He cared about Taylor a lot. Not just because she was his niece but also because she was an interesting, intelligent, and generous human being beneath her amusing pose of being a grump. But he didn’t have heart-to-hearts with her. Or with anyone. He’d spent his life protecting the deepest parts of himself from exposure to the world, and he wasn’t going to surrender that safety now.
So he simply nodded as if he took her reply at face value.
And he continued to discreetly observe Amanda.
It wasn’t until he saw her talking to Dave—the ridiculously happy new groom—that he figured it out.
AMANDA HAD FINISHED her route around the room when Dave stopped her in the far corner and gave her an expected hug.
She hugged him back. Of course she did. He’d been part of her life as far back as she could remember.
“Thanks for everything you did for the wedding,” he said in his rumble of a voice. “I know how hard you worked to make it go off without a hitch.”
“It was no problem.” She pulled away and grinned up at him. There was a lump in her throat, but she was convinced she was hiding it well. “I’d do a lot more than that for the two of you.”
“I know you would. You’re the best. You always were. And now you’re my sister.”
“Yep. I am.” Her lips hurt. Her jaw hurt. Her throat hurt. Her eyeballs hurt. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Me either.”
He hugged her again. He’d been a kind, sincere boy, and he’d become a warm, generous man. She should have known he’d be drawn to Stacey’s sweetness instead of her own sharp edges.
She was a little shaky when she pulled away, so she made a quick retreat. “Okay. Back to work. Someone’s got to make sure things keep running smoothly here.”
That was just an excuse. She didn’t go to check on anything as she walked away. Instead, she slipped out the french doors in the back of the room and onto the veranda.
It was a cool March evening in Virginia. Not too chilly, but the air was pleasantly crisp. Amanda walked to one of the sculpted railings and leaned over onto it, sucking in a few ragged breaths and squeezing her eyes shut.
She breathed and shook. Breathed and shook. Until she’d gotten her composure again.
It didn’t seem right that her sister’s most happy day was also the death of all her romantic daydreams.
But that was life. It would play you for a fool every time. Pull the rug right out from under you. And laugh when you tumbled to the ground in an awkward heap.
It was silly to expect anything else.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, bent over the railing, but eventually a presence behind her poked at her consciousness.
With a gasp, she straightened up and whirled around.
Robert Castleman. Standing silently several feet away. Two glasses of champagne in his hands.
“What?” she demanded, too emotionally stretched to feign politeness.
He arched his eyebrows.
She made a face at him. “You’re the one who followed me out here when I was clearly not looking for company. You shouldn’t look so arrogantly baffled if I’m not perfectly polite to you.”
“I thought you might need another drink.” His voice was smooth. Cool. But with a pleasant guttural texture that softened it somehow.
She reached for the glass he offered and took a gulp. “Thanks,” she muttered.
He didn’t reply, and she wasn’t sure what to say. He must have seen her a minute before. She’d been having a silent, emotional collapse, and there wasn’t much chance that he hadn’t recognized it. At least he wouldn’t know what it was about.
“For what it’s worth,” Robert said, stepping over to stand beside her at the rail, “I think he made the wrong choice.” He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on the garden beyond them as he took a sip from his own glass.
She was in such a mental upheaval that it took a minute for Amanda to follow him. When she did, she gasped. “What?”
He arched his eyebrows again, finally turning his eyes back to her face.
“You have no idea what’s happening here.”
“I never said I did,” he replied.
“Well, you’re acting like you know, and it’s presumptuous and obnoxious. So don’t.”
Ridiculously, she felt a little better now. Her annoyance with him was diverting her from the heartache.
“Okay. I won’t.” His eyes glinted slightly in the soft landscape lighting.
“Wow, you’re an asshole.”
“If you say so. I won’t even mention that you’re the one going on the attack when all I did was offer you some champagne.”
“You did way more than that.”
His lips were thin and mobile and clever. She was drawn to them irrationally as he quirked them up in a quick half smile. “Okay.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll shut up if you’ll let me get you drunk.”
“What? Why do I need to get drunk?”
“We both know why.”
Damn it. He did know. She could see it on his face. She had no idea how, and it was strangely frightening that he could see into her like that. But beyond the fear was something gratifying. That he’d seen her. For real.
That she mattered enough for someone to make the effort.
“I don’t even like you,” she said.
He gave a little shrug. “What does that have to do with anything? Let me get you drunk.”
It was definitely a sign of her emotional vulnerability, but it was the best offer she’d gotten in ages.
So she blinked. Then nodded. Then said, “Okay. Fine. Get me drunk please.”
Robert chuckled softly. “It would be my pleasure.”
two
AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Amanda was feeling fine.
Just fine.
Really fine.
So fine she could barely remember what she’d been so upset about earlier.
Even the cheaper champagne tasted good, and she couldn’t seem to stop giggling. She’d never been much of a giggler, so it felt like a treat to have so little control of her laughter.
She’d finished off another glass of bubbly wine, so she set it down on the table with impressive emphasis. The tablecloth kept it from making a satisfying click of sound, but still... She gazed at the glass with bland gratification.
“What is it?” Robert asked from beside her. He hadn’t yet finished the scotch in his glass. He’d had a couple of rounds but not nearly as much as her.
“I finished my champagne.”
“I can see that. Are you thinking you might be finished for good?” His voice had a warm, pleasant texture beneath the crisp intelligence. She wasn’t sure why she’d never noticed it before. It gave her a little shiver that was impossible not to enjoy.
But she had enough wits about her to recognize the significance of his question. She turned her head slowly away from her empty glass and blinked at his handsome face and dark brown eyes. “No,” she said primly. “Why would I be finished for good?”
“You’ve had quite a bit of champagne so far. I thought it might be enough for you.”
She sniffed. “Well, it’s not. You said you were going to get me drunk. I’m not drunk yet.” After a pause, she added in a different tone, “Am I?”