CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Why are you guys here so early?” Daff asked Mason as she approached the wide-eyed group. Spencer hesitated for a brief moment but followed before she had to tug him along behind her.
“Daisy and I were dropping Charlie off. She stayed over at ours last night.”
Of course she did. And she’d probably had an awesome time, and now, with that fresh in her mind, she’d have to spend a day in Spencer’s mediocre company. He felt like an ass for resenting his brother a little for that. And for resenting Charlie for so easily creeping into Mason’s affections. He was jealous of the sibling relationship he saw blooming right in front of his eyes and pained by the one that he seemed to be losing with Mason, as well as the one that he couldn’t get off the ground with Charlie.
Daff’s hand tightened around his, and he was once again grateful for her support. It still blew his mind that she’d taken his hand so damned easily, right in front of her family and everybody. Like she was claiming him, like she was proud for the family to know about them. He knew he shouldn’t read too much into it. It wasn’t permanent. Her feelings for him were nowhere near as intense as his were for her, but still this gesture felt . . . significant. And for the first time, he felt like he was wanted and belonged.
“Come on, kid. Time’s a-wasting, and we have shitloads to do today.”
“Daff.”
“Sorry, Mum,” she said cheerfully. “Craploads. We have craploads to do.”
Charlie reluctantly peeled herself away from the group. She already looked like she belonged with them, and Spencer felt that pang of envy again. It wasn’t an admirable trait, and he felt like a shallow asshole. He should be happy that she was fitting in.
Charlie skulked past him and Daff and clambered into the truck.
“See you guys later,” Daff chirped. Spencer lifted a hand in farewell, and Daff only released his hand when it was time for her to get back in the truck.
The first five minutes of the drive was silent, and Daff reached over to put on some music while Spencer stretched his mind for something to say to Charlie. He felt like an idiot around this child. He could never seem to find the right words. Maybe because it meant so much to him.
“Eww!” Charlie exclaimed after a few minutes, finally breaking the increasingly awkward silence. “You have a love bite.”
Shit! Spencer sighed in exasperation. Of course that would be the first thing she remarked on.
“Who did that? Did you do that?” she demanded of Daff.
“Of course I did,” Daff shocked him by admitting. She turned in her seat to grin at Charlie. “It’s an awesome one, isn’t it? I’m quite proud of it.”
“Oh eeeewww.” The girl’s disgust was actually quite comical, and for the first time she struck Spencer as a normal teen. It relaxed him somewhat. “Stop talking about it.”
“You brought it up,” Daff said with a shrug. “So what did you do at Daisy and Mason’s last night?”
“Watched movies and stuff. It was okay.”
“Yeah? I love my sister, but she talks about the wedding a lot.” Spencer checked the rearview mirror to gauge the girl’s reaction, and she bit her lip uncertainly. Obviously not wanting to betray Daisy. “Right?”
“Daisy’s nice,” Charlie finally said, and Daff nodded.
“I know. So nice. Too nice. God, she was such a Goody Two-shoes growing up. Lia was worse. But Daisy was clever, too. Always with her nose in a book, which is awesome and all, but it made Lia and me look bad. And Daisy never knew about makeup and stuff.” Spencer slanted Daff a curious look, wondering where she was going with this.
“Do you know about makeup . . . and stuff?” Charlie asked after a beat.
“Of course I do,” Daff said nonchalantly. “I could give you some makeup tips if you like.”
“She’s a little young, Daff,” Spencer said, and she threw him a look of exaggerated, openmouthed shock.
“A woman is never too young to learn about makeup, Spencer,” she admonished, wagging a finger in his face, and Spencer bit back his response when Charlie giggled at her words. The sound was so sweet, carefree, and innocent that it took the wind clear out of his sails.
“Sorry, ladies. I stand corrected,” he said meekly. When he sneaked another peek at Charlie, he was rewarded by the look of astonishment on her face. Daff reached over and squeezed his thigh in approval.
“Anyway, how can you handle all the lovey-dovey stuff over at Daisy and Mason’s?”
“They kiss a lot,” Charlie admitted, sounding faintly disgusted. “Nobody needs to see that from old people.”
“Tell me about it.” Daff groaned. “Fair warning though, kid. It won’t be as often, or as gross, but you’ll see me kiss your big brother a bit today, too.”
