Startled, Vivian turned toward the speaker. A man stood there, taller than anyone else, dressed in a dark tailored suit that made him seem almost unreal. His hair was dark and slicked back, a thin scar traced his jawline, and his eyes held the kind of sharp intelligence that made the room seem smaller. “I—I don’t even know you,” she stammered, clutching her small purse.
“Good,” he said, voice low, magnetic. “No one will know you’re pretending to be my wife.”
Before Vivian could respond, he held out his hand. Hesitating only for a heartbeat, she placed hers in his, and he led her to the dance floor. Gasps rippled through the room. The music shifted to a slow, languid waltz. She felt every eye on them, but the man’s presence made her forget their stares.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered as they began to move.
He leaned close, enough that only she could hear. “They are watching me. If they think I am married, they do not touch my family. You are my family tonight.”
Vivian swallowed hard. Her breath came faster. “You are in danger?”
A faint smile curved his lips. “Always.”