Page 52 of Vance

His palm is warm against mine, welcoming and comfortable. He leads me onto the floor as the band shifts into something slow and melodic, pulling me into his arms with practiced ease. We used to dance like this in his loft, barefoot on hardwood floors, with music playing on his phone while he spun me around and kissed me until I was dizzy.

“So,” Connor exhales, his hand settling at my waist, respectable and light. “How is the beautiful Sophia Bennett?”

“Ashford,” I correct automatically, the name tasting less strange on my tongue. “It’s Sophia Ashford now.”

His eyebrows rise, surprise flickering across his handsome features. “Ashford? As in… The Ashford Group Ashford?”

“Vance.” I nod, keeping my expression neutral.

“When did you get married?” he asks, and I hear the edge to his voice, the hurt he’s trying to hide.

“About two months ago.”

“Two months?” He laughs, a sharp, disbelieving sound. “You married Vance Ashford two months ago? I have to admit, the rumors about him gave the impression he wasn’t exactly the marrying type.”

“People change,” I reply, which is true enough.

“Are you happy, Soph?” Connor studies my face, his eyes softening with that all too familiar look of the book who could always read exactly what I was thinking. “Because, while you look like a million bucks, you don’t seem like yourself. Where’s that bubbly girl I remember?”

People change…

I can’t exactly fault Vance for that. I haven’t been that carefree girl in a long time, not since losing my parents and suddenly becoming the person Kiki needed. The careless parts of me got buried as I made sure my little sister never had to wonder whether someone would be there for her.

“I’m good, Connor. I’m happy.” The words come easier than they should, because for all the complications, there are moments when I mean them.

He studies me for a long beat, clearly unconvinced. “Okay,” he says finally. “Well, my number hasn’t changed. If you ever need anything, Soph—anything at all—you know how to find me.”

There’s something deliberate in the way he says it, as though he’s leaving the door open for me to admit what he knows I won’t say aloud. I give him a small cordial smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I glance over Connor’s shoulder and find Vance standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching us with his hands clenched at his sides. His face is composed, almost unnervingly so, but there’s nothing calm in his eyes. They’re dark and heated, fixed on Connor’s hand resting at my waist before slowly lifting to meet mine as the muscle in his jaw ticks. The message in his features is unmistakable even from across the room. He does not like Connor touching me.

Before I can react, he stalks across the dance floor with long, purposeful strides, parting the crowd like Moses. Connor feels me stiffen in his hold and spins me slightly to follow my gaze. Seeing Vance approaching, he pulls me closer, his hand tightening protectively around my waist, a gesture that makes everything worse.

Vance reaches us, his presence overwhelming and jealousy palpable. His eyes remain locked on mine, dark and unwavering, the heat in them sending a shudder down my spine.

“I’m sure you understand…” Vance’s voice is low and controlled, each word clipped as he slowly shifts his gaze to Connor. “But my wife doesn’t dance with other men.”

“We’re old friends. I was just⁠—”

“Leaving,” Vance finishes for him, his arm hooking around my waist to pull me from Connor’s hold. “You were just leaving.”

Connor’s eyes flit from Vance to me with concern. I give him the smallest nod, a silent plea not to make this worse. He hesitates for a moment before stepping away and melting into the crowd with one last worried glance over his shoulder.

Vance’s hand closes around my elbow, his grip firm but not painful, and he propels me toward the exit at a speed that makes me dizzy. I don’t have time to protest, explain, or do anything but stumble after him.

“Vance—” I start, my voice trembling as we step into the empty elevator.

“Don’t.” The lone word is a heated whisper in the confined space. “Don’t say a fucking word until we get in the car.”

I swallow whatever explanation was forming and stare straight ahead with tears welling in my eyes as the elevator carries us toward the lobby. The silence between us is suffocating, neither of us speaking while we cross the marble lobby. Outside, Vance doesn’t wait for the driver to open the limousine door. He reaches it first, pulls it open himself, and guides me inside with a firm hand at my back.

The privacy partition is already raised when I settle onto the leather seat, my heart hammering against my ribs, my hands trembling in my lap as Vance slides in beside me. He remains rigidly quiet as we pull into traffic, sitting rigidly beside me with his hands curling into fists on his thighs. I can feel the anger radiating from him without him saying a single word.

I press my lips together, fear lurching my heart into my stomach and regret coiling in my stomach. I’ve seen him angry before. He’s been cold, calculating, and distant. But I’ve never seen him like this.

When he finally turns toward me, his voice is rough as he commands, “Over my knee.”

I turn toward him, not comprehending. “What?”