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Prologue

Las Vegas, Nevada

August 4, 2018

9:46 p.m.

Lila

“Grab another bottle of champagne, pretty please!” Ivy’s voice lilts, syrupy and sweet, as she bats her lashes at me. She pushes the white tulle of her party veil out of her amber eyes, glassy from too much alcohol.

I nod, weaving through the crush of bodies toward the bar. The air hums with bass, and the strobe lights cast fleeting shadows, distorting faces and moments like we’re all part of some chaotic fever dream. I lift two fingers to catch the bartender’s attention, signaling for yet another bottle of Veuve.

Before I can even turn around, Ivy appears at my side, snatching the bottle with a victorious squeal and twirling back toward our table, veil trailing behind her like a comet.

“Celebrations are in full swing, I see.” I feel his voice before I hear it—a low, velvety hum that wraps around my spine and settles somewhere behind my navel. The sound is a balm against the sensory overload, grounding and undeniable.

I turn, and it’s like the whole club slows to half-speed.

He leans one forearm against the bar, body angled toward me. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his handsome face, all charm and intent. It’s completely disarming.

My pulse stumbles.

And then it stutters again because when our eyes meet, there’s a jolt. Not recognition, exactly. But awareness. Like something inside me had been waiting to wake up and just did.

He’s tall. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his long-sleeve henley, and the shirt clings to his chest and arms in a way that looks sculpted. His dark brown hair is tousled, just long enough to run your hands through, like he’s done it a dozen times tonight. Sharp jaw and devastating mouth of soft lips and straight white teeth, the kind of combination that ruins a girl on sight.

He’s like a Norse god. Maybe better.

And when he smirks, it’s game over.

“You could say that. My best friend’s getting married,” I manage, grateful my voice doesn’t betray the firework show going off inside me. I tilt my head toward our table, and a curled strand of hair slips into my face.

He watches the motion like he felt it too. Like that strand of hair was a fuse.

“Ah. The infamous Vegas bachelorette trip.” His eyes flick to our table and my stomach dips, bracing for the inevitable shift of interest. Most guys talk to me until they spot Alinna. It’s not that I don’t get attention. It’s just that next to her, I fade fast.

But then his eyes find mine again, and they stay.

Warmth floods my chest. He’s still here. Still looking.

“The very one.” I laugh, loosening a little. “Ivy doesn’t know how to do anything small, so off to Vegas we went.”

“Well, it looks like they’re having fun. But what about you?” His smile turns knowing. Wicked. Like he sees past the easy answers. Like he’s already decided I’m worth unraveling.

His eyes, steely blue, rimmed with lashes no man should have, flicker in the shifting lights. They’re playful. But behind that, there’s heat. Challenge. A hint of danger wrapped in silk.

Then he rakes his gaze down the length of me. Not crude. Just thorough.

It lights me up like a struck match.

I toss my hair over one shoulder, letting him look. “Sure I am.”

A lie, and we both know it.

“No, I don’t think you are,” he murmurs. “But maybe I can help change that.”

His grin is pure sin, and when he turns toward me, muscles shifting under soft cotton, he shoves his sleeves halfway up his forearms—casual, practiced. Deliberate. A tattoo coils along the lines of his right arm, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop my thoughts from spiraling.