“Ugh, no. What’s wrong with all of you?” she squeaked, and Spencer hid a grin. He was so damned thrilled that she hadn’t protested his title of “big brother.” Daff had slipped it into the conversation so insouciantly that Charlie had just accepted it, instead focusing on the grosser revelations in the sentence. His hand dropped to where hers still rested on his thigh and he squeezed her fingers gratefully.
“It feels good to kiss,” Daff said. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“No, she won’t,” Spencer snapped, and Daff rolled her eyes. “No kissing, Charlie. Not until you’re thirty-five.”
“Jeez. Big brothers. Your poor boyfriends are going to have a hard time getting past Spencer and Mason.”
“Daff, stop corrupting my sister—” The word slipped out without thought and caught all of them unaware. Daff’s lips curled into a smile and Charlie, quite shockingly, said nothing in protest to his claim. He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, where she was eyeing him speculatively, as if she couldn’t make up her mind about something.
“I like Cooper and Peaches,” Charlie said, unexpectedly changing the subject, her eyes narrowing as they held his.
“Is that right?” Spencer asked, and she nodded, her eyes challenging. He grinned and she blinked, looking completely thrown by his reaction. “You know Mason and Daisy are taking the dogs to Grahamstown with them, right?”
“I know.”
“Guess I’ll have to get you a dog of your own,” he said nonchalantly and released her eyes to focus his attention back on the road.
She said nothing in response to that, but Spencer felt lighter and happier than he had during any previous interaction with Charlie. His hand clung to Daff’s for the rest of the fifty-minute drive to Mossel Bay.
The morning was pretty pleasant. Spencer let Daff and Charlie chatter on. The teen was recalcitrant at first, selfishly hogging her words, and he really couldn’t blame her. Not when he often did the same thing, especially around strangers. They leisurely explored the small coastal town for about forty minutes before Daff dragged Charlie off for some shopping—no boys allowed—and left Spencer to wander around on his own for a while.
He stopped in front of a small, upmarket jewelry store and scanned the window display for the longest time before venturing in for a closer look at the wares. Maybe a small gift for Daff? He wasn’t even sure if she was into jewelry. Although she always seemed to be wearing necklaces and stuff, he wasn’t certain how she would receive a gift such as this, but he couldn’t resist. He imagined her in sapphires—they would look amazing on her skin and bring out the blue notes in her gray eyes. Or maybe rubies, to match her gorgeous, velvety soft lips. She wouldn’t go for diamonds, not his colorful Daff.
He inspected the bracelets and necklaces, the earrings and the charms, and in the end, not sure how it happened, walked out with a ring. A rose-gold ring with a pear-cut peach sapphire. It had a warm vibrancy to it that reminded him of Daff.
And there was no fooling himself—it was an engagement ring. An engagement ring for a woman who wanted no strings and who would probably run screaming for the hills if he so much as hinted at marriage.
Spencer was fucked and he knew it.
Spencer seemed tense during lunch. He could barely meet her eyes, and Daff wondered if Mason or Daisy had contacted him while she and Charlie had gone to do their “lady shopping.” It wouldn’t surprise her, since she’d received a WTF text from Daisy about half an hour earlier. Daff hadn’t responded, fed up with having to explain herself to them. They would have to trust that she and Spencer were adult enough not to drag the family into a divisive brawl after this thing between them ended.
Spencer watched Charlie dig into her burger, his eyes protective, a small—almost proud—smile on his face.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” the girl snapped irritably, more observant than Daff had assumed. Spencer looked startled to have been caught staring but recovered quickly.
“Tell me about your home life with Malcolm. After your mother died,” he invited her, and Charlie’s brow lowered, looking so much like Spencer in that moment that Daff’s affinity for the girl grew even stronger.
“Maybe I don’t wanna,” Charlie grumbled sulkily, and Spencer nodded.
“You don’t have to. I was just curious.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your life with Malcolm,” she retorted, challenge lighting her eyes. “After your mother died.”
The corner of Spencer’s mouth lifted, and he stole one of Charlie’s fries and popped it into his mouth. He washed down the potato with a swig of soda.
“You have your own fries,” Charlie pointed out.
“Sorry, force of habit. I usually grab a few of Mason’s. It pisses him off.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Because I can,” Spencer admitted, and Charlie watched him thoughtfully, again with that speculative spark in her eyes. “So after my mother died, Malcolm stuck around till my eighteenth birthday. He left when I turned eighteen, he probably figured I was old enough to take care of Mason by then.”
