“You can relax,” he said. “Tonight isn’t the time to talk about what happened at the wedding.”

The evidence that he actually had read her mind was unnerving. She was used to curating the information people had on her. She was so sure of the strength of her own defenses that she rarely felt vulnerable. But with him she felt raw and exposed.

“Agreed.”

“That conversation can wait until we’re not likely to be interrupted.”

“That conversation is never going to happen.” She topped up her glass, pouring too quickly. The liquid frothed over the top, spilling over her hand and onto the work surface.

He stepped forward, and she felt him carefully remove the bottle from her shaky, slippery fingers.

His head was close to hers, the shadow of his jaw directly in her line of sight.

“You don’t need to be nervous.”

“Oh please. Do I look nervous?”

“No, but you’ve learned to hide how you feel, haven’t you?” He reached for a cloth and mopped up the small puddles of champagne. “It stops people knowing you. Stops them getting close.”

“You want to know how I feel? I’m annoyed that you’ve stolen the champagne bottle.”

“Of course you are.” He smiled and topped up her glass, and she was even more annoyed that his hand was steady as a rock.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Christy and Seb?”

“They took a phone call.” He put the bottle back in the fridge. “Why does that mean something is wrong?”

“For a start because Christy would never prioritize a phone call over dinner. Dinner is at seven. And it’s now—” she checked the time “—ten past. Also, she let the potatoes boil over. I’m worried about her. And him, obviously. But you probably don’t care.”

He closed the fridge door. “Just because I don’t interfere doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“You think I’m interfering?”

He sighed. “Can you lower your sword for five minutes? I’m not in the mood to fight you, Alix.”

It was fight or flight, and flight would have meant letting Christy down.

“I’m worried about our friends, that’s all. What is going on? If you know, please tell me. I can’t stand the tension.”

He picked up his beer and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“Christy. Seb. Delaying their trip. Staying on their own here.”

“I’m sure they have good reason. It’s only for a couple of days. Plans change. Life gets in the way. I think we can trust Christy and Seb to figure out their own priorities.”

But something was wrong. Why couldn’t he see that? And it wasn’t interfering when you loved someone. “I want to help.”

He was silent for a moment and then he put his beer down. “Have they asked for your help?”

“Yes. I’m taking Holly—”

“I meant with their relationship. Have they asked for your advice? Your counsel?”

She shifted. “Not specifically, but—”

“Are you a trained couples’ therapist? You have some professional skill in this area of which I’m unaware?”