Adam stood at the base of the grand staircase, one hand resting lightly on the polished banister, the other tugging at the cuff of his tuxedo jacket. The chandelier overhead spilled warm golden light across the marble floor, and the scent of lilies from the foyer drifted faintly through the air.
He checked his watch but not because of the time — because it gave him something to do with his restless hands. It had been years since any gala had stirred him, yet tonight felt different. Tonight he wasn't thinking about investors or headlines. He was thinking about the woman upstairs.
Sofia.