“That was a douchebag move,” Charlie said, sounding way more adult than her years.
“I think we can safely agree that he was a negligent asshole,” Spencer said with a bitter smile, and Charlie nodded.
“But he tried,” she whispered.
“He did. Sometimes he’d surprise us with takeout, sometimes he’d give me money to get some food for the house, and other times—”
“He’d buy alcohol and forget you existed for days on end?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
He took a sip from his soda and still avoided eye contact with Daff. What the hell was up with that? It bothered her more than she would have expected.
“How long was he sick?” Spencer asked.
“A few months. It was very fast.”
“Who helped you? After he died?”
“Neighbors. A social worker. They were going to put me into care, but I left before they could. Malcolm had some money hidden inside his mattress. He told me about it a couple of weeks before he died. It wasn’t a lot, but it got me this far. He told me to find you and Mason after he was gone. He was always talking about you guys.”
“He was?” Daff could tell that the information stunned Spencer.
“He had old newspaper clippings about your rugby stuff and a magazine with some gross almost-naked pictures of Mason in it.” Mason had been an underwear model for a very brief moment in time. Spencer looked completely astounded and couldn’t seem to find an adequate response to her revelations. He seemed unable to process the words and just sat there blinking at Charlie for a few moments.
“I guess Malcolm was okay. Some of his friends were a bit creepy, but if anyone looked at me the wrong way or said something . . . bad to me, he’d never allow them back. I was scared that one day he wouldn’t notice and—” Her voice trailed off, and Daff’s heart clenched for the young girl. She looked small and lost sitting there in one of Daff’s cast-off dresses. Her short hair growing out into a cute cap of dark, silky waves.
“You were very brave living through that, Charlie,” Spencer said. “You should never have been made to fear for your safety. I know you’re used to taking care of yourself. I know you don’t need my help. But it would mean a lot to me if you would accept it. I have to make up for all those years I wasn’t there to keep you safe.”
“I mean—” Charlie’s eyes left Spencer’s, and she glared at her plate. “It’s not like you knew.”
Daff, who had been holding her breath after Spencer’s heartfelt little entreaty, released it on a wobbly sigh. Charlie’s eyes lifted shyly back to Spencer’s, and Daff could have cheered for both of them.
“I’m bossy and I don’t talk much and will probably tell you no a lot, but I’d really like it if you’d consider living at my house,” Spencer said in an awkward rush, the tips of his ears going pink.
The girl lifted one of her fries and twirled it between two fingers as she contemplated Spencer’s pitch.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. Especially not with my new dog to keep me company.”
“As long as you understand that it’s time for you to start being a kid. I didn’t get to be a kid. I want that for you, Charlie. But that means following my rules, okay?”
“What rules?” Charlie asked suspiciously.
“I’ll try to keep them fair. But off the top of my head, stuff like curfews, cleaning up after yourself—and your dog—and studying hard.”
“Sometimes I get angry and don’t want to talk,” Charlie said, sounding for all the world like she was revealing what she considered to be her worst character flaw.
“Yeah? Me too. Maybe we can synchronize it so that we’re angry together and not speak for hours?”
Charlie giggled, and the look of vulnerable gratification on Spencer’s face made Daff reach for his hand under the table. She was shocked and disappointed and more than a little hurt when he moved his hand before she could take hold of it.
“Maybe it won’t totally suck to live with you,” Charlie said after a long pause, and the tension left Spencer’s shoulders. He finally met Daff’s eyes, and she was heartened by the intensity she saw in them. He groped for the hand he had just rejected and clung to it tightly.
“Great,” he rasped and then cleared his throat before continuing. “You can redecorate the room any way you like, and maybe you can move in after the wedding?” That would give her nearly a month to get used to the idea.
“Sounds okay,” Charlie said, keeping it casual. “When can we get my dog?”
“We can pick one out from the shelter after you move in.”
“If I didn’t want to move in, would I still get a dog?” she suddenly asked cynically, and Spencer smiled at her.
“I said you could, and I’m a man of my word.” His voice was solemn and utterly believable. His answer seemed to satisfy Charlie.
The rest of the day was lovely. Spencer’s strange behavior over lunch had disappeared like a rogue cloud on a sunny day, and Daff attributed it to the high-stakes conversation with Charlie. He was back to normal now, happy to hold Daff’s hand, comfortable with eye contact and even the occasional bit of PDA from Daff, despite Charlie’s gagging faces every time they kissed.
