“Okay, we’ll see you later, then; I think you were the last of the weekend guests to arrive—although we do have wedding-day-only guests coming on Sunday, of course—so there’ll be a full house for dinner tonight. Mason, you’ll be joining us at the family table, of course,” Lia said.
“You’re babbling, sweets,” Clayton said patronizingly, and Lia’s smile faltered.
“Sorry about that; it’s the excitement,” she said, her eyes strained. “Anyway, we’ll see you later.”
They entered the elevator, and Lia waved as the doors slid shut. Mason dropped his arm from around Daisy’s waist and took her hand in his. They turned to follow the porter, who was already waiting at their room door.
Mason took Daisy’s key card from her to open the door and helped the porter offload the cart before tipping the friendly young man and sending him on his way. Daisy, in the meantime was nervously eyeing the large, luxurious suite, with its panoramic floor-to-ceiling corner windows and its gigantic bed.
“How long has Edmonton been so handsy with you?” Mason’s voice, coming from right behind her, startled Daisy.
“Uh, what do you mean?” She stalled, and he moved to stand in front of her and look down at her grimly.
“You know what I mean, Daisy. He had his greedy paws all over you.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” She shifted uncomfortably.
“Has it been worse?” His voice was dangerously quiet, and she lowered her eyes.
“I thought it was my imagination,” she revealed, her voice emerging on a tiny whisper. He was standing so close to her that she could feel his every muscle tense.
“Explain.”
“He’s been a little overly . . . familiar.”
“And you’re letting your sister go through with this wedding?” He sounded so absolutely incredulous that Daisy was both gratified that he believed her and ashamed that she hadn’t trusted herself enough to talk to at least Daff about how she felt around Clayton.
“Daisy, why the hell didn’t you say something? Tell me what that fucker has done to you; I need to know exactly how badly I have to hurt him.”
“It’s not like that. I mean, he’s made me feel uncomfortable; he makes these awful comments about my body but makes it sound like advice or affection. He has patted my butt on occasion, seemingly a casual, friendly touch—but his hand always lingers just that fraction too long—and when I confronted him about it, he said he wasn’t interested in me in that way. I’m ‘not his type’ after all, and maybe I’m jealous of what my prettier sister has.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she tried to keep her face averted to prevent Mason from seeing them.
“How has none of your family seen this? I took one look at the situation, and I could tell you were uncomfortable around him and that he was much too familiar with you.”
“They don’t see me the same way you do,” she admitted, a tear streaking down her cheek and finally, finally, she was able to recognize that Mason did see her as different, as special, as pretty and interesting and every other really wonderful thing he had called her in the past. “I’m just Daisy. I don’t attract that kind of male attention.”
A single tear, and he was undone. Mason watched it trail down one round cheek and tremble on the edge of her jawline before it lost the battle with gravity and fell. He didn’t know where it landed, he was too busy drowning in those sad, drenched gray eyes.
“Daisy,” he groaned, reaching up to knuckle some of the stray curls out of her face. The soft, springy tendrils wrapped around his fist, and he unclenched his hand and combed his fingers into her thick hair, loving the feeling of it under his palm. His other hand moved up to cup her cheek, and his thumb moved to wipe away the last trace of that tear. “Angels shouldn’t weep.”
It was a silly thing to say, whimsical and uncharacteristic, but it made her smile, and that made him feel less foolish. Her small, soft hand came up to cover his.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Believing me.” Her words infuriated him, made him want to take on every single person in the world who had ever made her feel worthless and unattractive. Starting with Daisy herself. He unwound his hand from her hair and reached for her glasses, removing them and tossing them onto a nearby dresser in one quick movement.
“Hey, watch it, I didn’t bring a spare pair,” she squeaked. He glared down at her, silencing her instantly, and he smothered a grin. He loved the slightly unfocused look in her eyes when she wasn’t wearing her glasses; it was cute. She looked like a little fledgling owl about to leap from the nest for the first time.
“How blind are you without those?” he asked, and she blinked, a slow, sleepy little blink.