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 do you,” I reply, but it slips out as a half laugh, half sigh.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Not anywhere,” I say. “Just somewhere with less glitter.”
He smirks. “Don’t knock glitter. It makes everything look harmless.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Exactly my point.”
It should be harmless — just tw
