"I'll never know what made it so exciting
Why all at once my heart took flight
I only know when he began to dance with me
I could have danced, danced, danced all night"

― Alan Jay Lerner, "I Could Have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady

Prologue

A line of limousines and other luxury vehicles idled as decadently dressed guests stepped out of them, most assisted by chauffeurs. Audrey Campbell pressed her face against the glass, eyes straining to see through the inky blackness of the window tint as she tried to catch a glimpse of Gotham City's finest.

This was her second date with Chad something or other. He had been a blind date set up by her friend, Beth, and it had gone well; well enough, at least, that they had agreed to a second. Now he was whisking her off to a charity ball thrown by Miranda Tate, a name and face Audrey had only ever seen in the papers or on the news.

She took a deep breath, counted to three, and slowly exhaled, rubbing her palms along the slick leather seats of the interior. In the year that she had been back in Gotham, she had been on several dates. None of them had been this fancy or made her this nervous. She hadn't grown up in the poorer parts of the city, but her family was never what anyone would have considered wealthy.

A glance to her left confirmed that her date was still on his phone. He had been talking almost non-stop since he'd picked her up. "The price of doing business, I'm afraid," he lamented, covering the speaker as she'd slid in next to him.

They briefly locked eyes and she held up her compact mirror. He nodded, an indulgent smile on his face. He looked away, now barking orders into the phone in a stern voice. She rolled her eyes and made sure her carefully (and rarely) applied makeup had not melted off somewhere between the townhouse she shared with her dad and the sprawling party venue.

A beep signaled the end of the call.

"Ready, darling?" he asked, putting on a silver Venetian doctor mask.

He stepped out first, missing her grimace at the pet name, and offered his hand as Audrey slipped her own mask on. It was a crimson and gold number with a large flower and fake cranberry-like jewels hanging off one end that matched the deep red dress she was wearing.

The walk from the limo to the ballroom was a blinding blur. Audrey was glad for the anonymity of the mask as photographers snapped their cameras. Under no circumstances did she want her face to end up attached to some story in the gossip column. The ladies at work already had enough ammunition to tease her with between her general lack of love life and an impossible work ethic; she did not need to pour straight gasoline on that fire.

As if by magic, a champagne flute appeared in her hand. She had just put the glass to her lips when Chad linked his arm through hers and towed her through the crowd. It gave her no time to appreciate the scene, or people, around her.

"Phillip Stryver," he whispered as he steered her toward a corner where a suited man wearing a permanently displeased expression stood.

Audrey found herself shoved forward unceremoniously. Like a lamb being inspected before slaughter, she thought.

"Mr. Stryver, I'd like you to meet my date, Miss Audrey Campbell." She smiled in a way she hoped seemed sincere. "Audrey works at Gotham General Hospital."

"Pleasure," he said with a weak shake of her hand before launching into a business discussion with Chad. Her father had always put stock in a man's handshake and his belief had spilled over to his daughter.

He's as arrogant as he is nicely dressed. God, I could never be a politician's wife, and at this consideration, she gave an unattractive snort. Neither man heard her commit the unladylike offense, but a figure standing just behind Stryver chuckled.

Until that moment she had been completely unaware of him. He was tall, nicely dressed, but cheap compared to others in the room. His mask was a basic black Zorro number. She took him in; his stance: rigid, clothes: non-descript, invisible: check, eyes: everywhere. Bodyguard. He had to be. She glanced around the room wondering which hoity-toity political figure he was working for. Curiosity piqued, but unable to pick his patron out of the sea of finely dressed people, she looked back to study him again. She decided she liked him as he was one of the least pretentious people in her immediate vicinity; he had found her faux pas funny, at least, and he had a sexy laugh.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She could feel the heat on her cheeks but stared on. Under the mask, his eyes were a lovely shade of blue-green. They locked on to hers as though encouraging her to make the next move. A tingling sensation crept over her, warming her entire body.

A high-pitched laugh from nearby startled her and, just like that, the spell was broken. Emboldened by their brief staring contest, she shot him a wink before turning her attention back to her date.

But the thrill of it all was short-lived. Chad and Stryver continued to talk business for what was easily the longest fifteen minutes of her life. She soldiered through by politely peppering their conversation with questions before boredom got the better of her.

"Sorry," she interrupted, touching Chad's arm. "Did you want to dance?"

Chad flashed her a patronizing grin. "In just a moment, darling," he hissed under his breath.

With an annoyed sigh, she downed the rest of her champagne and stole another flute off the tray of a passing busboy.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.

In that time, she had managed to have lovely conversations with an attorney from the DA's office and the Mayor's wife. There had also been quite a stir when the reclusive Bruce Wayne had crashed the party. Audrey caught a glimpse of him and, having expected someone of Quasimodo caliber, was disappointed to find he was just another boring rich man.

As Chad continued to pay no attention to her, Audrey checked her phone and drained the last of a gin and tonic. At some point, she had graduated from champagne and was now wallowing at one of the tables that had been placed on one side of the room.

Like a sad wallflower at prom in a romcom, she thought, trying to recall which John Hughes movie that had been. Maybe all of them.

She squinted at her phone screen as she tried to locate the right text thread. Bingo! She pumped her fist in the air, having managed to find her best friend Beth's name. A man standing next to her furrowed his eyebrows at her and stepped away. Whoops. Perhaps the wallflower had had a little too much to drink.

To: Beth
SOS. Chad is THE WORST.

To: Audrey
Oh no! What's happening?

To: Beth
I think Chad's under the impression that his boss is his date.

To: Audrey
Booooo! I'll make it up to you. With wine. Promise.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, dropping her phone in the process. She watched the bodyguard pick it up. His eyes were hypnotizing as he handed it back to her and she wondered what he looked like without the mask. She opened her mouth, but he put a finger to his lips and held out a hand. Giddy with excitement, she took it and followed him to the dance floor.

A beautiful classical piece played as dresses swished past and masked couples danced all around them.

Am I Cinderella? What is happening?

She did not dare voice these thoughts aloud for fear of breaking the spell a second time. Instead, she drank it all in, the steady hand on her back, graceful step, his vaguely woodsy, but not overpowering, scent. She didn't even spare Chad a glance as she whirled, twirled, and tried not to step on any toes. She was light-headed, drunk on alcohol and attraction. This was what the whole night should have been like.

Audrey's groan at the end of the dance was lost in the clapping. Rosy-cheeked and slightly sweaty, she ripped off her mask, shaking loose some of her dark hair. The bodyguard tucked it behind her ears before he took her face between his hands, examining it as though trying to memorize every detail.

Then he kissed her.

His lips were surprisingly soft, and she could feel the scratchy beginnings of stubble on his chin. Her eyes were closed when he pulled away and when she finally opened them, he had disappeared into the throng of people.

"Oh my god," she whispered, swaying slightly as she touched her fingers to her bottom lip. A smile, the first real one of the night, lit up her face. No one was going to believe her. Not in a million years.

(*)

Later, after everything went to hell, Audrey would come back to this moment again and again.