Chapter 7

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."