Joanne smiled, her lips lavender against her pale face.

“Fiona, darling, it’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

We airkissed again and exchanged more meaningless pleasantries. Then, Joanne strutted back through the crowd to Berkley Brighton, a short, square man who’d made his fortune selling Brighton’s Best whiskey. Joanne latched on to his arm, and the pretty young things who’d been clustered around the boisterous billionaire scattered like minnows fleeing a hungry barracuda. Joanne wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with—especially when she was husband 20

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hunting. Berkley actually beamed at Joanne, happy to see his honey.

I snorted. Poor guy. He might as well just sign over his family’s secret whiskey recipe to Joanne right now. It would save him a lot of trouble and hefty lawyers’ fees down the road.

While I’d been talking to Joanne, Carmen and Sam had joined the festivities. They walked from table to table, greeting the wedding guests and basking in the afterglow of the ceremony. After paying their respects to the bride and groom, people finished their dinners and drifted out onto the tile dance floor that had been planted on the lawn for the grand occasion. A twelve-piece band to one side of the floor played a loud, brassy version of “The Right Thing to Do” by Carly Simon, Carmen’s favorite singer.

My eyes scanned the glittering crowd. Joanne and Berkley. Carmen and Sam. Henry and Lulu. Even my father was dancing with one of Bigtime’s rich, lonely widows. Couples, couples, everywhere. But no Travis. No Travis.

The happy society scene and all the couples burned me out. I needed some peace and quiet. Now. I shoved through the crowd, wrenched open a side door, and stomped inside the manor. The usual rich, shiny trappings greeted me, but for once, I didn’t pay attention to them. Sam wouldn’t like it if I accidentally melted some ancient knight’s suit of armor or fried another one of his Monets. The mood I was in, they’d go up like dry newspaper. The music and laughter and happy sounds faded away, replaced by the thwack of my heels on the hardwood floors. I walked into one of the many game rooms that populated the manor and sank down onto the smooth leather couch. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a pool table crouched in the middle of the floor. Dart boards and various other H o t M a m a

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sportslike contraptions filled the rest of the area, but I didn’t really see them. I didn’t see any of it. I twisted the ring on my finger. It wasn’t nearly as big as Joanne James’s was, but it meant the world to me, even now. Travis. My heart squeezed like a dishrag being wrung out.

“A beautiful bridesmaid alone by herself. What a sad, sad cliché,” a low, cultured voice called out. I looked up. A man stood in the doorway. He topped out at just over six feet, with a mane of tawny blond hair that curled around the collar of his impeccable tuxedo. Flashing green eyes contrasted with his golden skin, making him look like a sleek lion in the gathering shadows. He strode into the room, his black suit flowing with easy grace around his perfect figure. It fit him well. Then again, just about anything would have looked good on him. My eyes widened. If Sam resembled a male model, then this guy was the Goliath of male models. Yummy. The man stared at me, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. The merriment dancing in his sharp gaze made him look that much better, even if he seemed to be making fun of me. I didn’t like people making fun of me, and I especially didn’t like being looked down on. I got to my feet and tossed my long hair back. With my stilettos, he only had half an inch on me.