After dropping Charlie off at the farm, they made a quick stop at Daff’s to pick up a change of clothes and less than an hour later found themselves snuggling, in their pajama halves, in front of the TV and watching a cooking show. Both were wiped out after the past twenty-four hours and stared blankly at the screen. Not talking much, just sharing a bowl of popcorn and vegging out.
“Mason sent me a text. Asked me what the fuck we were up to.” Spencer broke the comfortable silence close to forty-five minutes later, and Daff, who had been on the verge of dozing off, jerked to attention. Wiping some drool from her mouth and hoping she hadn’t gotten any on his chest.
“Oh? What’d you say?” she asked, her voice slurred.
“Told him we had no idea but once we figured it out it would be none of his fucking business anyway.” Daff snorted and pushed her hair out of her face to stare at him. Sadly, she couldn’t see much past the stubbled ledge of his firm jaw.
“And what did he say to that?”
“Just said ‘okay’ and left it at that.”
“I wish it were that simple with Daisy.”
He graced her with another of his gorgeous smiles. “I told him to pass the sentiment along to her, and he said ‘sure.’ I think you’ll be fine.”
Daff giggled and scooted up to kiss him lightly.
“My hero.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
Sam Brand readjusted his hold on the duffel bag strap and lifted his hand to knock on Mason Carlisle’s front door. Judging by number of cars parked outside and the sound of voices and laughter coming from the interior, they were having some kind of gathering. Not ideal. His intention had been to surprise Mason and his bride-to-be, not ruin a dinner party. He shook off the uncertainty. His cab had left and there was really nothing to do but knock. He was here—no going back now.
The knocking set off a frenzy of barking and he sighed. Yeah . . . this was going to ruin whatever party the couple were hosting. The door swung open, and the unmistakable figure of Mason Carlisle stood silhouetted in the doorway. The guy said nothing for a moment, then huffed in surprise.
“Fuck me! Brand? What the hell are you doing here, man? We weren’t expecting to see you till the stag party.”
“That’s just a couple of days away, mate. I finished up some business early and figured, I’m in the neighborhood, might as well pop in. I don’t mean to intrude on your party, though.”
His buddy engulfed him in a quick, manly hug and then stepped back.
“Define ‘neighborhood,’” Mason invited.
“I was in Mozambique,” Sam informed him drily. “Just a hop, skip, and a jump away from here.”
“One thousand three hundred kilometers, give or take, is nothing, really.” Mason shrugged. “Come on in, man. We’re just having Daisy’s sisters and Spencer over for dinner. Nothing fancy, just a family gathering. The ladies are working on some last-minute wedding stuff, and Spencer and I were starting to feel a little outnumbered. I can’t wait for you to meet my Daisy.”
“Are her sisters hot? Single?”
“Hands off, bro. No flirting and no fucking.”
“You know how to ruin a good time, mate,” Sam grumbled as he followed Mason’s broad back into the house. He absently petted each dog, a big yellow Lab and a small, poofy ball of some kind. Mason led him into a dining room, and four pairs of eyes gawked at him curiously. He instantly reconned the room, noticing about a dozen different things before his eyes halted and went back to her.
Well, hello, Miss Priss. Despite the two other interesting-looking women present, this beautiful buttoned-down little thing immediately snagged and held his attention. She looked like a church organist, a librarian, or a strict teacher. Everything about her was neat and prim and proper. Not a hair out of place, and Sam immediately wanted to ruffle her perfect plumage. Everybody else was blatantly staring at him, but she dropped her eyes and totally rebuffed him.
Well, then . . . challenge accepted.
Why was he staring at her? Lia refused to meet the stranger’s eyes. He was so overt about it, too. It was embarrassing. She sneaked another peek, and thankfully his attention was diverted by Mason, who was proudly introducing Daisy to him.
Compared to Mason and Spencer, this man wasn’t the best-looking guy in the room by far. He wasn’t the tallest or the biggest, either. He looked to be about five foot eleven and had a spare build that complemented the faded jeans and black Henley he was wearing. Short, spiky dirty-blond hair and a rugged face that looked like it had been out in the sun and wind too long. He had piercing ice-blue eyes with expansive laugh lines radiating from the outer corners. She wasn’t sure if they were indeed caused by laughter or from squinting into the bright glare of the sun for long hours at a time. Add that to the deeply tanned hue of his skin and you had a man who was made for the outdoors. He had a presence about him that instantly made the room feel claustrophobic.
