Rogue

Vivian Turner drummed her manicured nails against the polished mahogany table, wondering why she'd let herself be dragged to this family gathering. The evening skyline of the city stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the rooftop restaurant, but the view did little to improve her mood.

"Stop fidgeting," Emilia whispered, nudging her younger sister's elbow. "You look like you're plotting an escape."

"Maybe I am," Vivian muttered, adjusting the sleeve of her burgundy dress. "I barely know Jade Spencer. She's Jackson's wife's sister, for heaven's sake. That's practically a stranger with extra steps."

The private dining area had been reserved exclusively for this reunion. Jade Spencer had returned after years away, and apparently, that warranted gathering every branch of the extended family tree. Vivian had heard stories about Jade from Heather, who'd been married to Jackson Hayes long enough for his family to become entangled with the Turners.

Vivian was about to suggest slipping away for a "bathroom break" that might conveniently last until dessert when the door opened. She froze mid-thought.

The man who entered moved with quiet confidence, nodding briefly to Philip Grant before selecting a single armchair slightly removed from the clusters of conversation. Something about him—perhaps the silver threading his dark hair at the temples or the contemplative set of his jaw—made Vivian's pulse quicken.

"Earth to Vivian," Emilia said, waving a hand in front of her face. "Your eyes are practically falling out of your head."

Vivian didn't bother looking away. "Who is that?"

"No idea, but he's definitely too old for you."

"Says who?" Vivian countered, her gaze tracking his movements as he accepted a drink from a passing server. "Age is just a number when you look like that."

It wasn't the first time Vivian had been drawn to older men. Last year's brief relationship with her 38-year-old literature professor had ended predictably badly, but she'd never regretted it. There was something about maturity, about the weight of experience that attracted her more than the fumbling eagerness of men her own age.

And this man—whoever he was—carried himself with the kind of assured poise that made her imagine conversations over expensive wine and mornings wrapped in high-thread-count sheets.

The moment Jade Spencer entered, the atmosphere shifted. Jackson's brothers embraced her with uncharacteristic emotion, and even William Turner, Vivian's perpetually stern father, smiled warmly. Jade moved through the room gracefully, answering questions and accepting embraces until she reached the silver-templed man in the corner.

Their exchange was brief but intense. Vivian strained to hear.

"They found the last one," the man said, his voice deeper than she'd imagined. "The case is closed."

Jade nodded solemnly. "Natasha would be at peace knowing that."

The name hung in the air between them before Jade stepped forward and embraced him. Vivian felt an unexpected stab of jealousy at the familiar gesture.

"Who's Natasha?" she whispered to Emilia.

Her sister shrugged. "No idea. Ask Heather later."

The evening progressed with introductions and conversations. Vivian maneuvered herself closer to the intriguing stranger, catching fragments of others' interactions with him. Elian Harlow, she learned. Businessman. Something about imported spirits and international distribution.

When dinner was served, Vivian strategically claimed the seat across from him. Up close, she could see the faint lines around his eyes—not from age alone, but from some deeper experience. His hands were strong, elegant as they handled the silverware with precision.

"First time at one of these family gatherings?" Vivian asked, offering her most engaging smile.

Elian looked up, seeming to truly notice her for the first time. His eyes were a striking shade of gray—serious, assessing.

"No," he replied simply. "But it's been a while."

"I'm Vivian Turner. Heather's sister."

"Elian Harlow. Jade's brother-in-law."

The conversation might have ended there if Vivian hadn't been determined. "So you import spirits? That sounds fascinating."

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed his face. "Among other things."

"I'd love to hear more about it sometime," she said, holding his gaze a moment longer than necessary.

Before he could respond, Jackson called for everyone's attention to toast Jade's return. The moment slipped away, but Vivian had made contact. It was a start.

After dinner, as guests mingled with coffee and dessert, Vivian cornered Heather near the bar.

"Tell me everything you know about Elian Harlow."

Heather raised an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me you've set your sights on him."

"Why not? He's gorgeous, successful, and definitely not wearing a wedding ring."

"Because he's a widower with two teenage sons," Heather said, lowering her voice. "His wife died under some kind of classified circumstances about five years ago. Jackson says he's barely dated since."

Vivian absorbed this information, feeling a twinge of sympathy that did nothing to diminish her interest. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know the details. Something to do with Jade's former work. It's all very hush-hush."

On the drive home, Vivian and Emilia huddled in the back seat of their parents' car, safely out of William Turner's earshot as he discussed business with Katherine.

"I need to know more about him," Vivian whispered, opening her phone to search for Elian Harlow.

Emilia leaned in, her own phone already displaying search results. "Elian Harlow, CEO of Harlow Spirits International. Estimated net worth... oh my god, Vivian."

"What?"

"He's forty. You're twenty-eight. That's twelve years."

Vivian shrugged. "Twelve years of experience."

"It says here he has two sons—James is seventeen and Noah is fifteen." Emilia scrolled further. "Not much about his personal life though."

"Text Jackson. Ask if Elian is seeing anyone."

Emilia rolled her eyes but complied, typing quickly.

Is Elian Harlow currently dating anyone? Asking for a friend (obviously).

The reply came quickly: He's single as far as I know. But Viv should know he's not exactly on the market. Man's married to his work and kids.

Vivian and Emilia exchanged glances, then burst into giggles.

"How did he know it was for me?" Vivian asked.

"Because you weren't exactly subtle with your staring," Emilia replied. "I'm surprised you didn't start drooling into your crème brûlée."

Their father glanced back at them suspiciously. "What are you two conspiring about?"

"Just girl talk, Dad," Vivian said innocently.

William Turner had scared off more than one potential boyfriend with his intimidating "family interviews." After the disaster with Emilia's college boyfriend—who'd fled the house in terror after William's three-hour interrogation—the Turner sisters had developed a policy of keeping their love lives private until absolutely necessary.

Later that night, Vivian lay in bed, scrolling through the limited information she could find on Elian Harlow. His company maintained a polished website with a brief executive biography and formal headshot that didn't capture the magnetism she'd witnessed in person. Social media yielded nothing—apparently, billionaire widowers weren't big on Instagram.

She found an article mentioning his philanthropic work funding scholarships for children who had lost parents to violence, but nothing about his wife's death or his personal life.

Vivian sent a text to Emilia: Jackson must have his number. Keep trying.

The reply came quickly: He refused. Said, and I quote, "I'm not enabling Vivian's latest fixation."

Vivian frowned at her phone. Fixation? Rude.

But accurate, Emilia replied with a laughing emoji.

Vivian set her phone aside and stared at the ceiling, Elian Harlow's serious gray eyes still vivid in her mind. She'd need to be creative to see him again. A phone number would have been convenient, but Vivian Turner had never been deterred by inconvenience.

If Jackson wouldn't help, she'd find another way. Perhaps Jade would be more amenable—after all, what sister-in-law wouldn't want to see a lonely widower find happiness again? Or she could research his business interests, engineer a "coincidental" meeting at an industry event.

Vivian smiled to herself in the darkness. Elian Harlow might be twelve years her senior, might be focused on work and family, might even be reluctant to date again—but none of that changed the electricity she'd felt when their eyes met. And Vivian had always believed in following that spark, no matter where it led.

Tomorrow, she'd start planning. Tonight, she'd dream of silver-templed hair and serious gray eyes.