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They shared a long look, and Viv thought Evie nodded ever so slightly before turning to Falcone. “The men are on their way. Something came up last minute they wanted to look into. I think they might want your help with that.”
“However I can.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to borrow the bride for a quick minute before everyone else arrives.” Evie led Viv away under the guise of showing her something and waited for Libby to join them before speaking. “You’re nervous.”
“Oh God.” Viv pressed a hand to her stomach. “Is it that obvious?”
“No. I’m just very good at reading people. Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine, and Aidan has been warned to be on his best behavior. If he gives you a hard time, just remember it's easier to fight fire with fire where he’s concerned. Give as good as you get,” Evie added at Viv’s raised brows. “Though I don’t imagine you have any difficulty with that.”
Viv started to respond but was interrupted when the door to the far end of the ballroom opened for the Callahan men. First Declan, then Brogan’s unmistakable form. Even in a suit, he looked like a bouncer.
“He’s coming,” Declan said in response to Evie’s frown, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. “He’s…regaining his composure.”
“Great,” Viv muttered.
“Don’t worry. He’s been reminded of what’s good for him. A vision, Viv, as always,” Declan added before leading his wife away.
Viv watched them go, stopping in front of her parents to make small talk. Her eyes tracked to where Libby and Brogan were standing, Brogan rubbing Libby’s arms and murmuring against her forehead. Libby looked as nervous as Viv felt.
She’d only heard snatches of what happened to Libby when she faced DiMarco. None of it good. It took a certain kind of strength and resilience to be here tonight to support the family. A show of commitment even if she and Brogan weren’t legally bound yet.
At another click of the door, she steeled herself, mentally preparing to greet guests on her own until Aidan wascomposedenough to join her. But when she looked over, it wasn’t guests. It was him.
He’d skipped the suit his brothers were both wearing, whether as a tiny rebellion or to stand out, she wasn’t sure, but he was still imposing in dark gray slacks and a navy blue sweater that stretched over his broad shoulders. She imagined it did wonders for his eyes.
He paused as the door closed behind him, eyes dragging down the length of her body and back up again. When he advanced, she found she couldn’t move. The only sensation that registered was the tingling in her spine from the way he wouldn’t stop looking at her and the dull thud of her heart.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes tracing over the swell of her breasts under the draped neckline, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, lingering on the top of the slit that exposed her left leg up to mid-thigh before trailing down to her feet and back up to her face. Christ, she was in trouble.
Closing the distance between them in quick strides, he threw her so off balance that she had to brace a hand on his chest to steady herself. She knew touching him was a mistake the moment she did it, the heat of his chest flooding against her palm and shooting up her arm. The man was a walking pheromone.
Eyes locked on hers, he leaned down to slowly press a kiss against her cheek, and the spicy notes of his cologne enveloped her. Leave it to him to smell exotic and forbidden. He trailed the tip of his nose across her cheekbone and whispered against her ear, his breath hot on her skin.
“If this dress is supposed to make you look virginal, it isn’t working.”
She jerked back to look up at him and the wicked grin that spread across his face. Fire with fire then, if that’s how he wanted to play it.
“Not virginal, Callahan,” she said, shifting so her body pressed against his in a way that had something flickering in his icy blue eyes. “Like walking sin. Seems like it might be working just fine.”
His mouth set in a hard line when the doors opened behind them, and the hum of conversation drifted through as guests arrived. His eyes dipped down to her lips, and she traced her tongue across them, satisfied when his eyes darkened before darting back up to meet hers.
They stood in the center of the room and let people come to them like some choreographed receiving line. She recognized all the syndicate men and their wives—she’d been studying—but she pointed out all the Mafia people to Aidan, and they let the socialites introduce themselves, although some she recognized from the media. Declan really knew how to rub elbows with the rich and famous—the very rich.
When a waiter passed by with a tray of glasses, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his and gripping it tightly. She did not want to know the stupid things that would come out of his mouth if he had too much to drink tonight.
He leaned down to whisper against her ear, jaw clenched. “What are you doing,darling?”
She looked up at him with a sweet smile, pressing into his side as if he’d just said something romantic. “It’s probably best you remain perfectly sober tonight. Don’t you think?”
He lifted a single brow. “I don’t know what’s more insulting. That you’re trying to control whether I drink or that you think one glass of champagne will get me drunk. Both. They’re both insulting.”
He plucked the flute she’d taken a single sip from out of her hand and set it on a nearby table. “If I’m not drinking, neither are you.”
Irritation flared in her chest, but she tamped it down. Fair was fair, after all. “Whatever you say,sweetheart.”
When the next couple came to greet them, he shook her hand free and slid his arm around her waist instead, fingers drawing small circles on her hip in a way that was very distracting. She couldn’t even remember the wife’s name by the time they stepped away.
“What are you doing?" she asked through a forced smile.
