She dropped the most important tool in the little silver clutch she was taking tonight. That tool went everywhere with her. Then she got to her feet and pulled on the jacket, waiting until after she’d buttoned it up to look in the mirror. “Not bad, River,” she said and turned to check the view from the back.

Happy, she slipped on the hypermodern diamond necklace Jet had sourced from a jeweler—on loan to Catie for the night. It dropped down against her cleavage in a slew of jagged icicles, lying against the vertical scar of a childhood heart operation. Postoperative complications meant the scar wasn’t as faded as it otherwise would’ve been.

That line of rigid white against her skin didn’t bother Catie, and she’d never bothered to try to hide it—it was the reason she’d survived as a baby, was a sign of life. She’d even done a photoshoot to help fundraise for the pediatric cardiac unit that had saved her life; the stylist had put her in a shirt of darkest autumnal brown, its open sides bracketing the scar.

After doing another twirl in front of the mirror, she said, “And I’m ready to rock.” She checked she had her phone in her clutch along with a fifty-dollar bill and a credit card.

“Never leave home without enough cash to get back,” Ísa had told her when she’d become old enough to go out on her own.

It was a tip Catie took seriously.

Walking out, she almost swallowed her tongue. Danny had pulled on and buttoned his tuxedo jacket and put on his shoes. Add in hair that was neatly combed, cuff links, and a perfectly knotted bow tie and he looked like a Samoan James Bond.

He glanced up from his phone. And did a double take.

A long pause fell between them as they stared at each other. Until the air thickened and Catie couldn’t take it. “You clean up pretty good, Esera.”

He coughed. “You too, River.”

Walking across, she smoothed down the lapels of his jacket even though they bore not a single wrinkle. When he took out his phone and held out an arm, she tucked herself against him and smiled. He smelled so good that bubbles of champagne fizzed in her blood, the arm he’d slid around her back warm and muscled, his hand curving gently around her hip.

Click.

Lowering his arm, he showed her the photo, and her damn heart, it skipped. Because they looked happy, both of them smiling in a way that was so very real. “I like it.” It came out softer than she’d intended.

“Me too.” But rather than posting it, he slid away his phone.