend. Right, Wade?”
Dara giggles and stands again. “He mentioned that. He said, ‘Rosie is my best friend, but you can be my second friend, Dara.’ Didn’t you, Wade?”
“Funny,” I say. “I don’t remember that.”
Dara winks at me.
Before I can reply, the violins stop playing and a voice takes its place over the speakers hanging discreetly above.
“If everyone will take their seats, dinner service will begin shortly.”
I peel Rosie off my leg and hold her hand, keeping her far enough away from me so she doesn’t reattach herself like a fucking octopus.
“Rosie, we need to find Boone,” I say, looking through the crowd of people making their way toward the tables.
“Why?”
“It’s almost time to eat.”
“But I want to eat with you.”
Dara laughs, moving closer to my side to allow an older couple to pass. Her breast runs along my arm as she moves.
Fire bolts through my veins and congregates in my cock. My entire body flexes under my suit as I try to stay composed.
“There’s Boone,” I say through clenched teeth.
“No!” Rosie shouts. “I want to eat with you.”
Boone walks toward us as Rosie stomps her foot.
I bend down so we’re at eye level. “Hey.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “What?”
“Why are you acting like this?” I ask her.
“Like what?”
“Like a little girl who forgot her manners.”
“I didn’t forget them. I’m just not using them because you are going to eat with her.” She pauses to glare at Dara. “And not me.”
Well, she boiled that down and communicated it effectively.
“That’s because your Iggy,” I say, using the word that Rosie uses for my mother, “wants you to sit beside her tonight. There’s even a little sign at her table with your name on it.”
Her arms fall back to her sides. “Really?”
I nod. “But maybe, if you remember your manners and choose to use them, we can share a piece of cake later.”
“Cake?”
“That cake.” I turn her around and point at the mega-cake in the corner. “I bet we could snag a piece and share it after dinner if you make good choices.”
She turns around and faces me. “Like sitting with Iggy?”
“Yes.”
She huffs. “Fine.”
“Good girl.”
Boone’s laughter gets to us before he does. “What’s going on over here? Are you behaving, little girl?”
“Yup,” I say, standing tall. “We were talking about the cake.”
“It’s beautiful,” Dara says. “I wish for the thousandth time tonight that I would’ve brought my camera. Or a phone. I’d be happy with phone pictures.”
Boone grins at her. “Why didn’t you?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
“Well, stick around,” Boone says, his grin growing wider. “I’m sure someone’s birthday is coming up, and you can take all the pictures that you want.”
What are you doing, Boone?
My insides cringe as I glance nervously at Dara. If she picked up on anything—on my brother’s suggestion that she might accompany me to other family events—she doesn’t show it.
“Are you ready to find our seats?” I ask Dara.
She nods.
I slide my arm behind her—more to guide her than to touch her, but she moves in such a way that my arm is wrapped around her.
My fingers tap against her side as we move through the greenhouse and find our table. Various people stop me to say hello, and to both my surprise and frustration, Dara doesn’t move away from me.
It would be easier if she did. Instead, she says hello to everyone like she’s been to a hundred of these parties with me. Like it’s what she does.
Like she’s with me in a way that she’s not.
I pass a swallow down my throat and pull out her chair. She sits with the grace of royalty. I take my seat beside her.
Gramps chats away with an older couple I’ve never seen before. They look up as we get situated.
“Hello,” I say, nodding a greeting at them all.
“Wade, Dara,” Gramps says, “this is Blaire’s grandmother, Greta, and her significant other, Dave. Greta, Dave—this is my grandson Wade and his girlfriend, Dara.”
Gramps looks at me, grinning cheekily, while my insides coil up and threaten to explode.
My girlfriend? That’s not what I said when I introduced him to Dara tonight.
And the cheeky bastard knows that.
I look over my shoulder at Dara as she lays her hand gently on my thigh. The contact disarms the bomb inside me; her smile and all its sweetness pacifies the growing need to set everyone straight.
My shoulders relax as we exchange a look.
“It’s nice to meet you, Greta and Dave,” she says, flipping her attention to them. “Did you travel far?”
Whatever they say—I don’t have a clue. I know there’s a conversation because I see Dara’s mouth moving, and I watch her patiently pause between replies. But I have no idea, and no interest, in the conversation.
My head spins, and I try not to panic. Panicking never helps.
This situation with Dara has been complicated tonight in ways that never should’ve happened. It’s spun out of control—out of my control—and I don’t know how to get it back.
