I descend the short steps to the main dining area, pausing as I consider whether to change. My stuff is in the dressing room, but—my conversation with Andrea bubbles up again, and I smile. I did it! I asked her, and I’m getting a chance. Jane will be so proud of me. The thought of giving him a vicarious thrill makes me grin even more fiercely.

I give myself a shake and direct my attention to the couples dancing across from me. Some of the waitstaff dance among them, and Esteban sashays my way. I hold my hands up, warning him not to take on such a weak partner. He is undaunted, pulling me toward the floor.

“Look at you, Miss Smiley-Puss. Grinning all by your lonesome. Where are you running off to?” he asks, swaying his hips with finesse even Ming would envy.

“I have work in the morning.”

“Psh. Day jobs. You need to go full vampire, like us.” He channels a convincing Bela Lugosi, opening his arms to include the room. “Embrace the night!”

At my laugh, he drops one of my hands, holding the other high. He looks over my shoulder and grins. “I’m passing you off to someone very tasty,” he whispers, maintaining the Romanian accent. “You can thank me later.”

Esteban will flirt with peeling paint, so his assurances of tastiness mean nothing. He sets me twirling. I complete a full rotation before he releases me. A wobbly half turn later, I’m blindly accepting the hands of the supposedly tasty one. I’m struggling to stay upright when the hold at my waist pulls me in close. I gasp and brace my hands against broad shoulders, preparing to push away—

Only to find I’ve been spun right into the sturdy arms of Will Darcy.

For a moment, neither of us moves. We stand in a semi-embrace, his hands at my waist, my palms flattened high against his hard chest, and the music ends. As I grapple with whether I’m relieved or disappointed, the band starts another song, the piano dominating the first few bars. It takes me a moment to recognize the slowed-down version of Weezer’s “Jacked Up.”

Darcy glances at the hand resting above his heart. I watch in dull disbelief as he brings a hand up to cover it. His other hand edges to the center of my low back, palm and fingers pressing into bare skin. My pulse throbs. Tension melts from my shoulders as my awareness homes in on the soft heat of his hands. It’s as though every nerve ending has relocated, shifted to ignite at the points of contact. I make a muddled vow to thank Jane for his impeccable choice in dresses.