By the time we reached the country club, Masyn had calmed down with the death metal music that rattled the windows. Good thing she’d worn her hair down, otherwise, an updo would be a complete mess with all the head banging she’d done in a handful of blocks. She took my arm again, and we walked inside. The scene was completely different, and so was Felicity.

She and Beau greeted each person at the door and thanked them for coming. His parents were next in the welcome wagon, and I thought the whole thing was strange. This girl had more personalities than Sybil. I could only guess what her mother had said to her, or better yet, Beau’s mother. Mrs. Chastain reigned supreme in these parts. She was head of every women’s committee in the county, did countless hours of volunteering, led the church bizarre, and put on the town’s fall festival every year. She was as Southern as apple pie and moonshine, right down to the accent and the debutante balls.

“Masyn, dear, you look lovely tonight. Hopefully, I’ll be attending your wedding in the near future.” Mrs. Chastain turned her attention to me. “Don’t wait too long, Lee. Someone might sweep her out from under you.”

Dear God, this woman had been hitting the sauce already. “We’re not dating, Mrs. Chastain,” I reminded her for about the hundredth time in six years.

Masyn had been trapped in a welcoming hug from Mr. Chastain, while my conversation continued with his wife.

“Fiddlesticks. Just because you don’t label it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” She waved her hand at me and grinned. “Seriously, Lee. Your mother would roll over in her grave to know you hadn’t made an honest woman out of Masyn.”

I wouldn’t know. My mother had died when I was three, and I remembered very little about her. My father had struggled to raise me after she’d passed away. Not because he couldn’t support us financially, he’d never stopped grieving her loss. To this day, it controlled him. I’d finally convinced him, after graduation, to move to the city and get out of this town, where memories bogged him down like quicksand. He seemed a bit happier now that he didn’t live in the past, but I could only attest to what he told me since I didn’t see him much.

“I’ll take that into consideration, Mrs. Chastain.” I loved Beau’s mom. She’d been meddling in my life since we were kids; I didn’t expect her to stop now. Luckily, she’d done the same to Masyn. Oddly, she’d never pushed Masyn toward Beau. Even as little kids, she’d coupled the two of us.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Don’t drink too much tonight. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I stopped myself from striking a rigid pose and saluting her. I’d been smacked enough for one day.

A tug on my hand finally pulled me through the line of greetings. If it had been anyone else, I might have bitched about them being rude. That tiny hand was as familiar as the smell of motor oil. Masyn could drag me anywhere she wanted to go, and I’d follow willingly.

Masyn held my hand and clutched her side with the other. “I’m starving. Please tell me this is a buffet and we don’t have to wait for a seated dinner.”

I raised my eyebrows and let her form her own opinion. A buffet—that was laughable. I would have a buffet, or hell, maybe even a barbeque. Beau Chastain would not. And I doubted Felicity even knew what one was. “How about a drink instead?”

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

She was right; I shouldn’t. But we both knew I would. This wasn’t my social scene, regardless of the fact I’d grown up in it. I had spent more time with Beau’s family than I had my own. When my dad had flaked out, the Chastains had picked up the slack. And somehow, Masyn fit into the majority of my childhood memories. Her family was good as gold, and they welcomed me the same way the Chastains had. In some ways, when my mother died, it left me with two moms and three fathers. I picked up Masyn and her three brothers, and Beau, Bodie, and Braden, as well.

Outsiders wouldn’t have a clue the Porters and Chastains came from different social standings—and in my opinion, that was the sign of true class. On the other hand, despite her high-class upbringing, I suspected that Felicity wouldn’t stand a chance of fitting in with the likes of Beverly Chastain.

“You’re going to anyhow, aren’t you?” The pout that formed on Masyn’s lips almost had me giving in. Almost. If she would press those plump lips to mine, I would become an active leader in a movement toward prohibition.

“Come on. What kind of froufrou-umbrella drink do you want?” We found the nearest bar while she contemplated her choices. It didn’t matter what she ordered; she’d swirl it around with the straw until the ice melted and likely never take more than a sip or two.

Even with heels on, she still barely reached my shoulders. The music made it difficult to hear her, although, I didn’t mind leaning down to have her speak into my ear. The heat from her breath drove me insane in the best possible ways. I was a glutton for punishment.

I ordered her a mai tai and a Bud Light for myself. “Do you mind waiting for this while I find the head?”