Lia watched him hug Daisy, lifting her off her feet until she squealed. He put her down and turned to the rest of the table again to acknowledge them with a grin.
“Spencer, Lia, Daff, this is my friend Sam Brand,” Mason told the room at large, and Lia’s eyes drifted shut for a moment.
Of course he was Sam Brand. Her partner for the wedding. He was supposed to meet them in Plettenberg Bay the day after tomorrow for the mother of all bachelor-slash-ette parties, as Daff had dubbed it. What was he doing here? They had just started dinner, and Daisy quickly arranged a setting for him directly opposite Lia. He accepted the seat with a charming smile, his cheeks creasing attractively.
Something about him got Lia’s back up and put her on immediate alert. So when he focused those intense eyes on her, she pretended not to notice his interest, focusing her attention on her napkin instead.
“So I didn’t quite catch your name,” he said. His voice had an appealing raspy undertone to it. It sounded like he’d damaged his vocal cords at some point in the past and had been left with this husky rasp.
She pretended not to hear him, instead picking up her fork and resuming her meal. Not that she could taste anything—it was like all her senses were being hijacked by the man across the table, and she definitely did not appreciate that at all.
Daff watched her sister, wondering what the hell was up with her. Lia, who always had a smile and kind word for everybody, was positively frosty to the new addition at the table. Daff was seated beside Sam and opposite Spencer, who looked distracted. He was distracted a lot lately. They spent most nights together and he was affectionate in bed, a considerate and gentle lover. But since she’d finished working at the boutique a few weeks ago, their lunches had stopped, and she missed the connection they used to share outside bed.
She turned her attention back to Lia and Sam Brand. The man hadn’t prompted Lia for her name again and instead turned to Mason, who was at the head of the table directly to Sam’s left. Daff tried to catch Lia’s eyes, but her sister was suddenly very interested in her plate, eating with more focus than the meal required.
Sam Brand was an interesting, lively addition to their evening, and soon everybody was laughing at the comical account of his journey from Maputo to Riversend over the last twenty-four hours. Seemed like it had involved just about every mode of transportation imaginable. They were all hooting about a story involving a woman and a chicken in a public taxi when Lia abruptly excused herself. Nobody else seemed to think anything of it, but Daff watched as Sam Brand’s predatory eyes tracked her sister’s movements.
Daff leaned toward him, a bright smile plastered to her face—by now the conversation had flowed in a different direction and nobody was paying attention to them.
“Back off, Brand,” she growled. “She’s not interested and you’re making her uncomfortable.”
He turned to her with a laconic grin on his face, and Daff decided in that instant that she probably wasn’t going to like this suave asshole.
“I’ll wait for her to tell me that herself,” he murmured in that crisp British accent of his and then leaned in, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “So . . . what’s her name?”
“Ugh . . .” She turned away from him and met Spencer’s brooding gaze. He was a serious man, but lately he looked downright gloomy every time he looked at her. She wanted her Spencer back. The man who shared his rare smiles and incomprehensible sense of humor with her. The man who couldn’t seem to get enough of her company. Lately it seemed like he went out of his way to avoid her when they weren’t making love.
Lia returned a few moments later, looking less strained. She smiled gratefully when Spencer, in typical fashion, stood and held her chair out.
“So why were you in Maputo, Sam?” Mason asked.
“Looking to expand the business,” Sam explained, and Mason nodded. The two men had co-owned a personal protection company until Mason had sold his half to Sam for a vast amount of money.
“Yeah, just like we always talked about. There’s decent business down here, but I want to set up the African base in the Cape and use it mostly for recruiting and training new officers.”
“Makes sense.” Mason nodded. “Does this mean we’ll have more opportunities to see you?”
The guy’s eyes went back to Lia’s downcast head, and Daff did not like his smile.
“Oh, I think that’s a definite possibility.”
“I didn’t like that guy at all,” Daff bitched to Spencer a couple of hours later after they’d returned to his place. She was applying lotion to her legs; she loved the way Spencer’s eyes usually followed every sweep of her hands. But tonight he barely spared them a look. Maybe they were becoming familiar with each other’s routine and it was old hat to him now. She tried not to think about possibly boring him and instead continued her little anti-Brand campaign. “He’s too smooth and too arrogant and he’s way too interested in Lia.”
