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“I don’t know. I’ve always just felt like it’s a wedding drink.”

“So, you’d drink it at a wedding?” I ask, accepting our drinks from the server. Hayden takes my hand again, leading me further into the room.

“At my own, sure.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

“You want to get married someday?” The words leave my mouth too quickly, and I feel a rush of embarrassment flood over me as soon as they’re out. It’s a normal question to ask someone, but with the sexual tension between us, I feel weird discussing marriage with him. I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to gauge if he’s marriage material for me.

“Not for the sake of getting married,” he says slowly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t want to get married to be married. It’s not something on my bucket list, or something I think I need to be fulfilled. But if I found someone, the right person, then yes, I’d want to get married.”

I give him a slight smile. “I like that. I think a lot of people get married to the wrong people simply because they want to be married.”

“Most definitely,” he says, examining my face with curiosity. “Do you want to get married?”

I look away, taking refuge in watching the crowd before I answer. “Maybe? It always sounded nice in theory. But people are complicated, and people change. And in my experience, people don’t stick around.”

I tentatively look back up at him and notice that he’s frowning at me. I’m worried I said too much, so I give him a smile and a lighthearted shrug, as if I haven’t feared this for most of my life. I guess that happens when your dad dies while you’re still young, and then your mother drags you from state to state, and you never know a stable relationship. On top of that, my cheating ex drilled that fear even deeper into my bones.

“The right person will stick around, Robs,” he says gently.

I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so I just nod. I’m about to ask if we could return to the table for a while when I hear a pompous voice behind me.

“Hayden, you actually showed up.” A tall man appears next to us, his features similar to Hayden’s, but his hair shorter and perfectly styled. It’s clear this is his brother. And if it wasn’t for the sneer on his face, he’d be handsome too.

“Chris,” Hayden says, almost sounding bored, but his grip on my hand tightens.

“What an honor that you’ve decided we’re worth your time,” his brother says, his tone smarmy, and I instantly know I don’t like him. I was so nervous about meeting his father that I completely forgot that the rest of his family is here too. For the millionth time since accepting this invite, I feel a big wave of guilt wash over me.

“Yeah, didn’t have anything else to do.” Hayden shrugs. “It’s been a beautiful gala so far.” Then he pulls me closer to him and puts his hand on the small of my back. “Robin, this is my brother, Christopher. Chris, this is my—Robin.”

I give his brother a shy smile and reach out my hand to shake his. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Christopher slowly looks me up and down, and just when I think he isn’t going to shake my hand, he reluctantly takes it, his grip loose, as if he doesn’t want to touch me. “Nice to meet you,” he says, sounding uninterested, before fixing his gaze back on Hayden. “If you talk to our guests, then please show them that you’re not the heathen they think you are. Try to make a positive impression. There’s no reason for you to be here if you’re just going to hide away with your girlfriend getting drunk.”

“Yeah, Robin and I just wanna have a good time. We’ll chat with some people at some point, I’m sure,” Hayden says, sounding indifferent, and I bite back a grin. He definitely knows how to rile up his brother.

Serves him right.

“Make an effort,” his brother says, exasperated. “Please talk to Mom, and maybe have a normal conversation with Dad?”

“I’m sure we’ll run into them eventually.” He looks at my empty glass and says, “Let’s get another drink. See you, Chris.” Then he pulls me away without another glance at his brother.

We silently push through the increasing throng of people, chatter following us from all sides, and stop short when we notice the long line by the bar.

Hayden sighs unhappily, but then he spots a waiter making his rounds with a tray of champagne glasses, and he steers us toward him.

He grabs two champagne flutes and places our empty glasses on the tray, earning an outraged look from the waiter, but Hayden is already pulling me to the table in the corner.

“Here,” he says, handing me one of the glasses and taking a sip from the other one.

I look at him with amusement. “Look at you drinking champagne.”

“It’s disgusting.” He grimaces. “Here.” He pulls out a chair for me before taking a seat himself.

“That was interesting,” I point out.