At least he sipped this glass. He could be civilized. After all, it was only five o’clock. To be drunk at a wedding before the sun had completely set? Well, Miles had some standards.

Alex crossed his arms and gave him the once-over.

“You do wear everything well, don’t you?” Alex asked. “But this just needs a little…” And he reached for the knot on Miles’s tie, maybe straightening it or maybe just looking for an excuse to make physical contact.

Alex himself wasn’t wearing a tie, just a crisp white shirt under a tailored charcoal gray suit. He hadn’t shaved, and Miles tried to ignore how the stubble on his jaw made him even more attractive. The look was effortless and at the same time made Alex seem as if he’d walked off the page of a fashion magazine. The bastard. This was why Miles needed more to drink. Maybe the champagne goggles would make Alex less attractive.

“Try this,” Alex said, grabbing an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and bringing it to Miles’s lips. Without thinking, Miles opened his mouth and let him drop the small puffed pastry on his tongue.

“It’s just spanakopita, nothing too complex. But I do hear the chef has a secret ingredient that keeps the masses coming back for more.”

His eyes fluttered closed as his teeth sank into the flaky crust to find the sautéed spinach and feta. Miles had bought the frozen version enough times to know the food, but he also believed Alex and his secret ingredient tease because everything this man made kept topping his list of best thing he ever tasted.

Note to self…more champagne will make his food less attractive, too, right?

“What’s going on, Miles?”

Shit. He used to have the best poker face. Hell, his everyday face was his poker face. No one ever knew what was going on behind the ever-present grin. Maggie was the closest anyone ever got, but even she received the Miles Show every now and then.

“It’s all good,” he responded. “Good food, good drink, good-looking guy at my side…what more could I want?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sounds like a pretty good night ahead of you, so why the whole asshole routine?”

Miles raised his brows, then took a sip of his champagne.

“That’s just it. It’s not a routine,” he said. “This is the guy you should have met on the plane, so I’m introducing him to you now.” He held his free hand out as if to shake. “Miles Parker. Nice to meet you.”

But Alex didn’t extend his hand.

“Jesus, Miles. You act like I asked you to move in or something. I asked for a weekend. A fucking weekend. And you’re bailing after twenty-four hours.”

He shrugged. “I’m leaving in the morning anyway. Why not get good-byes out of the way now?” As he said the words, Miles tasted the venom he spat in Alex’s direction, and he hated himself for it. But this was best for both of them. An attachment had been formed, and they both had to know it. Miles was severing it before it became too much.

“You’re absolutely right,” Alex said, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “It was nice to meet you, Miles—at least the Miles I met yesterday. Say good-bye to him for me.” He held up his glass and then drained the rest of it in a gulp. “And you,” Alex continued, “you enjoy your last few hours alone.”

And just like that, Alex walked away.

Miles nursed a Heineken now, the taste of champagne having soured. He was pretty sure he’d reached the topmost level of assholery he’d ever aspired to. But what was the point of prolonging the agony of leaving when he could leave now and drown said leaving at an open bar?

Elaina’s father appeared in the center of the dance floor, his presence alone almost enough to silence the crowd. Miles crossed his fingers that he, too, would sport thick waves of salt and pepper when he was—what? Hosting his own daughter’s wedding? He laughed under his breath, a bitter sound. It wasn’t likely he’d be the kind of parent to grow old with his partner, contemplating empty nesting. He was more likely to be an empty nester for life.

Mr. Tripoli’s broad build masked his slight paunch well enough. And shouldn’t a chef boast a full belly? Ha! There was a strike against Alex—a body too perfect for that of someone you’d trust to prepare your food. Who trusted a chef who looked like he didn’t eat his own creations?

Jesus, he was grasping now. Looking for fault and failing miserably.

“Friends and loved ones,” began Elaina’s father in thick, accented English, his booming voice needing no microphone. “Please join me in welcoming my daughter, Elaina…and now my son, Duncan! Eat and drink, please. And celebrate! Giortazo!”

Guests halted where they were, glasses raised and faces painted with smiles, to watch the grand entrance of the newlyweds. But try as he might, Miles, for once, couldn’t fake it. He raised his bottle, but the smile wouldn’t come. Not when Elaina and Duncan walked in beaming; not when Jordan and Noah entered arm-in-arm, the light catching the engagement ring that had found its way back onto Jordan’s finger; and certainly not after Thea walked in alone, her wedding party counterpart, Griffin, visibly missing from her side—only for him and Maggie to come running in at the last minute, Maggie’s face a glowing giveaway as to why they were late.

The corners of his lips turned up, and Miles gave himself a mental pat on the back. He could still muster happiness for his friend despite what was certainly not envy at everyone’s successful happy coupling.

The American contingent made its way to his table.

“Greetings,” he said as Maggie pulled out the chair next to him. Griffin adjusted his kilt and took the seat on her other side. “Pink and green suits you, Mags.”

Maggie’s brows furrowed. “My dress is only green, Miles. Wait, did I spill something? I didn’t eat any—” She backhanded him on the shoulder. “You’re an asshole,” she said, and Miles chuckled.

“Don’t worry. No one other than Reed and me know you’re freshly f—”

“Jesus, Parker,” Griffin said. “Maybe you’d better slow down.” He nodded to the bottle in Miles’s hand. “And best friend or not, if I ever hear you say something like that to Maggie again…”

Miles held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right,” he said. “Shit, Maggie. I’m sorry.”

Noah and Jordan approached on Miles’s right, and it was then that he noticed Jordan was limping.

He eyed the other happy couple. “Do I even want to ask?”

Jordan giggled as Noah helped her into her seat.

“Nope,” she said, her smile permanently plastered to her face.

Miles slid his chair out and stood up.

“You know what, Reed? I think you’re wrong. I think I’m going too slow.”

He could make it through the night, but not if he had to sit in the middle of this…this circle of bliss.

He was barely to the bar when Maggie caught up with him, and he had to force himself to face her.

“Mags, I’m sorry. What I said—there was no excuse for that.”

She skimmed her fingertips along his hairline and then cupped his cheek, the touch so full of love that his breath hitched.

“How did I get lucky enough not to scare you off?” he asked.

Maggie smacked his arm again.

“Hey! I deserved the one at the table,” he said. “But what was that for?”

Maggie grabbed the almost empty Heineken from his hand and set it down on the bar.

“Because this isn’t you, Miles Parker. I’ve never seen this guy before. You want to know why I love you so much?” She paused and waited for him to nod, which he did, accepting his scolding. Relishing it, actually. Someone needed to be a dick to him for how much of a dick he was to Alex.

Okay, so Maggie wasn’t a dick, but she was lovingly pissed, and that was close enough.

“I love you because you have the biggest heart. Because you’re loyal. And because you helped teach me not to let my fear keep me from going after what I want.” She paused again, but this time he could tell she wasn’t waiting for anything from him. Her smile fell, and she started twirling a lock of her fiery hair. She was hesitating.