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knuckles. “And my friend Liz.”
    “Welcome to Warehouse 12. You’re enjoying yourselves?”
    “The music’s great.”
    When the waitress came with the drinks, Alex plucked the tab off the tray. “Beautiful women who come to my club for the first time aren’t allowed to buy their own drinks.”
    Under the table, Julie nudged Elizabeth’s foot while she beamed at Alex. “Then you’ll have to join us.”
    “I’d love to.” He murmured something to the waitress. “Are you visiting Chicago?”
    “Born and bred,” Julie told him, taking a long swallow of her drink. “Both of us. We’re home for the summer. We’re at Harvard.”
    “Harvard?” His head cocked; his eyes dazzled. “Beautiful and smart. I’m half in love already. If you can dance, I’m lost.”
    Julie took another drink. “You’re going to need a map.”
    He laughed, held out his hands. Julie took one, rose.
    “Come on, Liz. Let’s show him how a couple of Harvard girls get down.”
    “Oh, but he wants to dance with you.”
    “Both.” Alex kept his extended hand out. “Which makes me the luckiest man in the room.”
    She started to decline, but Julie gave her another version of the eye behind Alex’s back, which involved a lot of rolling, eyebrow wiggling, grimacing. So she took his hand.
    He wasn’t actually asking her to dance, but Elizabeth gave him credit for manners when he could have left her sitting alone at the table. She did her best to join in without getting in the way. It didn’t matter, she loved dancing. She loved the music. She loved the noise rising around her, the movements, the smells.
    When she smiled it wasn’t practiced, just a natural curve of her lips. Alex sent her a wink and a grin as he laid his hands on Julie’s hips.
    Then he lifted his chin in a signal to someone behind her.
    Even as she turned to look, someone took her hand, gave her a quick spin that nearly toppled her on her heels.
    “As always, my cousin is greedy. He takes two while I have none.” Russia flowed exotically through the voice. “Unless you take pity and dance with me.”
    “I—”
    “Don’t say no, pretty lady.” He drew her close for a sway. “Just a dance.”
    She could only stare up at him. He was tall, his body hard and firm against her. Where Alex was bright, he was dark—the long wave of his hair, eyes that snapped nearly black against tawny skin. As he smiled at her, dimples shimmered in his cheeks. Her heart rolled over in her chest and trembled.
    “I like your dress,” he said.
    “Thank you. It’s new.”
    His smile widened. “And my favorite color. I’m Ilya.”
    “I’m … Liz. I’m Liz. Um.
Priyatno poznakomit’sya.
”
    “It’s nice to meet you, too. You speak Russian.”
    “Yes. Well, a little. Um.”
    “A beautiful girl wearing my favorite color who speaks Russian. It’s my lucky night.”
    No, Liz thought, as, still holding her close, he lifted her hand to his lips. Oh, no. It was her lucky night.
    It was the best night of her life.

3
    T HEY MOVED TO A BOOTH . I T ALL HAPPENED SO SMOOTHLY , so seamlessly, it seemed like magic. As magical as the pretty pink drink that appeared in front of her.
    She was Cinderella at the ball, and midnight was a lifetime away.
    When they sat he stayed close, kept his eyes on her face, his body angled toward hers as if the crowds and the music didn’t exist. He touched her as he spoke, and every brush of his fingers over the back of her hand, her arm or shoulder was a terrible thrill.
    “So, what is it you study at Harvard?”
    “I’m in medical school.” It wouldn’t be true, she promised herself, but it was true enough now.
    “A doctor. This takes many years, yes? What kind of doctor will you be?”
    “My mother wants me to follow her into neurosurgery.”
    “This is a brain surgeon? This is big, important doctor who cuts into brains.” He skimmed a fingertip down her temple. “You must be very smart for this.”
    “I am. Very smart.”
    He laughed