He cups my face gently. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, princess. And the best decision I’ve ever made.”
He hums as he kisses my temple. “And don’t think for a minute that this is one-sided. You’ve changed me too. The man you met was a husk. I hid myself behind a mask labeled rock star, anddidn’t realize I’d locked my heart away to keep from being hurt. I’m… I’m a better man than the smartass who burst into this cottage and was ready to arm wrestle you over who got the bed.”
We chuckle, but our true feelings soon burst through. As we kiss under the starry sky, a sense of peace settles over me. Whatever tomorrow brings—whether my parents show up or not, whether the performance is a success or people throw tomatoes—I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
We’re about to share our love story with the world, set to a soundtrack of our own creation. And I can’t wait for everyone to hear it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nyxx
The air in the dressing room crackles with nervous energy. Ana paces back and forth, her ornate gown swishing with each turn. I’m trying to project calm, but my stomach’s doing somersaults—not that I’d admit it.
“You okay, princess?” I ask, catching her hand as she passes, then pressing a kiss to her palm.
She stops, taking a deep breath. “I think so. Just… a lot of emotions. I haven’t heard from my parents, but…” She shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’m okay with it. Really.”
Pride swells in my chest. The Ana who arrived at the cottage months ago would’ve been devastated. This Ana? She’s ready to take on the world—without her parents, if necessary.
“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” I assure her, pulling her in for a quick kiss, then giving her bottom a gentle caress.
A stagehand knocks, calling out the five-minute warning. With one last shared look, we head to the wings.
The Hamlin Theater is a sight to behold. Once a grand opera house, it’s retained its old-world charm while embracing a grittier, more modern edge. Ornate gold-leaf decorations frame the stage, while exposed brick walls lend it an industrial feel. It’s the perfect setting for our genre-bending performance.
As the lights dim, a hush falls over the packed house. I scan the crowd, grinning at the sea of blue-streaked hair mixed with fancy evening wear. Our two worlds, colliding in the best way possible.
The first notes of Ana’s flute float through the air, ethereal and haunting. I join in, our melodies intertwining, telling the story of two people from different worlds finding common ground. The music swells, my band kicking in with a driving beat that sends electricity through the crowd.
We weave through movements that range from delicate and otherworldly to raw and gritty. The audience is with us every step of the way, gasping at unexpected turns, cheering at particularly powerful moments.
Then comes the big reveal. As the music shifts, Ana and I lock eyes. With a mischievous grin, she reaches down and, in one fluid motion, tears away the lower half of her gown. The crowd gasps as she’s revealed in ripped jeans, the remaining bodice ofher dress creating a look that screams “rocker chick chic.” Her final act of transformation is to pull the pins from her hair, blue streak flashing as the last of her perfect-prim disguise falls away.
On cue, my roadie sprints onstage, tossing me a tuxedo jacket. I shrug it on over my t-shirt and jeans, completing our role reversal.
Ana gracefully steps aside, gesturing to her chair. I sit, adopting the most prim and proper posture I can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t much. But the contrast draws appreciative laughter from the audience.
Then Ana does something that makes my heart swell with pride and love. After kicking off her heels, she assumes my signature one-legged stance, balancing perfectly as she launches into a blistering rock flute solo.
The crowd goes wild. Even my most devoted rats are on their feet, cheering for this classical-turned-rock goddess.
As we play the finale, having switched styles and pushed boundaries, I can feel the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. We’re not just performing—we’re breaking down walls, showing that music transcends genres and expectations.
The audience’s reception after we play our final notes is thunderous. And looking at Ana, rapturous and so damn proud… well, I couldn’t love her more.
For our encore, Ana and I take the stage. We play a softer, more intimate piece, incorporating melodies from Ana’s impromptutown square performance. It feels as though we’ve come full circle.
As the final notes fade away, the audience again erupts in applause. Ana’s eyes are shining as she takes my hand for our bow. And that’s when I see them—her parents—in the third row.
I recognize them immediately from the photos I’ve seen online—her father’s distinguished silver hair, her mother’s impeccable posture. They’re not whooping and hollering like the rats around them, but they’re applauding. There’s a look on their faces that seems to be a mix of surprise and grudging admiration.
I squeeze Ana’s hand, nodding subtly toward her parents. She follows my gaze, her breath catching. Her fingers twitch in mine, but her chin lifts. That small act of courage hits harder than any chord I’ve ever played. For a moment, I worry their presence might overwhelm her. But she smiles at them. Perhaps this is the first step in their journey from being overbearing to providing the kind of support and respect she deserves.
Now’s not the time for family drama, though. Ana turns to me, her smile brighter than ever.
“We did it,” she mouths over the continued applause.
“No, princess,” I correct her, pulling her close. “You did it. You found your voice, your style. You showed the world who Ana really is.”
