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He'd been watching her for nearly three hours, ever since she'd bumped him on her way to the bridal table. He'd nearly spilled his drink all over the tux, and the damn thing was a rental. Still, it was worth it. She was lovely, her figure soft and curvaceous, filling out the dress with more force of being and sensuality than any of the other bridesmaids could begin to muster. The pale pink dress accented her porcelain skin, and the white rose pinned into her dark hair was a beacon to his eye, allowing him to trace her movements across the grand ballroom of the downtown Sheraton. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and that was a dangerous thing. Unexpected. And Bruce Wayne hated the unexpected.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Selina watched the city, immune to the party around her. She stood on a terrace outside of the warm, bright ballroom, shivering in the wind, her thin satin bridesmaid dress providing poor protection against the cold night air. The high-energy big band sound, popular two generations ago, plowed through a Glen Miller standard as the social elite of Gotham kept pace with varying degrees of success.

An elegant auburn-haired woman clad in bridal white led her groom through the fast swing number, her laughter reaching Selina on the balcony and making her smile. They'd known each other for years, although Selina couldn't help but feel that her old friend was taking a step well beyond her now, into that mysterious world of husband and children and family that Selina had never wanted, or expected, to be a part of. It wasn't part of the plan. She shivered slightly, scanning the city again and again for the Signal, longing for some news of the Joker.

"It's cold," a man's deep baritone informed her. Selina found herself constructing his face from the sound of his voice. A large man, perhaps 6'4, two-thirty, two-forty-five, muscular, athletic build. Black hair, brown eyes, blandly handsome in the way of all rich Gotham sons. She turned, ready with a brilliantly artificial smile and a pleasant excuse she could use to slip away. And when she faced him, she discovered she had been right, and wrong. His eyes were blue, not brown, and he wasn't bland at all. He was no Adonis, either, but had such strong, interesting features that one would have unhesitatingly called him 'handsome' without considering the watchful expression lurking behind his eyes. He looked as though he rarely smiled, although he was doing so now, amusement making the edges of his full lips curl upwards.

"It's cold," he repeated. "And years from now," he said, stepping closer to speak into her ear, his breath warm against her cheek, "when people talk about the weather, they'll say, 'It's cold, but not as cold as the night Vesper Fairchild got married'."

Selina was considering his face and quickly realized she'd been staring. She didn't recognize this man, who reminded her of a lion among the contented housecats of eligible Gotham bachelors. Something dangerous and primal, who looked as out-of-place as she felt in the grand ballroom beyond the darkness of the balcony.

"Selina Kyle," she told him, liking the way he challenged her with his watchful eyes. As one of the wealthier women in the country, Selina had her fair share of suitors. None of them knew how to look at her properly, but this man did. His covert glances at her body were not appraising but appreciative. When his eyes returned to her face, he grinned, and she felt as though he would have winked as well.

"Bruce," he replied, and she liked the way he said his name. He didn't volunteer a family surname and all that came with it: bloodlines, financial information, expectations. Instead he seemed content to stay on this balcony and watch her with no hint of recognition flaring in his expression. Selina knew he must be aware of who she was: she was a hard subject to avoid in the media. So either he'd been living under a rock, or her identity wasn't important to him. Either way, the wedding reception had just gotten a lot more interesting.

He leaned against the railing that ran the length of the balcony, his long, lean body relaxed, friendly. "How do you know the bride?" he asked, sipping from a half-empty glass of champaign. Selina permitted her eyes one more long, slow sweep of his body before turning to watch the skyline again.

"We were friends in college," she replied. "How do you know her?"

"I don't," he grinned, downing the rest of his drink, Adam's apple bobbing. "I'm crashing. Shall we?" he invited, offering her his arm. Selina glanced up into his face, cautioning herself. This one could be very dangerous.

They hit the parquet dance floor just as Glen Miller gave way to Rogers and Hammerstein; a soft, jazzy rendition of 'Over the Rainbow' made most of the drunk or stoned wedding guests head for the bar. He held her lightly as they danced, leading her with innate skill and grace. She would have thought him to be a professional dancer, but his body was too muscular. And his face was a mystery to her, his eyes dark, almost seductive in their unreadability. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth and she kept trying to identify his frustratingly opaque accent. He might be from the East Coast, but she would have noticed him by now if he came from Gotham. Small talk seemed beyond them as the soft, dreamy music filled the ballroom, and Selina felt as though they were alone amid the crush of people. As the last note faded, they stayed close, bodies still touching. Her face felt flushed and she swallowed hard, her eyes too bright.

"Aren't you worried that you'll be found out?" Bruce asked gently. Selina looked at him in question. "Sentimentality doesn't suit you."

She frowned, pushing him away. His arms fell from her reluctantly. "I should go."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Selina replied. "You just reminded me why I don't dance with strange men." And with that, she turned, heading for the coat check, willing herself not to look back. While she waited for her wrap and scanned the sky yet again for the Signal, Vesper caught up to her, breathless and shining in her happiness.

"You're not leaving?" she questioned. "I haven't even thrown the bouquet, and you're supposed to fight off all the old maids to catch it. I wanted pictures."

"Sorry," Selina told her friend, nodding at the valet as he handed her a mink wrap and clutch. "Gotta run. You look beautiful," she said, kissing Vesper on the cheek. "Congratulations."

Vesper put a hand on Selina's arm. "Mind if I ask you something?"

"Sounds serious," Selina smiled. "You do know that what happens later tonight is a beautiful thing, right? I can draw you a diagram if you're curious about how it works."

Vesper grinned, shaking her head. "I think Larry and I have that under control. I just wanted to know why you were dancing with Bruce Wayne."

"Wayne?" Selina muttered, shocked. She scanned the ballroom, looking for the tall, handsome man with the watchful eyes. He had vanished. "He's…"

Vesper nodded, watching her friend carefully. "I thought you knew."

She recovered quickly, trying to appear less shocked than surprised. "Thanks, Vesper," Selina replied, withdrawing. "I'll see you when you get back from Europe. Take care of Larry."

"I will," Vesper promised, watching her friend exit the coat-check room and make her way towards the elevators. She sighed. "Bruce Wayne. Talk about bad timing."

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