Evan grins at the bouncer, who waves us past the line without a word. I follow, hand landing on Tania’s lower back because that’s what husbands do.
Her skin is warm through the thin fabric, and her body tightens. But she doesn’t pull away.
The club swallows us whole. Bass thumps through the floor, lights cut through smoke, and bodies are packed tight enough that moving requires intention. Evan leads us through the crowd like he owns the place.
He doesn’t, but he could.
We bypass another line at the VIP entrance. The hostess recognizes us and ushers us up the stairs without asking our names.
Tania’s heels click on the marble, and my hand stays on her back.
A guy near the bar stares too long. Another man turns to watch her walk past. My hand presses firmer against her spine.
Soon enough, people will start to talk about the beautiful redhead who will be with us for the next year. And then we won’t have to worry about our inheritance anymore. That’s the point. This is strategic.
Except my hand still hasn’t left her back, and I’m not thinking about the executor.
The VIP section overlooks the main floor. It has leather booths, a private bar, and enough space to breathe without bodies pressing in from all sides. Evan orders drinks while I guide Tania to a booth near the railing.
She slides in. I sit across from her instead of beside her because I liked how her body felt beneath my fingers a little too much.
Evan returns with champagne and something darker for me. He hands Tania her glass and sits beside her, easy and relaxed.
Not touching, but close.
The music changes, and Tania’s fingers tap against her glass in time with the beat. She’s nervous, and she’s trying not to show it.
“You’ve been to clubs before, right?” I ask, not understanding her nerves.
“Not like this.”
“Like what?”
She scans the room. “Where everyone looks rich.”
Evan laughs. “They’re not all rich. Some of them are just good at pretending. Don’t let them make you uncomfortable.”
I pause. She went to prep school with rich kids and spent years around wealth. But her mom worked at the school, andtheir free tuition is the only reason she and Ben could afford to go.
I forget sometimes, because Ben’s done so well for himself. Tens of millions. Self-made.
But Tania isn’t used to having money.
“We’re rich,” I confirm. “And you’re our wife now. That makes you rich, too.”
Her mouth curves. “Is that how it works?”
I shrug. “Yes.”
Evan shifts beside her, angling toward the railing to watch the crowd below. Tania follows his attention, and I follow hers.
The dance floor is packed. Bodies moving in rhythm, hands in the air, faces lit by strobing lights.
“You want to dance?” I ask.
Tania’s eyes snap back to me. “Now?”
“We’re here to have fun.”