“Can’t you just say bathroom? You haven’t spent a single day in the military.”

No, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than “take a piss” or “find a urinal.” I gave a curt nod. “Fine. I need to use the bathroom.”

She lifted her chin and crinkled her nose. “I’ll wait right here.” Her tone edged with a mixture of humor and smugness.

I’d been here enough times that I could find the men’s room with my eyes closed. The trip there was uneventful. Getting stopped on my way out was unexpected.

“Excuse me.” After nearly knocking Peyton over, I stepped to the side, and allowed her to pass.

However, she moved with me and placed her hand on my chest. She had to think I was one of the Chastains. “I was hoping to run into you.”

“You did. Literally.”

Peyton giggled at the sight of my awkward grin. “You’re Lee, right?” So much for my theory that she believed I was related to the Chastains.

“I am.” There was no point in acknowledging I knew who she was. That would imply I cared.

“I’m Peyton Holstein.” She extended her hand, which I shook briefly.

“Nice to meet you.”

I couldn’t deny Peyton was an attractive girl. It was easy to see that she and Felicity were related, and they both favored their mother. They all had the same strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes, an angular nose, and high cheekbones. Peyton, however, had a softer appearance—friendlier maybe.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Beau. He speaks very highly of you.”

Here’s where I became the asshole. “Yeah? So he told you all about my job at the local machine shop? And the fact that I barely graduated from high school because I was more interested in ditching school and hanging out on the lake than learning?” I wasn’t interested in any woman related to Felicity Holstein. If their family believed college was for finding a spouse, she needed to enroll somewhere other than the school of hard knocks.

“He mentioned you were rather worldly, and, uh”—she cleared her throat—“good with your hands...” That was one way to spin things. She trailed her manicured finger down the buttons on my shirt before gently tugging it just above my waist. “I prefer real men.”

Aah. Peyton was one of those chicks who wanted a bad boy to take home to piss off her parents. I’d bet money she didn’t get her trust fund until she married, and bringing someone like me to meet the family would virtually ensure that got changed to prevent her from breaking the social-class boundaries.

Her shoulders dropped, as did her hand from my shirt. “Look, Beau said you were a nice guy. I’m only in town for the weekend and wanted someone to hang out with. I don’t want to be here any more than you appear to, and I thought it might make things more fun.” Honest Peyton was much more likable than flirtatious Peyton.

“You’re welcome to hang out with Masyn and me.”

“Where’s he sitting?”

“She.”

Confusion marred her prim expression. “Excuse me?”

“Masyn is a she.”

“What an odd name for a girl.” She didn’t say it with contempt, rather with bewilderment.

“She has three older brothers. Her mother gave up hope for a girl by the time she arrived. She planned on Mason, so when she got pink instead of blue, she switched the O to a Y.” I pointed over to the woman in question. “That’s her.”

“The mechanic girl?”

I wasn’t able to read her tone. Mine beamed with pride. “That’s her. You’d be amazed at what she can do with a piece of metal.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” It was short and slightly rude, neither of which she deserved, but I wasn’t interested in leading her on.

“Are you two…dating?” She said the word as though it might bite her.

“Nope. She and Beau are my best friends. We’ve been a threesome since kindergarten.” I didn’t care if she thought I meant in a ménage. I’d love to see her sister’s twisted face when she repeated that line.

“Guess you’re a foursome now.”

“Hardly.”

“You don’t like Felicity, do you?” That was a loaded question, and one I didn’t think was in my best interest to answer.

“Do you want to meet Masyn? She’s waiting for me.” Again, I pointed in her direction. This time, Masyn saw me and gave me that look to ask what the hell I was doing with the sister of the shrew.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later. Maybe we can have a drink after dinner.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Peyton continued into the ladies’ room, and I grabbed my beer from Masyn.

Masyn’s eyes followed something over my shoulder, which I presumed was Peyton’s exit. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure if she tried to pick me up or use me against her parents, or possibly to piss her sister off.”

Masyn nearly spat her drink on me when she laughed. “What?”

“She’s into real men…you know, those of us who work with our hands and get dirty.”

“She did not say that to you!”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Truth.”

Masyn turned her nose up and her lips followed in disgust. “Gross.”

“What the hell? I’m not gross.”

“No, she is. Can you imagine if she’s anything like her horrid sister?”

