STELLA

Nikolai’s hands are warm, his grip light but confident as he guides me into the crowd. The music shifts to something slower, the bass dimming into a steady pulse beneath the soft swell of strings.

He keeps his eyes on Vivian over my shoulder, grinning like a giddy kid who just won a bet he hasn’t told me about.

His smile is teasing, his eyes full of whatever private joke he’s always in on. “You clean up well, Reynolds,” he says, spinning me once before I can answer.

“So ...