Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dara
The commotion of the room disappears around us.
I pull Wade toward an open spot on the dance floor between couples swaying to Norah’s sexy croon. I lead him near the edge and look at him over my shoulder.
My heart lodges in my throat.
His eyes are deep—hooded even, and sparkle with something akin to trust. Wade doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t dance with women at family weddings. I didn’t expect him to dance with me either and figured that he’d make an excuse or pull away.
But he didn’t.
He follows me without a word. There’s a slight hesitancy in the way he moves, a slight vacillation, but I can work with it. His fingers flex. His eyes are glued to mine as though if he blinks, I might disappear.
Silently, we pick a spot, and I turn to face him.
He slips his hand from mine, trailing his thumb over my palm. A spike of adrenaline fires through me, and my gaze flips to his.
A smile ghosts his lips as if to say, “You asked for this.”
Yes, I did.
I can barely breathe as he presses his hand against the small of my back. I shudder as his other hand wraps around me, boxing me in. His fingers lace together just above my behind, and he drags me closer to him.
I blow out a shaky breath, wishing for the confidence Larissa said that Wade always has, and move my arms over his shoulders. The motion is smooth and easy and without evidence of the chaos that’s taken up shop inside me.
There are too many details to categorize and file away for later.
His chest against mine is more solid and muscular than I imagined. The ridge in his shoulder feels like a tease. The skin on his neck is hot to the touch, and his hair is silkier and softer than it was in my filthy dreams last night.
“See?” I ask, needing to break the ice. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You make everything hard, Dara.”
He grins, turning me in a half-circle so that I’m facing the open doors to the garden.
“Is that so?” I ask, my shoulders releasing the anxiety that had built up in them.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I give him a look. “I make everything hard? Come on, Wade. You could’ve used another word. Difficult, maybe?”
His chest rumbles with his chuckle. Each movement causes his torso to brush against mine.
“Well, you’re that too,” he says, looking down at me. “You’re just brimming with moxie.”
“My mother used to say I’m full of piss and vinegar, but moxie sounds nicer.”
He chuckles again. It’s my new favorite thing.
“What about you, Mr. Mason?”
“What about me?”
I block out the way his arm feels around me and stay focused on his face.
“Why are you so difficult?” I ask.
His forehead pulls together. “I didn’t know that I was.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m not difficult. I’m just …”
“Cantankerous?” I offer.
“No.”
“Crotchety?”
He chuckles for a third time. “No. Did I leave you alone with Gramps too long? You’re starting to sound like him with all of these random words you’re throwing around.”
I grin as we sway.
“I like old-fashioned words. They’re so much more fun than irritable or grouchy,” I say.
“None of those words define me.”
“No, but they describe you.”
He rolls his eyes but pulls me closer. A piece of paper couldn’t fit between us at this point. Every breath I take has my chest pressing against his, and I wonder if he can feel it as acutely as I can.
I relax in his arms. It isn’t deliberate or calculated, but I’m well aware of the tranquility at this moment. My cheek wants to press against his jacket, and my eyes want to fall closed. I want to sway with this man and listen to this music and feel the softness of the evening for as long as I can.
But I don’t.
Instead, I gaze up at him.
“What?” he asks, almost as if he doesn’t want to ask at all.
“Here I was thinking that you couldn’t dance.”
He hums. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you don’t know a lot of things about me.”
“Want to share them?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes, making me laugh.
The song changes to a Ray LaMontagne tune about being born to love. It’s a bit livelier than the one played before it. The choice seems to agree with Wade.
He repositions his hands, splaying his palms against me with his fingers unlocked. His hands touch my body from his wrist to his fingertips, and the contact is intoxicating.
“Do you know what I think?” I prod, gauging his reaction.
He groans.
“I think,” I say, tapping the back of his neck, “that you aren’t as testy as you make out.”
“It’s dangerous to underestimate people.”
He guides me in a circle, but I refuse to be distracted. Again.
“Do you want to know what I think?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He tries not to chuckle. “I think that you spend your time trying to figure out other people because it’s easier than trying to figure out yourself.”
I gasp. “That’s rude.”
He can’t hold it back any longer. He full-on laughs.
