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Instead of answering the question, which was irrelevant, I listed off all of the dance training I’d been through. It was extensive. I was a well-trained bride, and I wouldn’t embarrass myself on the dance floor.

He sighed, knocking back another glass of the dark amber liquid he’d been consuming since we sat down. It was immediately replaced with a new one by a diligent server. I didn’t know what he was drinking and I didn’t ask. Do not ask him questions or pry in any way, no matter how innocuous the subject. That rule was clearly imprinted in my brain.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he finally remarked, his voice deep with something I couldn’t name. “So if you don’t care to dance, are you ready to retire?” He met my eyes squarely with that question, and I felt a jolt of something move through me.

I couldn’t take his eyes.

I looked away. “Whatever you prefer.”

He thrust his glass at me suddenly.

I shook my head, taking the glass because it seemed to be what he wanted.

“It’s bourbon. Go ahead. Have a taste.”

I took a sip and nearly choked on the burning liquid.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. I’d amused him.

“Not a bourbon girl,” he remarked. “It’s not for everyone. More champagne?”

“Yes, please,” I said instantly. I should have been worried about overindulging, but just then I’d have done anything to soften the edges of the day.

He sighed heavily. “Well, if you’re not dying to go to bed early, we should probably commit to a few rounds of dancing.”

He stood, holding his hand out to me. I let him pull me to the dance floor and take me in his arms.

My belly felt warm from the champagne, and his proximity. Being close to him, his hands on my back, mine on his broad, hard shoulders, made it much warmer.

The shaking in my hands and the trembling in my lips had eased. Yay alcohol.

His mouth was near my ear, his voice, oh that voice, was a deep rumble that resonated through my whole body when he spoke. “You might want to smile. These pictures will likely end up in the local paper and, if I know my mother, People.”

I obeyed, eyes running over his tan throat, his thick, attractively stubbled jaw, his lips. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He was very tall, I noted pleasantly.

I didn’t even have to pretend to get lost in his stormy gray eyes. He was just as intent on mine, and he looked different suddenly. Hungry.

My whole body felt heated. My knees went a little weaker, but his arms were holding me so securely that it didn’t even slow us down.

I let him guide the dance, following his lead easily. Too easily. The strength and demand of his will issued an almost tangible command over my movements. He was clearly his father’s son; a man who was built to command, and I was sure that my body was a paltry conquest for him.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be as miserable as I thought. We moved well together. Naturally.

This was a sham marriage, but at least we wouldn’t have to fake the chemistry.

“What should I call you?” I asked him. I’d heard family and friends calling him Banks throughout the day, and I knew he went by that, his middle name, more often than not.

It took him a long time to answer, and I realized as I waited for him to speak that my question had somehow shattered the moment, whatever it had been. “Calder,” he said stiffly, his jaw setting stubbornly.

Despite mentioning multiple rounds of dancing, Calder deserted me to his brothers after just one.

The doom of my groom’s life was that he had too many male siblings. Too many other inheritors to his family’s vast fortune. From what I understood, they kept each other relatively honest, for spoiled rich kids. Poor little rich boy Calder had too many brothers and had to dance to his billionaire father’s tune if he wanted a slice of that thick cash pie.

I was Calder’s act of good faith.

My husband’s five brothers were in attendance. They ranged in age from fifteen to twenty-nine, and I danced with each one.

All five were far more pleasant than my husband. Wasn’t that just my luck?