The problem with wearing her hair up at these functions was that she never could guarantee the style would stay intact. Iris glanced around the crowded hotel ballroom. No one was watching her except some guy near the door who’d obviously crashed the black-tie affair. With his leather jacket and beat-up jeans, it wouldn’t take long for security to escort him out.

Pity, he was vaguely familiar and kind of sexy, in that tall, dark and dangerous sort of way. Not that he was her type. No, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake her mother had when she fell in love and married a Vegas magician.

Iris touched the back of her head, her smile firmly in place as she re-anchored three loose bobby pins.

Wending his way through the crowded party, David approached with two glasses of white wine and handed her one. “Do you need to go to the powder room to fix your hair?”

“I can’t tell. Do I?” She turned her head and awaited his judgment. David liked things perfect and orderly, just like she did. He led a normal, trustworthy and uncomplicated life, and that’s why she’d accepted his marriage proposal two weeks before. She tightened her left fingers, to reassure herself that she hadn’t forgotten to put on the engagement ring.

“Actually, it looks fine,” he said. When Iris faced him, he raised his glass. “To the most beautiful woman in the room.”

David really was sweet, and he openly adored her. Handsome in a blond news-anchor sort of way, he looked polished and well combed with just the right hint of tan. He’d made a success as junior partner at the law firm and made friends with his easy-going charm-important attributes to launching his political career. The man was practically perfect.

She rose on her toes to kiss him, but David stepped back. “You’ll ruin your lipstick.”

“Right.” She smiled up at him, and he bussed her on the cheek. Much better for both of them.