“Hmm?” There was surprise in the sound, and Daff cast him an exasperated look. He was standing in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom, watching her while he brushed his teeth vigorously, one powerful shoulder propped against the door frame.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”
“Things on my mind,” he said around his toothbrush.
“You seem to have a lot on your mind lately.”
“Hmm,” he agreed before turning away and heading into the bathroom. She heard him spit, rinse, and clean the basin and his toothbrush before he sauntered back into the room. He crawled onto the bed and straight between her recently moisturized legs. “This on my mind.”
He kissed her, and she melted with a blissful sigh and happily accepted his all-consuming, minty-fresh kiss. Of course the kiss led to other incredible wonders, and afterward Daff stretched blissfully as she considered the fact that every time with Spencer was absolutely amazing. He didn’t have a bag full of tricks to keep things spicy, but he didn’t need them. The man was extremely goal oriented and focused, and when he was in bed with her, he treated her like she was the center of his universe. At first it had been unnerving, being the sole recipient of all that attention. But now she craved it, and she felt like she would wither away if he were to deprive her of it.
It was early, she could tell from the hazy light in the room, and she heard the shower running. He was getting ready for work. Because of the expansion plans, he had been spending longer hours at his office. The renovations would start next week and the shop would be closed for two weeks in December, which was his most profitable time of year. He wasn’t thrilled about it.
Daff lay curled up beneath the covers, feeling lazy and disinclined to move. Her mind fluttered from one topic to the next while she hovered in that happy place between complete wakefulness and sleep. Charlie’s room was just about done, and she would be moving in next week, so Daff and Spencer would probably have to spend more time at Daff’s place. He probably wouldn’t stay over anymore, because he wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the girl alone overnight. That was just the way he was made. Charlie was his responsibility and he’d promised to take care of her, and staying out all night wouldn’t be fulfilling that promise.
Daff was going to miss him. She’d miss this, the intimacy they’d built between them. The comfortable ease of his quiet companionship. Even with him being so withdrawn recently, she still preferred his company over most others’.
The shower switched off, and she listened to the familiar sounds of him drying off and then brushing his teeth—he did this weird humming thing whenever he brushed. In anyone else it would have annoyed her, but she found it endearing in Spencer.
She pushed herself up when he finally emerged from the steamy bathroom and smiled at him.
“Morning,” she greeted, and his lips quirked.
“Hey. Go back to sleep, darling,” he said, his voice pitched low. “It’s barely six.”
She sank back down under the covers and watched him get dressed. Every movement he made was quick and efficient. When he was fully dressed, he ran his fingers through his damp hair, not bothering with a brush, and strode over to the bed. He sat down on the side closest to her and dropped a kiss on her lips.
“I have back-to-back meetings today, so my phone will be off,” he said.
“See you tonight?”
“Maybe. Depends on how late the meetings run. I’ll still have some paperwork to do after that.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll text you if I have the time.”
“Okay.” She wanted to insist he make the time to text her, but that wasn’t her place. She couldn’t make demands on his time, just as she didn’t expect him to make demands on hers. That wasn’t how this worked.
“Have a good day,” he urged, dropping another kiss on her mouth before exiting the room abruptly. She heard the front door open and shut moments later. It was unusual for him to not even have coffee before heading out, so he was definitely pushed for time today.
Daff contemplated her own day. She really had absolutely nothing planned. Three weeks of unemployment, and she was already bored out of her skull. Who knew she’d miss going to that damned boutique every day? Maybe she hadn’t hated it as much as she’d thought. She shook her head, disgusted with herself for being so damned wishy-washy, and got up.
She tugged on her pajama top and contemplated her bare feet on the cold hardwood floor for a moment before padding over to Spencer’s gorgeous oak bureau and yanking open drawers until she found his socks. She smiled fondly at the neat arrangement and dug around for an old pair of rugby socks. Her hands hit an unusual object and she tugged it out before thinking the better of it. She was about to shove it back when she recognized it as a small velvet jewelry box. She stared at it for a long, blank moment, stunned to realize that Spencer had been this serious about Tanya.
