“If it helps,” he said after a moment, “I don’t think he disappoints you for the sake of disappointing you. He has known loss. And in response, he tries to control what he can, by whatever means he can.” He looked at me. “Your immortality being a prime example. I’m not trying to make excuses for him. I’m just trying to explain what he might be thinking.”

   “That helps, actually,” I said after silence had filled the air. “Do you really believe it?”

   My grandfather smiled. “I believe it’s possible. But I’m not sure there’s anyone on earth entirely sure what’s in that man’s head, Merit.”

   That wasn’t much of a surprise.

   • • •

   I refused to let circumstances I couldn’t control affect my mood. Mallory, Lindsey, Margot, and I danced until my feet were numb with it, and I’d had more champagne than I should have, and not nearly enough food.

   “Well, well,” Mallory said, sidling next to me as we took a breather between songs. “Looks like you managed it.”

   “What?” I asked, and turned in the direction of her pointing. Jonah and Margot stood in a corner, nearly hidden by an enormous potted palm. He was taller than her by nearly a foot, his auburn hair and chiseled face interesting contrasts against her sleek black bob and curvy figure.

   Margot laughed at something he said, touched his arm in a gesture of camaraderie. It was a simple, easy move, something she’d probably done a thousand times before. But they both seemed startled by the contact and looked away, both with secret smiles. Smiles full of hope.

   A woman walked by, offered a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Jonah held up a hand to decline, but Margot laughed, took his arm, pointed to the tray, began explaining the snacks arranged there while Jonah looked on. He looked suspicious when she pointed to something, but agreed to try it, popped it into his mouth.

   And then closed his eyes in obvious satisfaction.

   “I told you,” she mouthed, the words easy enough to read on her smiling face, and nudged him with her elbow.

   I wanted to rub my hands together and cackle in satisfaction. But gloating seemed like bad juju at my own wedding.

   Mallory put an arm at my waist. “You know what’s amazing?”

   I let my head drop to her shoulder. “What’s that, kid?”

   “We’ve made it through a wedding and reception without supernatural drama.”

   “If you just jinxed us I’m going to be so pissed.”

   “Jinxing isn’t a thing. Charming? Yes. Hexing? Absolutely. But not jinx. That’s just coincidence.”

   “What, supernaturally, did you expect to happen?”

   She snorted. “Anything and everything? You know how it is—life for the Real Cadogan Housewives.”

   “That should never be an actual thing.”

   “Au contraire,” Mallory said. “I would watch the shit out of that.”

   I bet she wasn’t the only one.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR

When hunger got the best of me—there’d been no time to even sample the beautiful food Margot had put together—I grabbed a spiraling cheese straw from a basket and ducked into a corner to munch it.

   I wasn’t officially sure if Margot had put crack in it, but it was good enough that I instantaneously wanted another. I carefully dusted off my hands, trying not to get Parmesan-scented crumbs on my dress, and emerged from behind a potted palm.

   “And there’s the beautiful bride,” Gabriel said. He was tall and tawny, with golden skin and blond-brown hair streaked by the sun. He’d traded his usual jeans and leather jacket for slacks, a button-down shirt, and a blazer, but the clothes just made him seem more feral. Tarzan, newly emerged from the jungle, disguising muscle beneath a suit.

   “Merit, you look lovely. And it was a lovely wedding. I hope your husband proves himself worthy.”

   “I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said with a smile. I glanced around, didn’t see Tanya. “Where’s your lovely wife?”

   He gestured across the room, where Tanya—slender and delicate, with brown hair and blue eyes—sat at a table with my grandfather. He was talking animatedly while she scribbled something on a small pad of paper, smiling as she wrote.

   He smiled. “She’s borrowing your grandmother’s meat-loaf recipe.”

   “Excellent choice,” I said with a nod. My grandmother had been a fantastic cook.

   He pulled a hip flask from his coat pocket, offered it as Ethan joined us. “May I offer you a congratulatory drink, Kitten?”

   Ethan’s smile looked pleasant, but there was steel behind it. “I’ll thank you not to call my wife ‘Kitten.’”

   Gabriel grinned. “Wondered when you’d get around to saying that.”

   “And now you know.”

   “So I do.”

   “Drink,” I requested, and took the flask from Gabe’s hand, sipped it suspiciously, and was pleasantly surprised. It was Scotch, or so I thought. Dark and oaky, but still as smooth as honey, and with the same citrusy sweetness.

   I handed the flask to Ethan. He lifted his eyebrows but took a drink, and surprise crossed his face, too.

   “Well,” he said, and took another. “It’s like . . . drinking sunshine.”

   Gabe took back the flask, capped it. “This is a little something we’ve been working on.” His smile went sly. “We’re happy with the first results.”

   Ethan slipped his hands into his pockets. “Are you looking for investors?”

   That sly smile went positively wolfish. “Shifters in bed with vampires? That’s a dangerous game.”