“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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Daff and Spencer still spoke over the next day and a half—they had to—stilted conversations about party plans, travel arrangements, and accommodation. Last-minute snags and fixes.
Daff felt far removed from everyone and everything. She made the right noises, smiled when she had to, and even cracked a few jokes. And never once looked like her heart was dying in her chest. But it was, she could feel it. It hurt at first, sharp and intense and overwhelming, but soon a welcome numbness set in and she was able to function with relative normalcy.
She had no other choice; her sister was getting married and she had promised that her thing with Spencer wouldn’t affect the wedding or their family dynamic. It had been an easy promise to make, because never in her wildest imaginings had she understood how very much the reality of being excluded from Spencer’s life would hurt.
Two days later, they set off for Plettenberg Bay. Daff and Spencer had rented a couple of minibuses, deciding that it was the most convenient transportation option. Daff was in one van with the women, and Spencer in the other with the men.
“So here’s the deal, ladies,” she called to the group as they set off. “My baby sister’s getting married next week—” She paused and allowed a few moments of rowdy catcalling and howls from the peanut gallery. “We’re having a full-on hen at a separate venue from the guys, but we’re meeting up with the sausage party later at a nightclub for some dancing and partying deep into the night. Transportation back to the hotel has been arranged, and there are rooms reserved for all your drunken asses. So there’s no need to worry about anything. Just make sure you have an awesome time. And remember to take a shot when somebody says ‘wedding,’ ‘bride,’ ‘bridesmaid,’ ‘groom,’ ‘hung like a horse,’ ‘crazy married sex,’ or ‘Mason loves Daisy.’ Oops, that’s seven shots to start you off!”
More crazy cheers, and Daff passed shot glasses around but warned them, “Don’t give any to Daisy, not until later! We want her to be conscious for most of the evening!”
“Hey!” Daisy protested good-naturedly but happily passed on the first shots of the evening.
Daff sent a tacky veil and silk sash that read “Mason’s Bride” to the back of the bus, and a couple of the ladies decked Daisy out in her hen finery. She also handed out other specially commissioned party favors—hats, glasses, and T-shirts, all pink and sparkly, with “Daisy’s Hens” printed somewhere on them.
She smiled while everybody giggled and oohed and ahhed over the selection, but her eyes drifted to the minibus behind theirs. She hadn’t seen Spencer that day, but she knew he was back there. She wondered how he was doing. He wasn’t great at public speaking, and she knew hosting something like this was going to be hard for him. She was tempted to text him to find out how it was going. But she knew better.
She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry every time she thought about his words to her that last time. He loved her and she’d broken his heart, and it killed her to know that. He didn’t deserve to have his heart broken—he deserved to be loved back, completely and without reservation. But Daff didn’t know how to do that. All she knew was that not having him around, never having him around again, hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced before. She didn’t want to lose him, but she didn’t know how to give him what he wanted.
Everybody was starting to get into the swing of things and, job done for now, Daff sat down and faced forward, taking out her phone and blindly staring at the bright screen. Hoping everybody would think she was making last-minute arrangements. Someone sat down next to her, and she plastered a bright smile on her face and looked up to see Lia. Her sister was staring at her with grave eyes, so Daff widened her smile, even though her cheeks were aching.
“Hey, Lia, everything okay?”
“You tell me,” Lia said under her breath, her words barely audible above the rowdy group in the back.
“Everything is going according to plan and—”
“Daff,” her sister interrupted sharply, and Daff’s smile wavered. “Tell me what’s going on. You look so sad.”
“I do?”
“Sissy, you’re crying,” Lia said quietly and handed her a tissue. Daff lifted a hand to her cheek, horrified to find it wet.
“I’m going to ruin the party,” she lamented, and Lia shook her head.
“Nobody noticed, just keep your eyes front and pretend that we’re talking.”
“We are talking,” Daff pointed out, discreetly swiping at her face.
“What happened?”
“This isn’t the time or place.”
“Is it Spencer? Did you guys have a fight?”
“He bought a ring,” Daff said, more tears slipping down her cheek.
“But that’s wonderful, Daff.”
“Of course you would think that, it’s your ultimate goal in life,” Daff said bitterly, then immediately felt like a bitch when Lia looked like she’d been slapped.
“Hey, at least I have goals,” Lia pointed out scathingly, recovering quickly. And it was almost enough to make Daff smile.
Way to go, Lia!
“So . . . you’re not happy about the ring?” Lia clarified, and Daff shook her head.
“Why would he do that? When I specifically told him that I wasn’t into traditional relationships and that I was happy with what we had.”
“Because he loves you and wants more?”
“So he says. But if he loves me, why can’t he accept me as I am? Wouldn’t he be happy to just be in my life?”
“And if you love him, why can’t you accept that he wants what he’s never had? He wants someone to love, someone to make a family with. I think he wants to belong, because he never has before.”
Daff stared at Lia, the words echoing in her mind. She felt like someone had ripped a veil from her eyes and she was only now seeing things clearly.
Of course he wanted a family. She just had to look at his house to see that. Of course he wanted to belong. No matter how awkward he seemed around her family or how he kept himself apart from them, he always looked at them with something close to yearning in his eyes. It was entirely possible that he wasn’t deliberately keeping himself separate, he just didn’t know how to fit in. Or where he fit in.
“I’m very fond of him, but I don’t love him,” she finally protested weakly as the rest of Lia’s words sank in. Her sister rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.
“Please. You look at the guy like he hung the sun,” Lia dismissed.
“That’s just lust,” Daff said, sounding completely unconvincing even to herself.
“I’ve never seen you look happier or more content than you are around Spencer. You adore him.”
Yes, she did. There really was no point in denying that fact.
“I’m not cut out for marriage, Lia.”
“Why not?”
Daff thought about it and shook her head in bewilderment. “Reasons.” And yet she couldn’t think of a single reason right at that moment.
“Do you think he’ll treat you badly?” She didn’t even bother answering that stupid question. Spencer was quite incapable of harming even a fly.
“Do you think he won’t support your decisions?”
Daff thought about his gentle, nonjudgmental encouragement when she’d quit her job and shook her head helplessly.
“Okay. Let me ask you this . . . do you want to be with other men?”
The thought was so repulsive that Daff was quite unable to hide her reaction from Lia.
“Is he boring? A bad conversationalist? I mean, I know he’s quiet, but you guys always seem to have something to talk about.”
“He’s not boring,” Daff defended with a glare. “Look, I just don’t like labels, Lia. Why do we have to give what we have a name?”
“Okay, so you’d be fine with nobody knowing the true nature of your relationship and chicks always hitting on him because you didn’t put a ring on that?”
“That’s such archaic thinking,” Daff protested, while at the same time feeling nauseated at the thought of Spencer with some other woman. A woman who wouldn’t understand him. Who wouldn’t appreciate his occasional lapses into silence. And who definitely wouldn’t know that there were about fifty possible interpretations for one mild “hmm.”