He steps closer, thumb brushing the corner of my eye, catching the tear before it falls.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I wanted to do something that mattered to you. Something that felt like… home.”
And that’s it… the moment I melt. Completely, because now the only thing that really, truly feels like home is him.
I kiss him again, deeper this time, my fingers curling in the front of his coat, letting him feel how entirely undone I am.
He pulls back with a soft groan, forehead resting against mine.
“We should watch the movie,” he whispers, breathing unevenly. “Before we get kicked out of here for indecent exposure.”
“Okay,” I chuckle.
We settle into the middle row side by side. The lights dim. The projector flickers to life with a nostalgia that lives somewhere between memory and magic.
The black-and-white picture splashes across the screen.
Audrey Hepburn appears.
And something inside me breaks open, like I’m back in Moscow with my mother, my childhood with her coming back for just a moment, so that it eases the pain of losing her, just for a second.
Somewhere during the chase scene, I lean my head on Scottie’s shoulder.
He intertwines his fingers with mine.
Halfway through, he kisses the top of my head.
By the final scene, I’m certain, bone-deep certain, that this is the kind of love I thought people made up. That no one is this selfless and loves like Scottie does. And now I know that it exists, and it’s right here. It makes me want to love him back just the same because he deserves the same thing from me, and because I am in love with him.
When we step outside afterward, the air is colder than when we went in, the sun has completely set, and now it’s dark out.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For tonight.”
“You’re welcome, KitKat,” he says, using a nickname that I’ve learned to love because it’s only from him. “Do you want to stop for ice cream?” he asks, voice hopeful, almost boyish.
I shake my head slowly.
“No.” I step closer, wrapping my hands in his jacket to pull him closer. “I’d rather go home.”
“Oh yeah,” he says with a smirk, his eyes sparkling back at mine. “And what’s at home?”
“A bed where I can properly thank you for tonight.”
His pupils darken, and I love how easy it is to turn him on. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”
I let out a giggle as he pulls me down the sidewalk to the car as if we can’t get there soon enough.
I can’t help but hope we get more nights like this.
And that my father has decided to give up. I want to believe we’ve won, but I still know my father better than that.
Chapter Eighteen
KATERINA
It’s opening night, and though I’m disappointed that Luka and Scottie won’t be here, I am so grateful for this opportunity and privilege to be dancing here tonight.
Backstage is a living, breathing thing. Bodies are rushing in all directions, voices echoing all around me, stage managers with headsets and clipboards barking cues like they’re conducting airtraffic control in London-Heathrow Airport. Costume racks line the walls along with pointe shoes. The orchestra is warming up in the pit.
