Resolution (Mason Family 5)

“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.