He shrugged then looked over my shoulder toward Miles’ parents. “The way you were looking at the groom’s mother was as if they’d just attended their son’s funeral.”

I didn’t want to talk to Rathe about my family. I wanted to find my friends and give their roommate back to them. He looked too dang handsome in the black suit he was wearing and I wished he was easier to ignore. “Kamlock women shouldn’t marry,” I blurted out, then wished I’d just ignored his comment.

“I’m not a supporter of marriage but some couples manage to make it work.”

I glanced back at him. He had no idea how quickly this marriage would be destroyed. “Good people, those who know how to love, who understand commitment and sacrifice. They make it work. My sister is not one of those,” I said, the last part full of sorrow for Miles.

Rathe said nothing. I had expected him to ask more questions after my last comment, but he hadn’t. He did study me in a way that made me both warm and uncomfortable at the same time. This evening his eyes seemed more blue than steel. The voices around us were fading, and I heard the evening breeze in the trees, a bird nearby finding her nest, and Rathe’s breath. Being held in his gaze was like a drug.

“All Kamlock women aren’t the same, it would seem.” His words were low, almost a whisper. I wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but I didn’t know if the answer was one I wanted to hear.

“I don’t know what’s in this cocktail, but it’s ah-mazing!” Margo’s voice was loud and exactly what I needed as she appeared beside Rathe. Her interruption snapped me out of whatever I was allowing myself to feel about Rathe. What was wrong with me? I knew better than to entertain any attraction to a man. I turned my attention to Margo, thankful to be free of those hypnotic eyes. He was proving to be too observant. I would have to be careful around him. He saw too much.

Before I could get annoyed with myself for Rathe not fitting the mold I had placed him in, Margo stuck her glass in my face. “Taste this magical liquid!”

Taking drinks from Margo wasn’t something I normally did, but right now, a drink might be needed. I took a sip from her glass, and the too sweet taste of my aunt’s favorite drink made me pucker. “That’s not a cocktail. It’s Pomegranate Prosecco,” I told her, handing the glass back.

“Fancy,” she said, doing a silly eyebrow wiggle before drinking some more.