The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

“That sucks,” Daff said, more devastated by the news than she allowed them to see. She leveled an accusatory glare on Mason. “You just had to take her away from us, didn’t you, asshole?”

“I’ll bring her back,” he said with a somber smile. “This is our home. We want to raise our kids here.”

“The five years will fly by, and we’ll visit so often it’ll be like we’ve never left,” Daisy added.

“Five years?” The dismay was evident in Lia’s voice, and her eyes shone with tears. She lowered her head quickly to hide them, but everybody had already seen them. Not that Daff blamed her—she felt like howling, too. She sneaked a peek at Spencer, but his face was downcast and unreadable. Only the slight tightening of his lips betrayed how he might be feeling, but other than that he was a closed book.

“When will you move?” Daff asked.

“Probably late January, so we’ll have time enough to get settled and find a place before the semester starts.”

“That’s less than five months away,” Lia stated unnecessarily. “And you haven’t even set a date for the wedding yet.”

“We thought the first Saturday in November,” Mason said, and Lia gasped.

“Does our mom know? I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about that!”

“She’s not. But because it’s a backyard wedding, I’m not anticipating too much work,” Mason said, and all three women shot him identical incredulous looks, which he returned with a blank, confused stare.

“What? What did I say?” Mason asked, and Spencer chuckled softly. The unfamiliar sound startled Daff into looking at him. His handsome, rugged face was alight with laughter as he grinned at his brother.

“I’m thinking they don’t agree with you.”

“But it won’t be a huge production like Lia’s wedding was,” he retorted. “No fancy hotels and gift bags and froufrou crap like that. I imagine it’ll be more like a braai or something . . . won’t it?” The last two words sounded uncertain when Daisy shot him a lethal glare.

“Mason, our wedding isn’t going to be some common braai, where people show up in shorts and drink beers with their barbecued steaks!”

“I mean, I know we’ll put a fancier spin on it, but . . .”

“No! We’re hiring caterers for the three- to four-course dinner. There will be proper tableware and silverware, no paper plates, no paper napkins, and no plastic forks.” Daisy’s face was going an unbecoming shade of red and Daff, her earlier sadness shelved for the moment, sat back and enjoyed her youngest sister’s rare display of temper.

“I’m sorry, angel. Of course it will be beautiful and romantic and everything you want it to be,” Mason asserted hastily, and Daff snorted. The guy was thoroughly whipped and it was glorious to see. Daisy’s bottom lip quivered ever so slightly and Mason swore beneath his breath before dropping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her close to whisper in her ear. He followed up whatever he said with a kiss to her neck, and a reluctant smile softened her lips.

The show of intimacy made Daff uncomfortable and she shifted her eyes, only to meet Spencer’s hooded green gaze. He looked grim, and again she wondered how he felt about the news that Daisy and Mason would be leaving soon.

She wasn’t sure how to break eye contact and was grateful when their food arrived to distract everyone. The rest of the conversation centered around wedding plans, and Mason wisely kept his mouth shut this time and offered input only when asked.

“I’ll take you to the farm to pick up your car, Daff,” Lia offered between bites of her lasagna, and Daff smiled gratefully. She hadn’t exactly been relishing the thought of walking back to the farm in the cold. Spencer barely said a word as the meal continued, which was kind of unnerving when one considered how he had once seized every opportunity to talk to her in the past. His bumbling conversational attempts hadn’t been very sophisticated or remotely successful, but Daff was honest enough to admit to herself that she hadn’t made it very easy on him. Depending on her mood, she would half-heartedly encourage him or completely ignore him. It had taken him long enough to get fed up with her mixed signals, and part of her mourned the loss of his earnest attempts at conversation. Another—much smaller—part of her was happy he no longer seemed interested in her.

She considered his strong, masculine profile again while he spoke with his brother, and she sighed. Yes, only the very smallest part of her was happy about the loss of his attention.

He turned his head unexpectedly and nailed her again with his penetrating stare. Her throat went horribly dry at the latent heat she saw in that burning regard. Why had she never noticed that before? Never seen all that intensity beneath the formidable brow and the flop of shaggy hair? It made her knees feel so shaky she was happy to be sitting down.