It was a setup for failure. I knew it from the moment Holt suggested that Dara attend.
How am I supposed to keep my distance from her when she’s here with me?
Dara should be here with someone else, someone who’s easy to be with. A man who wants to chat and dance and tell her how stunning she looks tonight.
I’d want to kill him, but she deserves it anyway.
She’s the walking embodiment of what men want in a woman. She’s fun, smart, sweet. Dara is spirited and strong.
I know all of that. I recognize it. I’m not blind.
But I’m also not stupid.
Dara’s fingers tap against my leg. My eyes whip to hers.
“Are you ready?” she whispers.
I furrow my brows. “What for?”
“Your speech.” She smiles. “They just said that was happening next.”
Shit.
My palms start to sweat as I imagine all of these people looking at me, which is exactly why I didn’t want to be in the wedding party in the first place.
I should’ve told Holt no.
But as a microphone is passed my way and I get to my feet, I take a look at my brother sitting at a raised table with his bride.
He’s happy. He’s so fucking happy.
I clear my throat. The sound echoes through the greenhouse.
“On behalf of the Mason family, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the marriage of Holt and Blaire,” I say.
The crowd claps. I use the opportunity to inhale and exhale as deeply as I can to settle my nerves.
“My brother asked me to say a few words because I opted out of the wedding party.” I scan the long tables extending from the bride and groom. “I didn’t think anyone would miss me with that many people involved.”
Everyone laughs, much to my surprise.
I clear my throat again. My mind is working overtime, trying to figure out what to say.
“I tried to write a few things down before I got here,” I say, keeping my gaze focused on a basket of hanging greenery just above the violinists. “But nothing felt quite right.”
“That’s why I should’ve given the speech!” Boone yells from his seat next to Oliver.
Laughter bursts around the room.
I use the moment to watch Holt and Blaire.
When Holt first fell in love with her, I thought it was silly and irresponsible.
We were in the middle of a giant contract, and Blaire was the ultimate distraction.
But now, as I watch her lean her head on his shoulder and him kiss the top of her head, something about the two of them together is … right.
I glance down at Dara. When she smiles up at me, my insides tremble.
“Holt has always been someone I can count on,” I say into the microphone, trying my best to focus on the task at hand—and not the woman sitting right beside me.
“He’s superbly intelligent, decidedly rational, and an incredible businessman.
He values logic and wisdom, and if there was a problem with anything, Holt could find the solution. ”
I take another breath and glance at Holt. He’s a damn good man.
I know what has to be said next.
“I have admired this about him throughout my life,” I say. “But when he told us that he was going to hop on a jet and fly to Chicago to convince Blaire to marry him, I thought he was out of his mind.”
A chuckle ripples around the greenhouse.
“But now, as I watch him with Blaire, I realize something,” I say.
My eyes lock with Holt’s, and an understanding passes between us—something of respect and loyalty—that only we understand.
“I realize that he was right,” I say. “He was right to go to Blaire because she fulfills something in his life that only she can.”
Dara’s hand flexes against the back of my thigh, and whatever I was going to say next is gone.
“With that,” I say, finding a way to wrap up the speech, “I would like to welcome Blaire into the family.”
I hand the microphone back to the woman who brought it to me and sit back in my chair. Holt and Blaire’s family and friends clap, cheering on the newlyweds.
On cue, dishes are placed in front of us. Glasses are filled. Silverware clinks against the sides of china as the reception dinner kicks off.
I gather myself, grateful no one is staring at me after that show, and can breathe again.
Dara leans in, filling my senses with her presence.
“Hey,” she says, her hair swishing against my suit. “That was a great speech.”
“Yeah.”
“It was.” She giggles. “I think you should be a professional speech giver.”
I look at her warily. “Do you now?”
She grins.
I stretch my arm across the back of her chair. Sitting this way, she appears nestled in the crook of my arm, and even though I try not to dwell on it, I can’t stop.
She looks beautiful cozied up to me and completely natural in the midst of the Masons and our friends. If only I wasn’t me …
“Wade?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“Yes?”
Her grin turns from sweet to sinful. It heats my blood as I pull my arm away, needing distance again.
“Are you going to dance with me tonight?” she asks.
Damn this woman.
I face the table. “How about you drink your wine and stop talking?”
Her laughter mixes with the weight of her hand on my forearm.
Maybe it’s the festivities.
Maybe it’s the whiskey.
Maybe it’s her.
But something tells me that tonight is going to get out of control.
Fast.