Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dara
I still can’t believe this is real.
Dinner has been whisked away. The cake has been cut. Wade commented on the extravagance of the dessert, making it clear he wasn’t a fan. I, on the other hand, argued that it was beautiful and a once-in-a-lifetime thing. It should be extravagant.
We agreed to disagree.
The sun has set, and golden-hued lights glow from strands strung overhead. Brilliant chandeliers adorn the center of the venue, casting a radiant sparkle on the glass walls. The ambiance creates a sophisticated, beautiful vibe. It makes me feel beautiful by association.
Wade catches my eye as he stands with a group of men, all of whom hold a glass of liquor. He nods in the slightest way as if acknowledging and answering the question rolling around in my head—has he been watching me this whole time?
I swear that I can feel his gaze following me around the room with every move I make.
If we’re together and conversing with someone, he stands close to me.
They might be talking about the stock market or acquiring real estate—things I know nothing about.
But when I speak, Wade listens as though I’m the resident expert.
He has treated me with a marked preciousness that I didn’t expect.
That I’m not complaining about. But despite all of the attention and respect he’s shown me, he’s made an infuriating effort to keep just enough of a distance.
My core burns as his gaze sears into mine from across the room.
The heat that’s built up in my body from the moment I saw him standing on my front porch might make me melt.
I can’t understand Wade Mason. I can’t fathom why he holds himself back when I know—I’m almost positive—that the energy he’s giving is anything but platonic.
And that was fine for a while. Platonic totally worked for me in a past-tense sort of way because right now, seeing him in that bespoke-fit suit and looking at me like that—I’m over platonic.
Fuck. That.
I narrow my gaze at him. The corner of his lip quirks. To hide it, he lifts his glass to his mouth and takes a sip of his drink.
Good-looking bastard.
“What are they doing?” Larissa stands beside me, amusement etched in her voice. “Tell me they’re not.”
I pull my gaze away from Wade and look at his cousin who introduced herself just before Wade’s rant about the cake.
“Who is they and tell you they are not what?” I ask, switching my brain back to the present.
“Them.”
She points at the dance floor just as I hear the first few notes of Ginuwine’s “Pony” being blasted through the otherwise prim and proper event.
Everyone turns toward the commotion on the dance floor. A crowd has gathered around the edge, making space for the three men in custom-fit tuxedos to … dance.
Larissa turns to me. “Aunt Siggy is going to kill them,” she says, laughing. “I can’t believe Boone had the guts to pull this off.”
I look at Holt. Amusement meets mortification is written on his face. He shakes his head and holds up a glass toward the dance floor.
“Who is that with Boone?” I ask, taking in the other two.
“Lincoln Landry and Peck Ward. Lincoln is a family friend, and Peck is Blaire’s cousin, I think.”
I gasp. “Lincoln Landry as in the Lincoln Landry? The baseball player?”
She nods, confused.
“Of course, he’s here,” I mumble, my mind blown.
Lincoln is tall, dark, and lean—definitely an athlete’s body. The third man, the one who must be Peck, has lighter-colored hair and is not quite as tall with a trim and strong I do physical labor physique.
Both are absolutely gorgeous.
The blond one undoes his tie as he gyrates toward the crowd. He takes a woman’s hand and pulls her into the circle with them, much to her embarrassment. A circle of people near them start shouting, “Peck! Peck!” This only encourages him.
Lincoln turns toward us, making eyes at a woman near me.
An older, polished lady shakes her finger at him.
“Lincoln Landry—behave yourself!” She then turns to the woman he was making faces at.
“Your husband is out of control. I didn’t raise him to act like this.
” And then, after a long pause, they both laugh.
Not to be outdone, Boone hops onto a chair.
The entire wedding party begins to shout at him—some encouraging his antics and the others slinging various friendly insults and jabs.
He begins to unbutton his shirt when Holt comes from out of nowhere.
He easily tosses Boone over his shoulder to the delight of everyone watching and spins him in a circle before carrying him away from the dance floor.
“Does this kind of thing always happen at Mason weddings?” I ask with a giggle. “Because, if so, I’m going to need to score more invitations. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
Larissa laughs. “I’m going to blame this on the open bar. But, speaking of more invitations to family events …” She winks. “What’s happening with you and Wade? Are you guys dating or just friends?”
Heat colors my cheeks, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Larissa. She smiles at me.
“I’m sorry if I put you on the spot,” she says.
“No.” I hold out a hand and shake my head emphatically. “You didn’t. Not at all. We’re just friends.”
I don’t think about it. I just look up to see Wade looking at me. It’s as if he knows what I’ve just said, and he’s curious about my answer. Can he read lips? I turn my back to him and exhale.
“That’s great,” Larissa says. “But weird.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t have a lot of friends.”
My heart tightens, and I look at her with a frown. “Really? Why?”
She shrugs. “He’s just not very social. He never has been. If he goes out for a beer or has girlfriends—no offense …”
“None taken.”
“If he does those things, then no one knows about it.”
I wonder if he’s lonely at night or if he has someone to vent to after a hard day. Who eats dinner with him? Who takes care of him when he’s sick?
“That’s … really sad,” I say, my spirits sinking.
Larissa nods. “I know. I agree. I love Wade. He has the best dry humor ever. And he’s always so sure of himself. I’ve never been that way and always thought that he was so cool because he knew who he was, what he wanted, and how to get it. No amount of ribbing by his brothers ever fazed him.”
That makes sense. It matches everything I’ve witnessed in my interactions with him.
She excuses herself, giving me grace for my distractedness, and makes her way through the crowd. I stand, clutching my champagne, and let loose of the reins that have kept my mind from spinning.
