Twenty-Three

Vivian pushed her way toward the dance floor, trying to find her friends. Were Mags and Leo still dancing? No, they had said they would meet at the bar in an hour. How long had she been gone?

She changed direction, then froze. In front of her, she could see the two bruisers from downstairs blocking the door back toward the bar and staircase while they scanned the crowd, clearly looking for her. Vivian tried to melt back into the crowd, searching for another exit.

She had reached the edge of the dance floor without realizing it. And she could see another door on the other side. Looking around quickly, Vivian grabbed the hand of the first unpartnered person she saw, a lanky boy dressed as some kind of creature with furry trousers and horns on top of his head, wearing nothing but a vest over his otherwise bare chest.

Vivian didn't even bother to ask what his costume was supposed to be. "Fancy a spin?" she asked, a little breathlessly, trying not to look back over her shoulder. The more she looked at them, the more likely they were to spot her. They knew what she was wearing, even if they hadn't seen her face. And she didn't want them seeing what she looked like without her mask.

"With you, doll? Absolutely," the boy said, grinning as he slid his arms around her. "How fast should we go?"

"Fast as you like," Vivian said. The band had just started a Baltimore, and the line of the dance should carry them around the floor toward the other door. The back of her neck prickled with nerves, and she could feel her body flushing hot then cold, over and over.

The boy chatted as they danced, but she would barely have been able to hear him over the noise of the crowd, even if she hadn't been straining her ears for the sound of someone spotting her. She nodded when he spoke and laughed when he smiled, barely even noticing when he pulled her too close so he could hold her body against his bare chest.

As they neared the far side of the ballroom, he lowered his mouth toward her ear and dropped his voice. "What do you say we slip out for a bit and get to know each other better? I'm sure we can find—"

"There she is!"

The voice carried over the noise of the band and the dancers, landing on Vivian's ears like a siren. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the two burly men pushing their way through the crowd, trying to circle around the dance floor to cut her off.

She slid out of her partner's arms, leaving him with a quick, "Thanks for the dance," as she ran for the door. She didn't look back to see if the two men were following; the shouts of irritation and a few yelps of pain told her they were still in pursuit.

The door at this end of the ballroom was tucked into a corner, and still closed instead of wide open like the ones at the other end. Vivian flung it open anyway and discovered a staircase heading up; she hesitated, but there wasn't much choice. She kicked the door closed behind her and dashed up, praying it would open up somewhere she could hide.

It was longer than she expected, with a landing and a turn but no door at what she thought was the second floor. There was nothing for it but to keep climbing; she could hear the men's curses as they came through the door and discovered the staircase themselves. A moment later, the clomp of their feet echoed up after her.

Vivian took the steps two at a time and was panting by the time she reached the top of the stairs and threw open the door there. She slammed that one behind her as well, cursing frantically when she discovered it didn't lock. She whipped her head around, trying to get her bearings in the few seconds she had to make a decision.

She was at the end of an empty hallway, stacked with extra chairs and lined with old photos of the Odd Fellows through the years. There were doors opening off the hall, but if she went in one of those and the men followed, she'd be trapped.

The footsteps were pounding up the stairs behind her; her time was up. Vivian ran toward the end of the hall. Maybe it would end somewhere crowded so she wouldn't be alone when the men caught up to her.

Her luck wasn't in. Around a turn in the hall, she found herself dashing toward an open gallery, carpeted in a deep burgundy and scattered with marble pillars, a spot where guests could mingle with drinks or spill over into extra dancing space when the downstairs filled up. At the moment, it was empty; the party hadn't yet made its way up to the third floor. But across the gallery, she could see the stairs heading down. And the second floor, she knew, was crowded with people.

Vivian risked a glance over her shoulder. And then her feet met nothing, and she was tumbling through the air.

It was only a moment before she caught her balance; the hallway had ended in three steps down to the gallery. Vivian bit back a yell as she landed on one foot and felt her ankle buckle beneath her. She gasped as she grabbed at a pillar to haul herself up.

She managed a few more steps, but a jolt of pain shot up her leg. Whimpering, Vivian ducked behind a pillar, trying to breathe quietly even though she was panting with fear. Her ankle throbbed, and she could feel sweat dripping down her back. But everything was still and quiet, and she let herself hope that she had shaken them off.

