The bride is stunning with her long, dark hair in contrast to the slim-fitting white dress with a train to die for. She joins her groom under the arch, and we all sit again.
Gramps slides me another Life Saver, and I take it. Luckily, he doesn’t pay attention, and I slide it into Wade’s palm. He tries to push it back into my fist, holding it in place with his other hand, but I jerk it away. He gives me a stare that makes me smile … and swoon.
We settle into our seats as the mechanics of the wedding take place. I appreciate the gardens and the perfection of the setting sun … and of the man sitting next to me … until I hear the vows.
As the groom clears his throat and then the words he wrote on a piece of paper begin to be read aloud, tears dot the corner of my eyes.
His love for Blaire is evident. It’s palpable. It’s the kind of love that a woman wishes for if they wish for that kind of thing at all.
It’s the kind of love that touches my heart just from witnessing it.
My gaze trickles over the men standing next to him. Some are near carbon copies of Wade and others are bigger, stronger, bulkier but also extremely handsome. They watch Holt give his vows with the utmost seriousness. It’s clear they, too, love Blaire.
Gramps hands me a handkerchief, a red silk piece of fabric with orange diamonds embedded into the cloth.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He pats my leg with a shaky hand.
I dab my eyes and watch the action in front of me.
Wade leans his head to the side. “You all right?”
I grin but don’t look at him. “Yeah.”
“Why are you crying?”
My chest shakes as I try not to laugh. I turn toward him so as not to disturb anyone else and lean in close to his ear.
“Aren’t weddings supposed to be emotional?” I ask.
“No.”
I smack his leg softly. “Do you get emotional about anything?”
I’m not sure what I said, or if he’s irritated by the contact I initiated without thinking, but his eyes narrow, and he leans back. “No.” He nods toward the ceremony as if he wants to watch it without me disturbing him.
So I keep a distance and pretend not to notice that he’s staring at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I’m not a fool to think that this seemingly emotionless man will change because of me—that he’ll ever want an emotional connection with me. But I can’t help feeling stirred to want to know why and how he is the way he is. Why does someone who has so much to give avoid connecting with people … intentionally. Like it’s his damn job.
Maybe it’s the emotion of the evening, or maybe it’s Gramps’s words, “I’ve never gotten anything worth a damn without working for it,” but I’m resolved about one thing: come hell or high water, I will get to the bottom of Wade Mason.
Even if it kills me … or my heart.
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.”