The alcohol warms my stomach. My head is light, affected by the bubbly. I move through the well-wishers, needing the movement to work through the thoughts in my brain.
The idea of Wade being such a loner staggers me. I hate it. A ripple of worry trickles through my veins. Why would a man like him be alone?
Then again, I’m alone much of the time.
I take a sip of the champagne and ponder the situation.
I’m alone because it’s been a very shitty year. I had to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart, and that’s something you can’t do with an audience. It’s ugly and dark and snot-filled, and the biggest work is done in the quiet dredges of the night.
But I’ve made it to the other side. All I have left to navigate, to solidify in many ways, is my relationship with my grandfather. I don’t know how or when that will happen or what it will look like, but it’s manageable.
“Excuse me.” A man holding a large round tray smiles at me. “Would you like a fresh champagne?”
“Sure.”
We exchange my empty glass for a filled one before he moves on.
Adele’s voice sweeps through the sound system, filling the room with a special touch. I close my eyes. My body sways to the vocals as a peacefulness descends over me.
A sudden touch at the small of my back makes me jump. My eyes fly open, and I start to spin around but stop.
I know who it is without looking.
Wade takes over my senses with his proximity. His cologne ripples through the air in a subdued yet bold way. The light pressure of his fingers just above my behind sends a flicker of excitement through my body. His voice is controlled as he speaks next to my ear.
“Where did you get your drink?”
The heat of his breath makes me shiver. I turn to the side to see him.
“A server,” I say. “Why?”
He plucks it from my hand. “Did you drink it?”
“No. Not yet.” I furrow my brow. “Why? And how did you know I had a new one, anyway?”
We look at each other, neither of us flinching.
“I thought I told you in the car not to accept drinks from anyone but me?” he asks.
“Well, technically, you said you or your brothers, so …”
He’s not amused. His lips form a tight, thin line as he looks at me with enough intensity to make me wither into the floor.
That is, if I wasn’t me.
I square my shoulders to his. “I got it from someone your family paid to walk around passing out free champagne. I’m not really following your whole daddy vibe.”
My choice of words register with both of us at the exact same time.
Oh, shit.
His brows shoot to the ceiling along with mine. My brain screams to fix it before he can react.
“Bad choice of words,” I say, backtracking.
He grabs his tie and works his neck back and forth, his eyes never leaving mine.
“That is,” I tease, “unless you like being called daddy.”
He clears his throat. “Dara, please, let’s not—”
“Wade!”
Rosie runs across the dance floor and stops between us. She turns her back to me and faces Wade.
My heart thunders in my chest and I’m a bit happy for the little clam jam. I need a second.
“Do you like my dress?” Rosie asks Wade.
“It’s very nice.”
“Oh.” She chews on her fingernail, directing a side-eye on me. “Want to watch a show with me?”
“What are you talking about?” Wade asks her, fidgeting with his tie and trying to keep his exasperation in check.
“Iggy brought an iPad for me in case I got bored because this is a grown-up thing. You can watch it with me if you want.”
Wade places my stolen glass of champagne on a table behind him, casting me a pointed look before settling his gaze on Rosie again.
“Who is supposed to be watching you right now?” he asks her.
“I am.” A regal woman stands next to Wade and grabs Rosie’s hand. “You, little lady, just got yourself no iPad this weekend.”
“Iggy!”
“Don’t Iggy me.” She gives her a stern look before affixing her gaze on me. “Pardon me for the poor introduction. I’m Sigourney Mason. You must be Dara.”
“Yes. It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, my heart kicking it up a notch again. “I was honored to score an invitation.”
She beams. “We are thrilled to have you join us tonight.”
Wade shifts his weight. I can feel his uneasiness, and I clamor to help diminish it.
“When Holt asked me to come, I couldn’t believe it,” I say, much to her confusion.
She looks back and forth between us curiously.
“I basically invited myself as Wade’s date.” I laugh. “He was kind enough to let me tag along.”
“Oh.” Sigourney’s features soften as she looks at her son. “I’m sure he’s enjoyed himself too.”
Wade tucks his chin and watches me. I grin, knowing it makes him want to say something, but he can’t with his mother and Rosie close by.
“I think he has,” I say sweetly. “He’s about to dance with me, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy that as well.”
Sigourney nearly explodes with joy. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. It was such a pleasure to meet you, Dara.”
“You, too, Mrs. Mason.”
“Please,” she says, waving a hand through the air. “Call me Siggy.”
Wade exhales, making me giggle.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Siggy.”
She laughs. “Perfect. Now come along, Rosie. Let’s go have a chat about you running off.”
As soon as they’re out of earshot, I look at Wade.
“Seems like your mother loves me,” I joke.
“She loves everyone.”
“Really?” I make a face. “I’m not sure about that.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “And how would you know? You’ve just met her.”
“It’s a feeling. Women’s intuition.”
Soft, jazzy notes whisper through the air. Norah Jones’s purposeful yet breathy voice breezes between us. I unknowingly hold my breath as I watch something filter through Wade’s eyes.
“Do you want to get a drink?” he asks.
It’s a deflection, a mode to fill the space between us with a method of his choosing.
“No,” I say.
“No?”
I reach out with more confidence than I actually embody and take his hand in mine. To my surprise, he lets me without a fight.
“We, Mr. Mason, are going to dance.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Now?”
“Now.” I grin at him. “You do know how to dance, don’t you?”
He rolls his eyes.
I hold his gaze and ignore the warmth and steadiness of his hand in mine.
“Prove it,” I whisper and pull him toward the dance floor.