I thought his smile was wonderful, but his laughter is glorious.
“I’ve figured myself out, thank you very much,” I say in protest. But, despite the words, a quiver of uncertainty quakes in my soul. “I admit all the good and all the bad.”
His laughter slips away. He looks at me with a soberness that makes me shiver.
“There’s bad?” he asks.
I think, I hope, the question is rhetorical because I can’t answer it. Of course, there are bad things about me. But the fact he pretends there’s not … makes me feel good.
Grinning, I toy with the back of his hair.
“Well, there’s not a lot of bad,” I tease. “Can I ask you something?”
He groans, lifting his chin to the ceiling. “Did you get me to dance just so you could ask me a million questions?”
“That and so you’d have to touch me.”
Our bodies slow as our eyes crash into one another.
I can’t believe I said that.
The longer we stand, touching, trying to sort out my admission, the more I realize … I don’t care.
I said it. I meant it. I did want him to touch me. And I wanted it so badly that I didn’t care, don’t care, that I got it under the guise of a dance.
“I wouldn’t have had to trick you into it if you weren’t so difficult,” I say, hoping he latches on to the playful part of that and not the other.
Wade flinches. He leans back far enough that my hands can’t touch behind his head anymore.
My breathing stalls. A ball of acid swirls in my stomach as I try desperately to read his reaction.
“I’m sorry—”
“You think I don’t want to touch you?” he asks.
“Well … yes.”
He snorts, looking over my head at something in the distance.
“I shouldn’t have admitted that.” I run my hands over his shoulders and onto his chest. I press gently. “I just made things very awkward and—”
“Dara.”
My eyes flip to his. His gaze catches them like an award-winning baseball player and holds them hostage.
“Never apologize for saying what you feel,” he says, his voice quiet yet firm.
“I obviously don’t take direction well, you know. Like, the drink thing …”
He closes his eyes briefly and exhales.
A wave of frustration mixed with panic seeps into my soul. Truth be told, it’s probably mixed with champagne too, and that’s not helping things. But we’re already waist-deep in this conversation. If I don’t say all the things I want to say, there won’t be another opening.
I know that for a fact.
He will make sure of it.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I say. “I shouldn’t be standing here with your arms around my waist while I admit to you how much I wanted this very thing.”
A shadow filters across his features.
“But …” I bite back a lump in my throat. “But tonight, I feel more like myself than I’ve felt in a long time. I feel … happy. Interesting. Wanted. Not wanted by you in a way you don’t mean, but I feel like my presence is wanted here.”
Tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back. I will them not to fall.
The sudden eruption of emotion is unexpected, and I curse myself for not managing it better. But here I am, and here all of the feelings are, and—as is common in my life—there’s not a whole lot that I can do about it.
“Your gramps was so sweet. Your mom is so kind. Larissa was a doll. The only person who hasn’t been nice to me is Rosie because she thinks I’m trying to steal her man.”
Wade grins.
I take a deep breath. “Little does she know that’s out of the question.”
“You think you know things that you know nothing about.”
I rip my gaze from him and study the buttons on his shirt instead. I’m flushed, both from the champagne and from this conversation.
“I know that I shouldn’t be talking about this with you,” I say. “Because tomorrow morning when I wake up and remember tonight, I’ll kick myself for embarrassing myself like this.”
“Dara—”
“And I also know that I’m not emotionally ready for conversations like this.
My life is still messy. I’m too vulnerable.
If I’m going to put forth the effort to figure out any man, it should be my grandfather.
” I laugh, more from humiliation than levity.
“Strangely, he’s not too interested in me either. ”
Wade stops moving. “Dara.”
I look up. “What?”
He licks his lips.
His palms press heavily into the fabric of my dress as he studies me so intently that I try to look away. But I can’t.
“I just wanted to get to know you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”
“I …”
He releases one hand and runs it through his hair. Frustration is evident in his face as he sweeps the room, looking for an out. Probably. I don’t really know what he’s thinking, or else I wouldn’t be in this situation to start with.
“Are you about ready to go?” he asks.
The question throws me off. I step away from him and wish I could fall into a black hole.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I say.