Vivian craned her neck just far enough that one eye could peer out from behind the column. Then she pulled back quickly; the two men in dark suits, one with an enormous mustache and the other with shoulders like a mountain, had just reached the three steps where she had fallen. Her breath stuttered through her chest, and she pressed her face against the marble, praying the chill of the stone would help her think.

There had to be somewhere she could go to get away from them. Could she find Leo if she made her way back down? He and Mags were almost certainly still dancing or drinking, but he'd be watching for her. Could they sneak out and find a cab before…

Laughter filled the gallery suddenly, a dozen voices talking over each other in a cheerful, drunken babble that made Vivian jump, then press herself more tightly against the pillar, hoping she hadn't given away her hiding place. A crowd of women tumbled up the stairs, gossiping about the dancers and complaining about sore feet, more than one stumbling and tipsy while their friends kept them upright.

"I thought there was a washroom up here?" one of them called, the others chiming in helpfully and pointing in multiple directions before they finally decided they had climbed one floor too far and needed to turn around.

The small crowd flowed around Vivian without noticing that someone was hiding there. She took a deep breath and waited until she was surrounded. When she was sandwiched between a medieval ball gown and a pirate queen, she stepped away from her hiding place and joined them.

She wanted to look back and see if either of the men had noticed, but she couldn't risk it. There were no shouts or running feet, and she told herself that was a good sign. But for all she knew, they were still following, just waiting for an opportunity when fewer people were around.

Vivian was swept down the steps, trying not to stumble on her injured ankle, and back into the heat and noise of the party. She let herself be carried along into the washroom, where the women scattered to fix their lipstick and powder, adjust their costumes or wigs, or disappear into the back room to take care of personal business. Several simply threw themselves onto the upholstered benches, resting their feet while they chatted and sighed and wondered cheerfully about who would get into different kinds of fun trouble downstairs.

Vivian stood with her back against one wall, still shaking too hard to move. She couldn't stay in the washroom all night. She didn't think those men would spend much longer looking for her—she couldn't be worth that much effort, could she? She was just some unknown girl who wandered into their game and pulled a runner without causing any real trouble. But what if the man she'd been talking to told them she'd been asking questions? What if they were outside the door, waiting to grab her the moment she tried to leave?

"Oh, sorry!"

One of the women stumbled into Vivian as she tried to fix the ribbons on her shoe while hopping on one foot. Vivian grabbed her arm to steady her, and several of her friends laughed and yelled at her to sit down before she broke her neck. As they helped her into a seat, one turned to thank Vivian, then frowned.

"You all right there, sugar?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. She was wearing a men's suit, a walking stick in one hand. Her blond hair was cut so short it could only barely be called a bob, and she wore not only deep red lipstick and mascara but had lined her eyes strikingly with kohl powder. "You look a little green around the gills. Too much gin?"

"No. Sorry." Vivian shook her head, shrinking farther against the wall, her mind still outside with the men who might or might not be there. "I didn't mean to crash your party."

Her statement was met with a chorus of protests as the whole group turned to see who had wandered in with them. Seeing so many strange faces turned toward her put Vivian on guard—what if one of them turned her in? But at least she wasn't alone, cowering behind a pillar and praying two bully-boys didn't drag her downstairs for questioning or worse.

She took a shuddering breath. "Any chance some of you could help a girl out? I gotta get back downstairs to find my pals, but I… I need to make sure no one sees me do it."

"What happened?"

"Hell, are the cops here? Are we being raided?"

"Don't be dumb, they never show up to these—"

"Did you steal something?"

The chorus of voices was overwhelming. But they weren't sending her packing, at least not right away. Vivian tried to decide who to answer first. Her ankle throbbed, and she wished she hadn't had that drink downstairs, no matter how much she had needed to blend in.

"It's a fella, isn't it?" the blonde asked, cutting through the clamor of her friends' questions. Her mouth twisted as though she had tasted something sour. Her walking stick rested, point down, on the floor, and she spun it from the top with quick, deliberate flicks of her fingers in between her words. "You're hiding from him."

Vivian swallowed, not even trying to hide her nervousness. "Yeah." Her voice came out in more of a whisper than she intended.

There was a murmur from the others, but the blonde, who was clearly the ringleader, gestured them into silence. She gave Vivian a considering look. "Someone you know, or someone who decided to give you a bit of trouble?"

