"Irina," Christian said smoothly, his voice the perfect blend of charm and provocation, "would you do me the honor of the next dance?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, Irina glanced sideways, just once, toward her brother. Astana was pretending not to listen, scrolling through a list of names on his tablet like he hadn't heard the most transparent bait dropped three feet away.
Irina smiled.
Not innocent. Not naïve. The kind of smile that said, I know exactly what I'm doing, and I'm going to enjoy this.
"Oh, I would love to," she said sweetly. "But wouldn't it be rude to ignore my brother? He hasn't danced with anyone tonight. Not even his clipboard."
Christian's eyes gleamed. "I assumed he'd married that thing by now."
"I considered staging an intervention," she replied, offering her hand like it was a test, "but we're saving that for his birthday."