He nods. “I’ll … I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
He walks a few paces to a man standing next to the door. They have a quick conversation before Wade steps outside.
I dart off the dance floor. Partly because I’m ready to cry and partly out of defiance, I take a glass of champagne from a server and down most of it in one gulp.
The alcohol goes down smooth and sweet. The bubbles in my stomach dilute the ball of tension that has twisted itself into an unforgiving knot over the past few minutes.
“Hello,” a man says, coming up next to me. Beside him is a woman wearing one of the blush-colored bridesmaid dresses. “I’m Oliver Mason, Wade’s brother. This is Shaye.”
“We met earlier,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. “It’s nice to meet you, Oliver.”
“I’d say that I’ve heard a lot about you, but you obviously know Wade, so you know that’s a lie,” Oliver jokes.
I try to laugh. “He doesn’t give much away, does he?”
“He wants to kill us half the time,” Oliver says. “But there’s a reason Holt chose him to give a speech tonight.”
Shaye nods. “I was surprised that he agreed.”
Me too.
The longer I stand with members of Wade’s family, the more of an imposter I feel like I am. I’m not here with him—not like they think. Hell, he didn’t even invite me.
It doesn’t matter that I feel alive when I’m with him. It matters even less that I think he feels the same way. Because he won’t admit it. Not now, not ever.
“It was nice meeting you, Oliver,” I say, setting my glass on a passing tray. “But Wade mentioned being ready to leave, and I don’t know where he went.”
Shaye points at a door. “I saw him heading that way a few minutes ago.”
I smile at her. “I’ll look there. Thank you. And, again, it was a pleasure to meet you both this evening.”
I don’t wait around for their niceties. I just need to get away before my heart pounds out of my chest.
My steps are quick and measured as I head for the exit. Cool air blows in from the outdoors as I reach the open door.
I step onto the stone walkway. The breeze is crisp, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep warm. As I scan the area, there are a lot of revelers chatting, drinking, smoking cigars—but no Wade.
Lights glow faintly around the corner. My heels sink into the soft soil as I make my way to the side of the greenhouse. It doesn’t take long for me to spot him.
Wade is sitting on a bench with Rosie curled up in his lap. Her head lays on his chest, her body formed into a little ball.
The sight makes my heart clench. He tries so desperately to keep himself walled off from everyone. Yet at every turn, people clamor to get in.
Doesn’t he see that? Doesn’t he care?
He looks up at me. “She just hopped up here and fell asleep.”
“She looks pretty out of it.”
He nods. “I have no idea what to do with her. I think my mother was going to leave and take her home early. I think I heard that, anyway.”
“You could take her home with you since we’re leaving now,” I say.
He bites his bottom lip before looking at me. His eyes search mine for a long time.
I want to fight him, to prevent him from seeing the vulnerability in my eyes. I want to make a joke or blow everything off like I’m so good at doing.
But the fact that I am good at doing that hits me like a ton of bricks.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I don’t want to figure myself out. Not all the way.
“Dara?”
“Yes?”
He looks up at me through his thick lashes. “I made you feel a certain way tonight, and I—”
“Please. Don’t.” My cheeks flush. “It’s fine.”
He stands, the child still in his arms.
There is no confusion or trepidation in his features, no hesitation. He licks his lips and straightens his shoulders.
“I want to have a conversation with you,” he says, “but I don’t want to do it here.”
“We can do it in the car on the way home—no innuendo intended this time. Just, you know, to be clear.”
He fights a smile. “Fine. How do you feel about coming to my house tonight?”
“We can do this another time, Wade—”
“No.” The words are sharp. “I want to do this tonight.”
I’m not sure what do this tonight means, but I’m sure it doesn’t mean what I hoped it might when he picked me up.
I’m also certain this is unnecessary. But at least if we’re at his house and not surrounded by the entire Mason family and half of Savannah, I can get my phone out of Wade’s car and call an Uber.
I’ll just sit outside until I get picked up.
This is where I am in life. Taking the smallest wins.
“Okay,” I say, giving in.
His shoulders sag either from my capitulation or Rosie’s weight.
“Let’s find her parents and get out of here,” he says.