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She takes a deliberate sip of champagne. "I'm just being professional. Isn't that what you wanted? A professional date for your very important weddings?”

"Professional date?" I blink at her, genuinely confused. "Is that what this is about?"

She shrugs one shoulder, still not meeting my eyes. "Isn't it? You needed someone presentable for these events, and I was...convenient."

The word stings. I step closer, lowering my voice so the nearby guests can't hear.

"That's not—Tess, I didn't ask you because I needed just anyone. I asked you because I wanted to spend time with you. Specifically, you."

Her eyes finally meet mine, searching for something. Whatever she's looking for, she doesn't seem to find it. She takes another sip of champagne, creating distance without moving an inch.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. "Look, can we go somewhere and talk? There's clearly something wrong, and I'd like to understand what happened between Whidbey Island and now."

"Nothing happened." Her smile is so brittle I'm afraid it might shatter her face. "I just realized I need to keep things in perspective."

A waiter passes with a tray of champagne. I swap my empty glass for a full one, needing something to do with my hands.

"And what perspective is that?" I ask.

“We’re just friends, Charlie. And nothing else.” She says in a way that doesn’t even feel friendly at this point.

I’m just about to explain that that’s not how I see it at all when she asks me to hold her champagne while she goes to the bathroom.

“Of course. But I’d really like to talk about this when you get back.”

She nods curtly and heads toward the restroom and I'm left holding two champagne flutes, watching her weave through the crowd. My phone buzzes in my pocket—a text from Stuart asking if we’re staying the night. I ignore it. Something's wrong with Tess, and I can't focus on anything else.

Fifteen minutes later, I find her examining a display of engagement photos of Jack and Sky.

"You disappeared on me," I say, handing her the champagne I've been carrying around. "It's probably warm now, sorry."

"You didn't have to keep it." She takes it anyway, her fingers carefully avoiding mine.

The crowd is now making its way into the ballroom. "We should probably head into the reception," she says, clearing not wanting to continue our earlier conversation.

The grand ballroom has been transformed for dinner, with round tables surrounding a polished dance floor. Our place cards put us at table seven, alongside three other couples and—to my chagrin—Claire Richmond and her date. Shit…this isn’t going to help at all.

I pull out Tess's chair, my hand brushing the small of her back reflexively. I feel her tense up beneath my hand and she sits quickly, breaking the contact.

Throughout the salad course, Claire launches into stories of "the good old days," each one making me increasingly uncomfortable. I try to change the subject several times, but Claire has always been relentless when she wants attention.

"Charlie was absolutely hopeless when we first met," Claire tells the table. "Remember that time you tried to cook me dinner and nearly burned down your apartment?"

"Vaguely," I say, my eyes on Tess, who's pushing broccoli around her plate and hasn't looked at me in ten minutes.

Under the table, I touch her knee gently. "You okay?" I whisper.

She nods without turning. "Fine."

Claire’s date, Dave something-or-other, seems as uncomfortable as Tess. He’s in a conversation with another couple at the table, probably in an attempt to remove himself from our conversation.

The newlyweds finally make their entrance, and everyone stands to applaud. Jack catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up.

During the main course, I make an effort to draw Tess into conversation, asking about her upcoming performances, a topic that usually animates her. She gives me brief, polite answers before turning to the woman on her other side.

I feel an uncomfortable clenching in my stomach, a mixture of concern and growing frustration. I know we need to talk but she obviously doesn’t want to.

The bride and groom take their first dance, and I lean toward Tess. "Save me a dance?"