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“So what brought you back? I thought you loved Paris.”

“Oh, I do love Paris.” I take another, longer drink, finishing off my vodka as my mind races to find a suitable answer. I can’t say the truth: Armand asked me to move in with him, and I caught the first flight home.

“Even the City of Lights gets old after a while.” It’s not very good, and I can tell he doesn’t buy it. “And Mom’s not getting any younger.”

Stuart accepts that lie a little better. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. It’s good to have the family together again.” He pats my arm. “Come over and meet Mariska.”

“Mmm,” I nod, giving him a little wave. “Let me get a fresh drink.”

He strolls away, and I turn and flag the bartender down. “Vodka rocks.” I slide a tenner across the counter. It’s an open bar, but tipping ensures better service. I’ll need a few more of these if I have to deal with all the love going around.

Taking my drink, I turn my back to the bar and notice a tall, slender specimen of male waiting beside me. He orders a vodka rocks, and I quickly assess him. Dolce & Gabbana suit, fatigue-green and stainless Tag, light scruff on the cheeks. Interesting. Stepping back, he catches my inspection and pauses. I lift my chin and own it. After the house I grew up in, men don’t intimidate me.

Apparently, I don’t intimidate him either. Even more interesting.

He exhales a laugh, revealing nice white teeth. “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”

“Hmm...” I realize I’m not sure how to answer that question. I’m equally acquainted with both. “Groom, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m friends with both, but I knew Derek first.”

“Ah,” he nods.

“You?”

“Bride.” Then he hesitates, taking a sip of his drink. “Actually, no, that’s not right. I guess my answer is the same as yours. Only in reverse.”

He looks out at the dance floor where the happy couple hasn’t stopped slow-dancing since they arrived. Something wistful is on his face, and I can’t resist.

“You have a history with Melissa?”

Blinking hazel-green eyes back at me he seems to wake up. “We were childhood friends. It’s unexpected to see them all married.”

“I’m never getting married.” Good god, Amy, over-share much? Looking down at my drink, I realize it’s nearly empty. I’m more relaxed than I realized.

My companion doesn’t skip a beat. “Is that so?” he chuckles. “And what are you? Eighteen?”

Irritation burns in my chest. Treating me like a baby is not a good idea. “I’m twenty five, and I guess that’s a compliment?”

“Baby,” he exhales, turning back to the bar.

“Old man,” I say, waving at the bartender and ordering another.

“Old man?” The guy turns to the side and leans on his elbow facing me. “You think ordering another is a good idea?”

“I can outdrink you any day of the week.” No idea what I’m doing right now.

He gives me a player’s grin. “I’m a lawyer.”

“So you’re an asshole who’s about to be outdrunk by a baby.”

Something flickers in his eyes. It’s a spark I’ve seen before, and it usually leads to naughty places. “I haven’t played drinking games since college.”

“Is that fear I’m hearing?”

“Line ‘em up.”