A half an hour later, we’re gorging on the buffet. “Well,” Ryan tells me with a grin, “this is the best non-wedding I’ve ever been to, that’s for sure.”

I laugh, looking around. Until today, I wouldn’t have thought the reception for a canceled wedding could be anything but unbearably awkward, but everyone here seems to be having a great time.

The Bride Tribe was as useless as a bunch of baffled flamingoes after Vanessa’s big exit, so I jumped into damage-control mode and promised the DJ a fat tip if he could somehow figure out a way to make this feel like a party. So far, he’s delivered, with a playlist heavy on Motown and 70s-era yacht rock. The champagne is flowing—I made sure of that—and there are enough hors d’oeuvres to feed the United States Army, if for some reason the United States Army was super into mini quiches.

Still, in spite of the Olivia Pope-sized glass of wine in my hand—and the totally hot guy on my arm—I still can’t let myself relax. “Should I go look for my dad?” I ask Ryan, squinting around the room for any sign of him. Sure, Vanessa was ridiculous and he’s way better off without her, but it’s got to sting to realize she only wanted to marry him for his money. “Or do you think he wants to be alone to like, lick his own wounds?”

Ryan considers that for a moment. Then he looks behind me and grins. “You know,” he says, nodding across the ballroom, “somehow, I don’t think you have to worry about him licking his own anything one way or the other.”

“What?” I follow his gaze across the veranda. Sure enough, there’s my dad already flirting up a storm—with Kiki, I realize, shaking my head. God, some things never change.

I’m drowning my sorrows in another glass of champagne when Hallie swings by “Should I be taking pictures of this?” she asks, grinning. “You know, for the non-wedding album?”

“Who the hell even knows?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t think anybody is going to actually want to remember this day, right?”

“I want to remember it,” Ryan chimes in, slinging an arm around me. “Take one of us, Hallie.”

Hallie looks to me for permission. “Liv?”

She winds up taking a whole slew of photos, Ryan hamming it up for the camera—pressing a kiss against my temple, twirling me around to the music before lowering me into a big, exaggerated dip. I’d be embarrassed, if I didn’t feel so mind-bendingly happy.

We’re just finishing up when Ryan’s phone buzzes inside his jacket pocket. “It’s Mason,” he says, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. “I’ve got to take this.”

“Of course.” I send him away with a slap on the ass. “Good luck. Come find me when you’re done.”

I do a lap around the ballroom and run into Craig and Joel, who lift their martinis in a twin salute. “I guess we all dodged a bullet, hmm sweetheart?” Craig asks me.

“Looks that way,” I say. Then I realize something, “I can’t imagine where my dad got the idea to tell Vanessa he’d given all his money away.”

The two of them look at each other, then back at me, both shrugging innocently. “Fakes have a way of exposing themselves sooner or later,” Joel tells me. “That’s a little lesson from the antiques business.”

I kiss them both, then head off to mingle, catching up with some of my cousins and grabbing another glass of champagne at the bar. Finally, I head out in search of a bathroom, and as I’m strolling back to the party, I run into Tristan. I’d almost forgotten about him in the chaos.

“Looks like we’re not going to be family after all,” he says, lifting his beer bottle in a tired-looking salute. He looks handsome enough in a gray suit, a boutonniere of succulents pinned to his lapel. I think of how Vanessa had the Bride Tribe up all night putting the flowers together, and I can’t help but cringe at the waste. “Seems that way,” I agree.

“I can’t act like I’m upset about it.”

That surprises me. “Oh no?” I ask, wondering if Ryan is done with his call yet.

Tristan moves closer. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week, Olivia,” he says seriously, “and I think I made a big mistake, acting like I didn’t know what a huge crush you had on me back in college.”

I whip my head around to look at him, suddenly alert. “Wait,” I say, “what?”

“I mean, let’s be honest, you weren’t half this hot back in college,” Tristan continues blithely, “but now—you’re the whole package. I mean, you’re organized. You’re financially independent. You have an amazing list of professional contacts.” He smiles at me lovingly. “I’ve run the risk assessment on you and me, and I have to tell you, it’s very low.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, sure that I must be misunderstanding him somehow. I don’t know what’s more mind-boggling: the fact that he thinks this is at all romantic, or the fact that he’s saying it at all. “I don’t—”

“In any event,” Tristan finishes grandly, cutting me off, “the real reason I’m glad my sister isn’t marrying your father is that I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to do this to your step-niece.”

That’s when he leans in and kisses me.

Hard.

On the mouth.

There’s a moment when I’m too shocked to react, then finally I get it together enough to push him roughly away. “Tristan,” I exclaim, but he just grabs me again, landing another smacker on my mouth. Finally, I manage to pull away. “What are you doing?!”

“I could ask the same thing.”

A familiar voice comes, and I whirl around. Ryan is standing right behind us.

And so is Mason Dubeck.