Maybe she was wrong; maybe it wasn’t an engagement ring. But what else would be in a box this size? Earrings? Possibly. She scrutinized the closed box for a long moment, torn between her conscience and the need to know. Had he lied about the depth of his feelings for Tanya?
Slowly, against her better judgment, everything in her screaming to just put it down, she cracked open the lid. She inhaled sharply at the first sight of the beautiful ring nestled in the small, dark-velvet interior of the box.
Warm rose gold, with a pear-shaped pink stone framed by tiny diamonds, it was absolutely stunning. She couldn’t imagine flashy Tanya ever liking a discreet, beautifully elegant ring like this. She lifted it from the box with trembling fingers and noticed etchings on the inside of the narrow band.
Don’t look, Daff! Just don’t! her conscience shrieked, but she was already going to burn in hell for this, so she might as well go all in. She held it up and peered closely at the small, elegant script engraved inside the band.
Daff, my only love. S
“No,” she whispered, her throat going dry. Her hands started shaking so much she dropped the ring. It landed on the floor and rolled a short distance before losing momentum and teetering to a stop.
“Oh Spencer. Why did you do this?” The words were barely audible, and she continued to gape at the ring in horror. Like it was a snake poised to strike at any moment.
“Daff?” Spencer’s low and uncertain voice came from behind her, and she whirled around to see him standing in the bedroom doorway, his travel coffee mug clasped in one hand.
She looked trapped. Her eyes wide in her ashen face, her breath coming in shallow gasps. One hand clasped around the empty ring box.
Fuck.
“I—I was looking for s-socks,” she stuttered, and he nodded, putting his mug on the bureau and striding toward her. She flinched slightly, and he tried not to take it personally. He reached for her hand and removed the box from her slack hold. His eyes scanned the floor until he saw the ring lying about a meter away.
“Why do you have that?” she asked, her voice getting stronger and filled with anger and accusation. Spencer ignored her and bent to pick up the ring and gently place it back into the box. “You shouldn’t have that. I don’t want this.”
“I know,” he said placidly, trying not to show how much her words hurt him.
“So why do you have it?” she practically screeched. He lifted his face to the ceiling, fighting for control, trying to keep it together. “Why would you ignore my wishes like that? When you know this isn’t what I want.”
Always about her.
Finally, reaching the end of his tether, Spencer met her angry and confused eyes.
“Because I fucking love you, Daff!” He fought for control, but the words still flew out of his mouth at a louder volume than he intended. He brought it down to an angry whisper. “Because I want to marry you and spend the rest of my sorry life with you. Because this”—he waved the box angrily in her face—“this is what I want! It’s what I need.”
Finally running out of steam, he blinked rapidly, forcing the blurriness from his eyes.
“But I know it’s not what you want,” he continued, his voice softening and his heart breaking. “And that’s why it’s been lying at the bottom of my fucking sock drawer for weeks.”
“Spencer—”
“It’s okay. I’m not proposing, Daff,” he reassured quietly. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Her eyes were bright with tears, and it killed him to see them. He had never meant to make her cry.
“I’ve known, since I bought this ring, that I can’t do this. I love you, Daff. With everything in me. But you don’t want that love, and it’s breaking my heart—” His voice cracked on the last word and he cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure and do this right. “It’s breaking my heart to be in this nonrelationship with you. I’ve tried to be what you want, do this your way . . . but that’s not the kind of man I am. I’m an all or nothing guy, Daff. I want the world to know that we belong to each other. I want to be able to show you how I feel, tell you how I feel. I want us to . . .” He shook his head and simply said, “I want us.”
“Spencer.”
“You’re wonderful,” he told her. “You’re beautiful, kind, sweet, amazing, smart, funny. You’re everything. Don’t forget that, Daff. Never let anyone make you feel like you’re less. Because you’re not. You’re everything.”
“Spencer, please, don’t.” She was sobbing now, doubled over, her arms folded protectively over her stomach.
“After the wedding—”
“No, Spencer,” she begged, but he had to remain resolute.
“After the wedding, I think it would be better if we saw each other only when absolutely necessary. For family events.”
She keened softly at his words, and Spencer found himself unable to resist dragging her into his arms and comforting her, despite what it cost him to touch her. He felt the dampness seep down his cheeks, and he choked back his own sobs.
“I love you so damned much,” he told her before kissing her one last time. He stepped back, looked into her beautiful, tear-drenched face for a long moment.
And let her go.