“I’m happy,” he said, and resumed his study of the bougainvillea leaves floating on the calm blue water of the pool.
Aaron came up beside him and rested his hands on the iron railing separating the patio from the pool. “Yeah, that’s why you look like you want to bust somebody. I don’t want that surly expression standing up with me on what’s supposed to be the happiest fucking day of my life. It makes me nervous. Come on.” He punched Booker in the shoulder. “Talk it out, mate.”
Booker grunted from the slug. “There’s nothing to talk out.”
“Sure there is. Tell you what, I’ll start. Delightful meeting Laurie’s mum last night.”
“That’s one word for it.” Resigned to the discussion, he turned to face Aaron and folded his arms across his chest.
“Have the situation contained, do we?”
“Yep.” Just thinking about it pissed him off. He pushed away from the rail and crossed the patio, trying to walk off the frustration. “I could have contained it weeks ago if she’d told me what was going on, but no. Why confide in me? I’m only the sheriff.”
Aaron turned and leaned back against the railing. “She’s embarrassed.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He pivoted and strode toward rail again. “I love her, goddammit. I expect her to come to me when she needs help, not hide things from me like I’m an enemy. I’m on her side, and if I haven’t proved that much to her by now, then, damn it”—he banged a support post with the side of his fist, hard enough to feel the impact all the way up his arm—“I’m fucked.”
“She thinks of you as the enemy? Those were her words?”
“Her actions told me. All she said was that I wouldn’t understand.”
Aaron blew out a breath and took a step back. “I want to point out something, but before I do, keep this in mind. Kate will rip my balls off if either of us shows up to this wedding with a black eye.”
“Noted.”
“Good. What I want to point out is, she’s not entirely wrong.”
“I haven’t proved I’m on her side?” He dragged a hand through his hair to keep from smacking the post again. “That’s bullshit—”
“No, not the ‘on her side’ part.” He shook his head. “She’s not entirely wrong saying you don’t understand. Women are complex mysteries, mate. Like black holes or the plot of Fight Club. They defy understanding. Blokes are basic.”
Frustration propelled him across the patio again. “I’ve known her for a long time. I spent a lot of years trying to be in her corner, and protect her—from herself, half the time. I flat-out reject the notion I don’t understand her. I understand her better than she understands herself.”
“Uh-uh. You see her more objectively than she sees herself, but that’s entirely different.”
“You barely know her.” Bracing his shoulders against the stucco wall, he challenged his future brother-in-law. “And just so we’re clear, the accent doesn’t make you some kind of an authority on women.” Everything about this conversation set his teeth on edge. Especially the insinuation there was some gap between Lauralie and him that could never be bridged, no matter what he did. But haven’t you reached the same conclusion? Isn’t that why you left last night?
Aaron sank his hands into his pockets and looked down at the toes of his polished black shoes. After a moment of internal debate, his eyes landed on Booker. “My dear pop was a raging alcoholic, as well as a right bastard.”
Well shit. Now he felt like a prick, making his friend dredge up a painful past on his wedding day. “Okay. I get it. You have a perspective on shitty upbringings that I’ll never have. We don’t have to go there.”
The corner of Aaron’s mouth quirked up. “Grab a seat, Booker.” He nodded toward the round, wrought iron patio table surrounded by four matching chairs. “We’re going there. You’re family—will be in a few hours as I’ve survived all the hazing—so now you sit while I do my filial duty and pull your head out of your arse.”
“All right. Fine.” He dragged the closest chair out, wincing as metal scraped brick, and dropped into the seat. “Welcome to the family.”
“Cheers. Do you know if anyone had told me a year ago I’d be wedding Kate Booker on Saint Valentine’s Day with God as my witness, I would have laughed ‘til I pissed myself?”
“I’m sure she’d be flattered to hear that.”
“Don’t take me wrong. I wanted her the moment I saw her. I aimed to get a leg over—”
“Keep talking, and you’re going to end up with a black eye after all—”
“I was a bit of a lad,” Aaron went on, “and I liked it that way.”
Booker propped his forearms on his knees. This was starting to sound familiar. “But you changed. You met the right woman, and you changed.”
“I fell for her against my will, and it scared the shite out of me. Kate’s posh and polished, and I’m some git from Hackney. I pushed her back more than once because I couldn’t make sense of us. I knew happy relationships existed, in theory, but where I come from, they’re like unicorns—rare and magical—and I reckoned I didn’t have a hell of a lot of magic in me. Yeah, I was testing her, but mostly doubting me. I didn’t trust myself with something good.”