"Second one," Vivian said, feeling less shaky in the face of what she hoped was sympathy. "He and one of his pals… Well, I was trying to shake them, so I tagged along with all of you. I don't know if I fooled 'em or not, but…"

A wild thought was forming in her head. Almost no one in the room of gamblers could have seen her face, could they? The two men chasing her would have seen her dress, and maybe remembered what her hair looked like. But beyond that, they'd have a hard time finding a single girl in a place like this.

If they didn't have an easy way to recognize her anymore, she could disappear into the crowd and get far away from the lodge ball.

The women were still chattering in low voices, trying to decide whether someone should peek out the door or venture toward the stairs to see if someone was waiting.

"But even if we don't see someone, that doesn't mean the coast is clear," one pointed out. "They could be just waiting for her to come downstairs." A murmur of agreement went among her friends, and Vivian cleared her throat.

"Well, here's the lucky thing," she said, as all the faces turned toward her. "They don't really know me. They just… I got a bad feeling, you know? So I tried to leave, and they didn't like that." She was relieved to see heads nodding around the room. "One of them tried to grab me, so I ran, and he and his pal came after me."

"Lord almighty," the blonde muttered. "Don't they have better things to do with their time than chase a girl who's clearly not interested?"

"You'd think," Vivian said, letting them hear the shakiness in her voice. "But since I don't know how good a look they got at me… I think, if one of you could switch clothes with me…" She trailed off, glancing hopefully around the room.

There was a painful moment of silence, and Vivian wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. The blonde eyed her consideringly, and Vivian held her breath. She knew exactly who in the room she needed to convince.

Finally, the blonde turned toward her friends. "All right, girls. Who wants some new glad rags for the night?"

An eager, approving babble of voices began chiming in with suggestions about who was the right size for the swap. "It's a shame you already bobbed your hair," one said, shaking her head in disappointment. Vivian wasn't sure if she should be offended or not until the girl added, "If it were long, we could have chopped it all off for you, and they'd never recognize you then!"

"Leila," the blonde said at last. "I think you're probably closest in size to our new friend here. What did you say your name was, sugar?"

"Vivian," she replied, then bit her lip, wondering if she should have given them a fake name. But who were they going to tell?

"Vivian. All right. You and Leila swap."

"I guess that makes the most sense," Leila sighed, but she was smiling. "Easier to get home without a hassle in your getup, anyway. It's a pretty dress. Though I was feeling all kinds of eye-catching in this one!"

Leila had golden-red curls pinned up around her head like a crown, topped with a spangled and feathered cap. Her costume was a stunning confection of silk and gauze, shimmering with so many rhinestones and glass pearls that Vivian's fingers ached with the thought of sewing them all into place.

And it only covered about a third of Leila's body.

Vivian nodded, hoping that her eyes weren't as wide as they felt and trying not to look shocked. Judging by the giggles around the room, she wasn't succeeding.

She had never been half-naked in public before, and she wasn't looking forward to the thought of the attention she could get, strutting through the lodge in an outfit that a vaudeville dancer would wear on stage. But they were right: there was almost no chance that the men from the gambling ring would recognize her in that getup. And they'd never look twice at Leila, with her bright hair, even if they did notice that her dress was the same color as they one they were looking for.

Vivian nodded. "There's a tie in the back," she said, gesturing over her shoulders. "Will someone help me with that?"

The blonde had chosen well; the burlesque costume fit Vivian like a glove. Her dress—she'd have to pay Bea back for it, but there was no way around that—was a little too short on Leila. But it wasn't bad enough that anyone would notice.

Vivian stared at herself in the mirror. She had never thought of herself as prudish, but now she had to resist the urge to cross her arms across her midsection. She didn't even want to think about how much would be exposed when she walked and the silk panels of the skirt fluttered around her legs.

But she barely recognized herself in the costume, especially when the pirate queen, who was taller than the rest—he had shed his hat and wig for the moment and introduced himself as Archie—helped her pin Leila's feathered cap on top of her hair. That meant the people searching for her—God, she hoped they weren't still searching for her—probably wouldn't recognize her either.

"There you go, sweetheart," Archie said, smoothing down her bob with expert fingers before settling his own hair and hat back in place. "You look smashing."

"I feel naked," Vivian whispered, blushing, which made Archie laugh.

"All right," the blonde said, gathering her troops. "We're all heading down, and we'll just hope that whoever's trying to cause trouble for our new friend gets thrown off the scent by so many beautiful girls all together."

