She was fine. Better than I'd imagined.
I looked away and began handling the flood of well-wishers.
The networking phase began. I spent nearly ten minutes chatting with the chairman of the Washington Port Commission, dealt with two business contacts I needed to see tonight, while maintaining basic awareness of the room.
Vivienne got surrounded by several society wives.
I'd expected this. I didn't intervene, just discreetly kept part of my attention on her.
Those women were the fixed social operators in Washington's underworld circles, each representing their family's interests. Tonight, they were half here for charity, half here to figure out who the hell this Vivienne Cole was.
Mrs. Romanov struck first.
"Beautiful Miss Cole, may I ask which family you come from? It must be quite distinguished to have raised such an elegant woman." She held her champagne, smile gracious and sharp.
Vivienne didn't flinch. She didn't even look at me. She raised her glass and took a delicate sip.
"If you define 'family' as those boring circles that only discuss which foundation won't cake during afternoon tea, then no, I wasn't raised that way." She smiled sweetly, words laced with poison. "But where I'm from, we call people who know how to think independently true ladies. As for you, ma'am—your ring is gorgeous, but I notice Mr. Romanov doesn't seem fond of wearing jewelry himself."
Mrs. Romanov's smile froze.
"You're... quite direct."
"Thank you." Vivienne raised her glass. "I've always found insincerity awaste of time."
Mrs. Romanov's expression became spectacular. She clutched her glass, managed a strained smile, then turned and left.
She'd done well. Too well, even.
I excused myself from the chairman and moved behind Vivienne, hand settling at the small of her back, pressing lightly but firmly through the fabric.
"Well done," I murmured.
"She started it," Vivienne said. "I was just defending myself."
"I know." I took a fresh champagne flute from a server, replacing her empty one. "Keep it up."
Several more people came to probe, but Vivienne deflected each one.
Her method was simple—direct, honest, occasionally barbed.
Those old bastards used to fake pleasantries clearly hadn't expected such a "troublemaker." Most chatted briefly then wisely retreated.
I stood beside her, watching her fend off would-be bullies like a hissing kitten, that indescribable feeling growing stronger inside me.
This woman was truly special.
She wasn't like those debutantes shackled by breeding and rules, wasn't like those social climbers who'd do anything for power.
She was herself.
Direct, fierce, sometimes naive as hell, but unexpectedly smart.
And she was so goddamn beautiful I couldn't look away.
"Nikolai."
A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