Before I could warn Masyn of Beau’s impending arrival, she’d stuck her foot solidly in her mouth.

“Really, guys? This is what you do behind my back?” His hurt was evident. The brown of his eyes darkened to the black of betrayal.

Leave it to me to keep things real. “Technically, we’ve said it all to your face, man.”

“I’m sorry you can’t see what I do.” There wasn’t a stitch of truth in a word that came out of his mouth. His flippant tone gave him away, as did those red splotches taking over his neck. Beau would need to speak with far more enthusiasm to convince me he loved this girl.

“Beau, she’s a bitch. Even her family thinks so. Why are you doing this?” I couldn’t help but wonder what she had on him. It was clear he was miserable and doing his best to keep his cool. Beau had never been into high-maintenance women. He had always dated women more like Masyn. The only difference was they all came from families more like his than ours.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Beau’s canned response only further proved how disconnected he was from Felicity.

“What?” I wasn’t sure if it was Masyn or me who said it first.

“Can you guys try to play nice until we leave Sunday, please? It means a lot to me.” Beau was never one to beg. He was also never one to put Masyn and me in a box and try to cover us with a lid.

Masyn looked at me for approval. I studied Beau. Something was going on, even if he wouldn’t tell me what. “You sure you don’t have something you want to share? We could grab a couple of beers, head out to the patio, and kick back and shoot the shit. No one will miss us.”

Beau stared at the exit that led to the golf course. Longingly. Then he clapped me on the shoulder, plastered the Chastain smile across his face, and faked happiness. “Nope. I’m good. You guys take a seat. They’ll be serving dinner soon.”

The instant he was out of earshot, Masyn pulled on my hand to get my attention. “What was that about?”

“Not a clue.”

***

I was grateful there weren’t assigned seats for this shindig. I couldn’t handle being paired with Felicity’s friends for a four-course meal. Luckily, Masyn and I ended up at a table for ten with seven other people we’d known for years—even if we weren’t close to them—leaving one remaining seat next to me. I’d hoped it would stay vacant, yet just as I was about to release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, Peyton’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Peyton directed her question to me, but others answered, and she pulled out the chair.

It didn’t escape my attention that she wasn’t assigned to a seat with her sister or anyone else in the wedding party; I just chose not to address it. I might not be from her side of the tracks, but I wasn’t raised in a barn, either. I introduced everyone at the table to Peyton, and in a few minutes, I was surprised by how readily she engaged the people sitting with us. Even Masyn talked to her with ease. By the second course, I had to admit, she wasn’t nearly the wench her sibling was, nor did she seem to be cut from the same designer cloth.

Peyton was in the middle of a story that had the entire table laughing, including me, when Masyn tapped me on the forearm and pointed over to the corner of the large room. Beau and Felicity had pulled away from the crowd, and Beau appeared to have a severe case of hives again—he’d better stock up on Benadryl before he left the country. His chest heaved, and the red splotches were turning more of a purplish-blue than crimson. If they continued to grow, the patches would become one, and someone might think he wasn’t getting oxygen—Felicity metaphorically strangling the life out of him.

Peyton hit a lull in the conversation, so I leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Any idea what’s going on between the two of them?”

She was startled by my closeness and turned toward me. When I pointed back to her sister, she looked at them and took a deep breath.

“Not a clue. But whatever it is, it has my mother in as big an uproar as it does Felicity.” Peyton didn’t take her eyes off the couple as she spoke. “Every time I come into the room, they stop talking or change the subject with zero finesse. It’s like they think I’m daft and don’t know they’re hiding something.” Her fingers rolled the stem of her wineglass while she stared at her sister.

“I take it you two aren’t close?” I didn’t mean to sound as incensed as it came off, and the sharp huff at the end didn’t help.

Peyton sipped her wine, still staring at Beau and Felicity. Her throat moved gracefully when she swallowed, and then she scoffed, “Hardly.” A chink in the Holstein armor.

“Somehow, I got the impression you were.”

Her attention finally drifted back to me, and she angled herself slightly in the chair, turning her knees toward me. “I’m sure. Any version of a story Felicity tells will spin her in a positive light. She’d never admit to anyone that we don’t even remotely like each other, even with her hand still holding the knife she’d just stabbed in my back.” She crossed her legs, took another sip of her wine, and rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion that had me grinning. “But if you find out what it is that’s going on over there, I hope you’ll let me in on the secret.”