Vivian felt wobbly with nerves, but she knew how to put on a good show. As they left the washroom, she looped her arm through Archie's, walking as carefully as she could on her injured ankle. She began asking him about his costume and how the masquerade winners were judged, a wide, dazzling smile on her face.

They reached the first floor before she spotted the two men. They were lurking near the staircase, watching both the stairs and the doors.

She was only a few feet away when she felt their eyes on her. Vivian didn't look at them, laughing loudly as Archie and another girl described the ball gown one of last year's winners had worn. Her skin was crawling, and she wondered if her ankle would give up completely if she had to run again. The one with the mustache took half a step toward her.

But his eyes weren't on her face. They were traveling over her exposed midsection and her pearl-draped hips. Vivian felt a hysterical laugh bouncing around in her chest. Half of her wanted to shrink away from his leer. But the smarter part of her leaned into the spectacle, swaying her hips deliberately so the panels of silk shifted and whispered against her stocking-clad legs, and the rhinestones scattered over her body sparkled under the electric lights of the chandeliers. When his eyes traveled up to her face, catching hers for a moment, she winked and blew him a kiss.

Mustache's eyes lit up, and for a moment Vivian wondered if she'd made a mistake. But he was still leering, and he took another half step toward her before a jab from his friend's elbow caught his attention. He winced, turning away to glare at Hulking Shoulders as the two began whispering heatedly, their survey of the room growing more lackluster with every sweep of their heads.

"—stay here or tell him she's long gone?" she heard Mustache grumble, rubbing at his ribs where his friend's massive elbow had hit him.

Vivian didn't wait to find out what they'd decide. She was shaking with relief as she was swept out of their sight and into the ballroom, where the girls scattered, heading to the dance floor or to the bar.

Vivian caught the blonde's eye. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You okay from here? Or you think you'll need an armed guard for the rest of the night?" the blonde asked. "Looked like pretty rough types."

Vivian shook her head. "They looked right past me," she said, barely able to believe it.

Leila, who was holding the blonde's arm, laughed. "Well, not right past you," she said. "I think right at you is more accurate."

Vivian felt herself blushing, and the heat in her face only grew as the blonde looked her over once more. "Can't blame them," she said with a wry grin before sliding her arm around Leila's waist. "Come on, love. That dance floor is calling our names."

"And how," Leila agreed. "Enjoy your new duds!" she said over her shoulder as they disappeared into the crowd.

"All right, doll," Archie said, giving her arm a squeeze. "You need help finding your people?"

Vivian wanted to beg him to stay with her. But she didn't know him, and he didn't owe her anything, and she could see that he was already looking longingly after his own friends. She shook her head. "I'm good from here. Thanks for the offer, though."

"We gotta stick together when the fellas get nasty," he said with a wink. "Good luck out there. You find your friends and get out of here while the getting's still good, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Vivian said, meaning it. She returned his wave as he swanned off into the crowd, then took a careful step. Her ankle was sore, but the sharp pain had mellowed. She needed to get off it soon, but if she sat down, she wouldn't have the energy to get up again. So she began a slow circuit of the room, trying not to limp as she headed in the direction of the bar. It was hard to blend into the crowd in Leila's costume; no one batted an eye, but plenty of folks looked her up and down, and a few started to move toward her. Vivian changed direction more than once, dodging between clumps of people as she scanned the room for familiar faces.

She didn't see anyone from downstairs, and she hoped that meant they had given up on finding her. But she was still sweating with nerves. The band was shifting from the hot, frenzied tempo of the last hour into something a little gentler when she finally spotted Leo and Mags, just at the edge of the dance floor, applauding the end of a song.

Vivian hurried over to them, stumbling a little on her sore ankle. They were looking in her direction, but Mags's eyes went right over her. Leo's lingered before he began to turn politely away. Then recognition dawned, and his head snapped back toward her.

"Viv?" he said in disbelief, grabbing Mags's hand and hauling her off the dance floor while she protested. "Sweetheart, what…" He didn't even pretend that he wasn't looking her up and down with open, heated appreciation. "Not that I'm complaining, but what happened to your clothes?"

"Good golly, Viv!" Mags exclaimed, though luckily the noise of the people and the music meant her surprise didn't turn any heads. "You look like you joined a burlesque troupe since we seen you last." She looked excited by the thought.

"I'll tell you in a cab," Vivian said, glancing around. "But the night's over. We've gotta head out." When Mags started to protest, Vivian shook her head. "Right now."

