“You,” he said, “are the most beautiful woman here by a long, long way.”

My brain rebelled and tried to push the words aside. But they were granite, immovable, and my insecurities crumbled against them. I felt myself stand a little taller. I nodded: thank you. And at the same time, a big, hot ache rose inside me. No one had ever made me feel like Danny made me feel. And I’d lost him forever: tonight was just a cruel reminder of what I could never have.

He took my arm again and we moved through the door and into a huge, high-ceilinged lobby with a massive, curving staircase and a glittering chandelier overhead. Waiters were handing out flutes of champagne and it was just like my fantasies of Vegas had been, before I’d found out what it was really like: arm-in-arm with a gorgeous guy in a tuxedo, surrounded by glamour. The ache got worse. Why can’t it be real? I couldn’t stop myself from cinching my arm a little tighter around Danny’s. And then his arm pulled a little tighter around mine. For a second, I caught his eye and the look I saw there made the ache ten times worse.

He felt the same way.

He looked away. “Let’s find this Malakov guy.”

I nodded quickly. We’d both taken a good look at some photos before we left so that we could recognize him. I started searching the faces of the men in the crowd but none of them were him. Meanwhile, Danny was looking the other way. “Anything?” I asked after a minute.

“No.” He glanced at the staircase, worried. Some couples were already making their way upstairs, where attendants in red and gold uniforms were checking their tickets. We didn’t have tickets. If Malakov had already gone in, we were screwed.

Suddenly, a hush went through the crowd. We turned and saw that three men in suits had entered behind us. They had the same muscled, quietly efficient look as Danny and his team and they took up positions in a fan around the doorway, protecting whoever was following them. The doors opened again and—