She claps thrice. "Oh! You're the best!" She twirls again, dress flaring, then stops in front of the mirror by the entry, smoothing her hands down her hips. "Do I look okay?"
I step behind her and drag my knuckles down her bare back. "You look dangerous."
She inhales sharply and holds her breath, catching my eye in the mirror. "Good dangerous?"
"The best kind." I move her hair off her shoulder and kiss her neck.
She shudders and grips my hand on her waist.
The doorbell buzzes, and we both freeze.
I nervously laugh. "I think our guests are here."
Blue spins, and her expression shifts to anxiety.
I ask, "What's wrong?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing. I just want tonight to be perfect."
"Don't worry, it will be," I say, even though I feel far from that outcome. I grab her hand, lead her toward the door, then open it.
Demi bursts in first, sequined jacket glittering under the hall light, arms wide. "Ready to party?" She throws herself at Blue, hugging her so hard that Blue's heels lift off the floor. Then she gushes, "Finale piece! My girl is a legend!"
"I know, right?" Blue squeals.
Mikhail steps inside in his custom-made charcoal suit, no tie, and the top button of his crisp white dress shirt undone. He scans the space in one sweep before his eyes settle last on Blue, lingering just long enough to make my pulse kick. He turns toward me and extends a hand. "Doctor."
I take it, and the micro-war begins without sound. His grip is firm, deliberate, and held a half second past polite. I fake niceties. "Mikhail."
The micro-war begins without sound.
Demi chatters mindlessly, dragging Blue toward the living room, oblivious or pretending to be. "Nice place, Red. I totally see you here, Blue!"
She glances back at me, eyes wide and happy.
I return her smile and close the door.
Mikhail lowers his voice. "We should talk privately."
Blue's head snaps toward us. "About what?"
Mikhail smiles, but there's no warmth. "Just a quick word with the doctor. Nothing to worry about."
Her eyes dart to me, full of worry, flickering under the glow. "Red?"
I force my expression to stay calm. "It's fine, Bluebird. Can you and Demi check the roast? We'll be right back."
She hesitates, twisting her fingers around her hair.
Demi hooks an arm through hers and pulls her toward the kitchen. "Let the men talk!"
I nod for Mikhail to follow me. "This way."
He follows.
I shut the door.
Mikhail doesn't sit. Neither do I. He turns slowly, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed in that way only men who've proven their physical strength relax. The room shrinks.