Leo, to her relief, didn't stop to ask questions, just put an arm around each of their waists and led them toward the door. On the way, he spotted a coat someone had hung over a chair, and he slowed long enough to snag it with one hand and drape it over Vivian's shoulders.

When she protested, he pressed a single finger against her lips. "As much as I'm enjoying the view, I don't think you should be strolling down the street in that getup."

"But it's stealing," Vivian hissed.

He pulled it around her like a cloak. "Not the worst thing I've done in my life. Come on." He frowned at her. "Are you limping?"

"Turned my ankle a little," Vivian said, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter. Let's just get out of here."

It might have taken them an hour to reach the door, or maybe it was only a few seconds. Before Vivian was quite sure how it happened, they were back on 155th Street, where people were still arriving, laughing and smoking and clamoring to get into the party. Leo led them through it all, sliding up to a cab that three men had just left and ushering Vivian and Mags in without missing a beat. Vivian was still catching her breath as she slid across the back seat.

Mags leaned forward to give the cabbie Jimmy's address. "I have to change, but he gave me a key and said his housekeeper would make sure I got home, sweet man," she explained, settling back against the seat with a long, noisy exhalation. "Golly, my little puppies are tired. But wasn't that fun? Should we go back next time? Viv, why didn't you want to stay? You could've had any dance partner you wanted in that skimpy little thing!"

"Not sure I like the sound of that," Leo muttered.

"Can I borrow it for the next ball, do you think?" Mags added eagerly.

After the last panicked hour of her life, the question felt so absurd that Vivian began laughing. Between gasps, she told them what she could—with the cabbie still up front, likely listening to everything they were saying, she didn't want to say too much. But she could tell them about stumbling into a private party and the host who had taken exception to her being there. Mags's eyes grew wide as she described running from the two bruisers, and Leo whistled appreciatively as she explained about swapping clothes with another girl.

"One of them looked right at me and didn't say a thing," she finished. There were tears in her eyes, and she wasn't sure which emotion they were from. She still couldn't believe she had gotten away with it. "And then I found you and, well, I decided I'd better not stick around and see if they wised up. Better to hightail it out of there with all my rhinestones intact."

There was more she needed to tell Leo, but that could wait. It had to, with the cabbie up there. And it had to because she didn't want to think about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. As she spoke, one of his hands slid under the hem of the coat, his fingers stroking her thigh. She shivered, from the heat of his touch and from the comfort of being there, being safe, with him.

"Holy moly," Mags exclaimed with wide eyes as the cab stopped in front of Jimmy's sleek brownstone. "I can't wait to go back next time."

"Might be without us," Leo said with a wry glance at Vivian. "Sounds like poor Viv had a lot of excitement for one night."

"Shame," Mags said, sliding across the seat. "Well, maybe I can find someone else to take me. Night!"

They waited until she disappeared inside before Leo gave the cabbie Vivian's address. She let him handle it, sagging back against the seat, exhausted as the excitement and panic of the last few hours drained out of her. As they pulled away from the curb, it was hard to believe that the quiet neighborhood around them was in the same world as the Hamilton Lodge Ball. Hard to believe that any of it had happened.

Had any of the last week happened? If she stared at the sky, she could almost convince herself that everything else, every fear and worry and stolen moment of joy, was just a dream.

She wanted, so badly, for all of it to be a dream.

The hum of the cab's motor. The shift of the seat as Leo slid closer. The brush of skin on skin as his hand slipped underneath the coat, turning her toward him so that his mouth could find hers, careless of the driver only a few feet away.

"My brave girl," he breathed against her lips in between kisses, his voice and his hands both shaking. "I should have known you can always handle yourself. But I'll need to hold you close—" His hands slid around to her back, leaving a trail of heat across her bare skin. "Just to be certain that you're safe."

"I don't mind that at all," Vivian whispered back. If he kept kissing her, she could tell herself he was right, that she could handle whatever came her way. She could tell herself she was safe, and she always would be.

If he kept touching her, she could keep pretending that nothing else was real.

Vivian usually had rules for herself. She didn't drink more than she could handle. She didn't let her neighbors see her coming and going from the Nightingale. She didn't get carried away with men or women.

Rules were important when you needed to stay in control to survive.