Masyn peeked her head around my shoulder to talk to Peyton. “You think there’s something wrong, too? See, Lee? It’s not just us.”

Peyton shrugged and finished her wine before setting the glass down on the table. “All I know is Beau tried to call off the wedding several weeks ago when I was home from school. I kept waiting for someone to tell me they’d broken up or, at the very least, postponed this illustrious event”—she shifted her gaze and indicated the spread of lavish waste around us—“but it never happened. There’ve been a lot of closed-door conversations between Felicity and my parents, though. That much I can confirm, although that’s all I can tell you. I’ve been in New York at school.”

“Wait, don’t your parents live in New Jersey? How has Felicity been home when she goes to school in Atlanta?” Masyn’s interest in Felicity’s whereabouts only detracted from the issue that actually mattered—Beau tried to call off the wedding.

“My dad flies her back any time she wants to come. Company jet.” Again, Peyton flitted her eyes in irritation, as if Felicity jet-setting was a joke, and we’d missed the punchline.

I didn’t have a clue that Beau had tried to stop the nuptials. Masyn didn’t either—that was evident from the little gasp that had escaped her mouth when Peyton shared that tidbit.

“Why don’t you just ask your mom?” Masyn thought all families were like hers—close-knit without secrets.

“Are you kidding? My mom would help Felicity bury a body, and then send the police on a manhunt for some schmuck who didn’t exist. And even if she answered, I couldn’t trust that anything she told me was truthful.” Peyton’s tone was indifferent, though I could tell she spoke from experience.

My dad and I certainly didn’t have a perfect relationship, and my definition of family was a tad dysfunctional; even so, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, none of them would lie to me. It wasn’t until Beau got caught up with Felicity that I’d ever believed he’d even hidden anything from me, and that hadn’t happened until this past Christmas.

“Surely, between the three of us, we can get an answer before the wedding tomorrow.” Masyn was on a mission to save our friend from a fate worse than death—divorce. “I can’t bear the thought of Beau marrying someone he doesn’t want to because she’s holding something over his head.”

Suddenly, Masyn and Peyton were fast friends, and I wondered if Peyton would be coming home with us. That might be hot. When they got up to go to the bathroom together, I was done. They’d bonded over secrets, a dislike for Felicity, and merely having nothing better to do than meddle. Masyn didn’t have female friends, and I’d never witnessed her gossip.

I’d tuned out of the conversations around me to eavesdrop on one taking place not so far away between Mrs. Chastain and Beau’s aunt Bonny when Masyn smacked me for no apparent reason and out of thin air. The music was too loud for me to hear anything beyond our table anyhow.

“That’s brilliant. Lee, you should see what information you can get out of Mrs. Chastain. She loves you. I bet she’d give you the key to her deposit box at the bank and combo to her safe if you asked for it.”

“I am not asking Beau’s mom for gossip. Forget it.” I used this as my opportunity to get up. “I’m going to take a piss.” I’d spoken a little louder than intended, and several people at the table laughed—hence the reason I usually said I was “going to the head.”

Masyn feigned annoyance with fluttered lids and muttered something to Peyton, who giggled. I ignored them both, headed down the hall, and took my time relieving myself in the swanky bathroom. It had an attendant who handed out terrycloth towels instead of there being a paper towel dispenser on the wall. Just as I tucked my junk back in my pants and raised the zipper, Beau happened to make an appearance.

I’d had more than my fair share of alcohol. I also knew this wasn’t the time or place to have a conversation. Still, I wasn’t able to let my friend piss in peace. “Nice party.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell my mom you enjoyed it.”

I couldn’t say for certain—probably because of the alcohol running rampant in my veins—but I’d bet money that he’d emphasized the word “you” to indicate he was glad at least one of us had.

I leaned against the wall and stared at the side of his head. An odd thing to do when a man was taking a leak. Yet even recognizing that it was weird, I didn’t stop. Go figure. “What the hell is going on, Beau?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just need to get through this weekend.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” I doubted I had any viable solutions to his problems other than to tell Felicity to go fly a kite, or to drop her off in the middle of Lake Martin with weights tied to her ankles and tell her to swim to shore. I wanted Beau to recognize he wasn’t alone in whatever this was.

“I’ll tell you about it when we get back from Paris. Now isn’t the time.”

“Yeah, and then it will be too late.”