The clamoring started to fade until you could hear every throat cleared in the ballroom.
Vince tapped his fork against his bottle of whiskey so hard, I thought it was going to shatter.
“Shut the fuck up!” He yelled into the crowd, “except for you,” he said, pointing to a woman with wavy, espresso hair framing dangerous cheekbones and fire engine red lipstick.
“Will you marry me?”...