But if nothing was real, then her rules didn't matter. She barely let Leo go so that he could pay the cabbie and she could unlock the door to her building. They stumbled upstairs, Vivian thankful that this year there was only one flight between her and the privacy of a locked door. She fumbled with her keys while Leo's hands found their way once more under the stolen coat she was still wearing.

"Come here," he growled as soon as the door was shut and locked behind them.

Vivian, still giddy with relief, shivered as the fabric of his suit jacket slid against her skin. She didn't object as he pushed the coat down her arms and let it fall to the floor while his mouth found hers again. It took barely a heartbeat for his kisses to go from teasing to something more serious, and Vivian gasped as he bent to scoop her up in his arms.

"We should probably get you off that ankle," he suggested.

"Probably," Vivian whispered, before letting out a squeak as he tossed her on the bed. She sat up immediately, though, pulling him to her as soon as he shed his own coat and yanked his arms out of his suspenders. She tried to kiss him again, but he slipped away from her mouth to press taunting, nibbling kisses against her neck and the bare expanse of her shoulders.

"I like this outfit," she gasped, her head falling back. Something was wrong, she knew—something she needed to tell him. But she didn't want to think about anything except the weight of his body against hers.

"I do too," he said with a laugh, one hand sliding behind her back so he could ease her down onto the bed.

A jolt like an electric shock shot through Vivian, and her mind stuttered, wondering if she should put a stop to things before they got carried away. But maybe, just this once—

"You didn't tell me what you found out," Leo murmured against her collarbone. "What was Rokesby up to? Have we got him?"

The question hit her like a slap, sending her dizzy thoughts tumbling to the ground. The heat racing through her body was suddenly gone, chased away by cold fear and the awful truth that the night hadn't gotten her any closer to answers. The weight of Leo's body, so exciting a moment before, suddenly felt like it was suffocating her. She put her hands against his chest and pushed him away from her.

As soon as she did, Leo sat back on his heels, his frown as worried as it was confused. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you or—"

"No," she said, her voice hoarse as she scooted away from him.

"Viv—"

She turned away, feeling suddenly too vulnerable. She hated being afraid, hated the creeping sense of dread that was taking over, hated that the whole night had been a dangerous waste. She was too exposed again, the cold air shivering against every inch of bare skin, and she yanked the blanket off the bed to wrap it around her shoulders.

"Viv—"

She felt his hand on her arm, and she stood up abruptly, wincing as her bad ankle throbbed under the sudden weight. But even that couldn't pull her back to him.

"We've got nothing," she said, her voice catching. Swallowing against the knot that had tightened in her throat, Vivian took a shaking breath and tried again. "Double exes means gambling. That's what the private party was. And Rokesby was in a game when Buchanan died. It couldn't have been him."

"Well, maybe he…" She could hear the desperation in Leo's voice, could picture him trying to come up with something, anything, that would convince her not to worry. "He could have still been the one with the poison. You said they might have been different people."

"Maybe, but I'm not being accused of poisoning anyone." Vivian's hands shook where they clasped the blanket against her chest. She didn't turn to look at him. "And I can't prove it either way. I've got nothing."

The silence behind her felt like another person in the room with them. At last, she heard the bed creak as Leo shifted his weight to stand. She waited for the feel of a hand on her shoulder, an arm around her waist, not sure whether she wanted the touch or if she would pull away again. But he didn't come toward her.

"Well, then, we'll keep looking, right?"

He didn't say that they were nearly out of time. He didn't mention Honor Huxley.

Vivian didn't either. "Why don't you head to the washroom while I get changed?" she said instead, turning around, still clutching the blanket closed with both hands. "I'll get a bed made up on the floor for you."

For a moment, she thought he would protest, that he would pull her into his arms and hold her close enough to feel the thump of his heart against her own. She stared at him with wide eyes, silently hoping that he would come to her. If he did, she could lean on him again. She could let him convince her, at least for one more night, that everything would be okay.

"Leo." Her voice came out barely above a whisper as she reached for him.

But he was already turning away and didn't see. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he said hoarsely. "Back in a jiff."

By the time he came back, locking the door behind him, Vivian was curled up in bed, the covers pulled high enough that he wouldn't be able to see her face. She listened to the sounds of him moving around in the near-dark, settling at last on the floor next to the bed, where she'd laid out a pillow and quilt for him.

"Night, Leo," she whispered.

"Night," she heard him sigh.

She could feel tears burning against the back of her eyes, but she didn't cry. Vivian had rules, and she didn't believe in crying.