VOWS WRITTEN IN CHAMPAGNE

CHAPTER1

THE NIGHT EVERYTHING CHANGED

The bass hit my chest like a second heartbeat and Clara spun me around on the dance floor, her silver dress catching every light in the room.

"You did it!" she screamed over the music. "You actually did it!"

I grabbed her hands and swayed with her, laughing so hard my ribs ached. Three months of failed interviews. Three months of stretching every rand until it screamed. Three months of wondering if I would have to give up the flat and move back to Pretoria, squeeze back into my grandmother Evelyn's two-bedroom house and share a bunk bed with my sixteen-year-old sister Shantell again.

But not anymore. I got the job.

Dorinda appeared with three shots balanced between her fingers like she had been doing it her entire life. Knowing her, she probably had.

"Drink up. Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow we suffer."

I took the glass from her and we clinked. The tequila burned all the way down and I slammed the empty glass on the nearest table, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut.

"That was terrible," I gasped.

"That was necessary," Dorinda corrected, already calling the bartender back.

It was a Friday night at Onyx, one of those rooftop bars in Sandton where the drinks cost more than my weekly grocery budget. Clara had insisted. She said we needed to celebrate properly, not at our usual spot where the floors stuck to your shoes. I protested at first but she shut me down with a look that said "girl, do not argue with me tonight."

So here I was, in a black dress I borrowed from Clara's wardrobe because all my nice clothes were packed in boxes I had not unpacked since I moved to Joburg six months ago. My long braids hung past my shoulders, freshly done by Dorinda as a congratulations gift. I looked good. Better than I had in months.

"Tell us everything again," Clara demanded, pulling me toward a leather booth in the corner. "From the top. What did the old man say?"

I laughed and sat down, tucking my legs beneath me. "He said he liked that I was headstrong. That every other girl who came in said the same boring things about being a team player and being reliable. He said I was different."

"Because you are different," Dorinda said, sliding in beside me. "You are the only person I know who would tell a CEO that stubbornness is a strength and make it sound like a compliment."

"It is a strength," I said, taking the cocktail she pushed toward me. "It got me this job."

And God, I needed this job. Not for me, though yes, working at one of the biggest property development companies in Johannesburg was a dream I never thought possible. But for Shantell, who needed new school shoes and textbooks. For Grandma Evelyn, whose medication cost more each month. For our electricity bill that was two months overdue.

I pushed those thoughts away. Not tonight. Tonight, I was just Shaznay. Twenty-five years old, dressed up, out with her girls, and celebrating the first good thing that had happened to her in a very long time.

"Three more shots!" Dorinda called out to the waitress passing by. I groaned and Clara cackled.

We danced. We drank. We took terrible photos on Clara's phone that she swore she would never post but definitely would by morning. I was mid-laugh, my head thrown back, when I caught it. A pair of eyes across the room, locked on me.

I turned slightly and looked toward the VIP section, elevated above the main floor behind a velvet rope. He was sitting in a booth with two other men, a glass of something dark in his hand. Even in the dim purple lights, I could see how sharp his jaw was, how broad his shoulders sat beneath his dark shirt. His eyes found mine and held. He did not look away. He did not smile. He just... watched.

My stomach flipped.

"Hello? Earth to Shaznay?" Clara waved her hand in front of my face. "Who are you staring at?"

"Nobody," I said quickly, turning back to her. "No one. Come dance with me."

Clara raised one eyebrow but took my hand and we moved back to the dance floor. I told myself not to look again. I looked again. He was still watching, but now there was a slight curl to his lips. Amused. Like he had caught me in something.

I forced my eyes away and focused on the music, on Clara spinning beside me, on the warmth of the alcohol loosening every tight muscle in my body. Three songs passed. Then four. I was breathless and reaching for my drink when a deep voice came from directly behind me.

"I have been watching you all night."

I turned and had to lift my chin to meet his gaze. He was taller than I expected. Much taller. Dark brown eyes with flecks of gold in them, like honey had been poured into rich coffee. His skin was a warm brown and his hair was cut low and neat, lined up sharp at the edges. He smelled like sandalwood and something expensive I could not name.

"That sounds like something a stalker would say," I replied, crossing my arms.

His lips twitched. "Noted. Let me try again." He extended his hand. "I am Victor."

I looked at his hand and back at his face. Clara had vanished. Traitor. "Shaznay," I said, taking his hand briefly.

"Shaznay," he repeated, and the way my name sounded in his mouth made my skin warm. "Dance with me."

"That was not a question."

"It was not meant to be."

I should have walked away. I should have found Clara and Dorinda and told them I was tired and ready to go home. I should have remembered that I had work on Monday, that I needed to be sharp, that my life did not have room for beautiful strangers in VIP booths.

But when he held out his hand a second time, I took it.

We danced close. His hands settled on my waist like they belonged there and we moved together slowly, ignoring the fast beat around us, making our own rhythm. His chest was firm against mine and every time he leaned down to speak in my ear, his breath brushed my neck and sent heat down my spine.

"So what are we celebrating tonight?" he asked.

"How do you know I am celebrating?"

"Because you smiled like the whole world was yours about twenty minutes ago. I saw it from across the room."

I pulled back slightly to look at him. He was watching me with those golden-brown eyes, steady and curious, waiting for my answer like it mattered.

"I got a new job today," I told him. "A good one."

"Congratulations." He smiled fully for the first time and two dimples appeared on his cheeks. Deep ones. The kind that made you stare too long. "That calls for champagne. The real kind."

"I am perfectly fine with tequila."

He laughed, low and warm. "I like you already."

We danced for three more songs. My body pressed to his, his fingers tracing slow circles on my lower back, my head slightly dizzy from alcohol and his closeness and the way he looked at me like I was the only person in this entire room worth seeing.

When the song changed, he leaned down again. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Somewhere we can talk without shouting."

I looked over my shoulder. Clara was at the bar with some tall guy in a blue shirt. Dorinda was nowhere to be seen. I looked back at Victor, at his outstretched hand, at the challenge in his eyes.

Something told me this night would change everything. I just did not know how much.

I put my hand in his, and he led me toward the exit.