“Same thing.”
Outside, the applause has long faded, but the echo of our music—our love—still thrums beneath my skin, steady as a heartbeat.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Epilogue
One Year Later…
Anastasia
The clink of champagne glasses mingles with laughter. Nyxx’s palm rests at the small of my back, steadying me as we greet guests at our engagement party at Le Petite Chat, the little French restaurant that somehow makes New York feel intimate.
“I still can’t believe we’re here,” I whisper to Nyxx, squeezing his hand.
He grins, his mismatched eyes twinkling. “Believe it, princess. You’re stuck with me now.”
“Exactly right, Nyxx. No refunds, no exchanges.”
As if on cue, my mother approaches, looking impeccable as always. “Anastasia, darling, this is lovely. Although I still think the Plaza would have been more appropriate.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling. “But the Plaza doesn’t hold memories like this place does. This is where Nyxx took me after the first New York performance of the Pipers’ Rebellion.”
She nods, a small smile on her lips. “Of course, dear. You’re right. This is… perfect.”
Nyxx leans in, kissing my cheek, then whispering, “See? She’s trying.”
And he’s right. It hasn’t been easy, but my parents are making an effort. They’re here, they’re supportive, and they’re learning to respect my boundaries.
“Nyxx!” a voice calls out. We turn to see his mother, Linda, waving from across the room. She’s chatting animatedly with my father, of all people.
“Should we be worried?” I joke as we make our way over.
Nyxx chuckles. “Nah, Mom’s probably just regaling him with embarrassing childhood stories. You know, standard engagement party fare.”
As we approach, I catch the tail end of their conversation.
“…and then little Nathan—oh, sorry, Nyxx—decided to give himself a haircut with my sewing scissors. Blue streaks were definitely an improvement over that!”
My father actually laughs, a sound I’m still getting used to hearing in Nyxx’s presence. “I can only imagine. Our Anastasia was always so proper. Although I suppose she’s loosened up quite a bit these days.”
“Thanks to your son, Linda,” I say as I join the conversation. “He’s taught me it’s okay to color outside the lines.”
Nyxx wraps an arm around my waist. “And she’s taught me the value of structure. We balance each other out.”
His mom beams at us. “I’m just so happy you two found each other. And in Hamlin, of all places! Who would have thought that little cottage would change everything?”
“Speaking of,” my father says, stepping up beside her, “your mother and I were thinking of setting up a scholarship fund in your name—for young musicians who need a break. What do you think?”
The breath catches in my throat. “That’s… amazing. Thank you.”
“We’d love your input on the details,” my mother says, patting my hand. “We just wanted to do something that honors what you’ve built.”
For the first time in my life, their approval feels like a bonus, not a requirement.
As if on cue, Zoey and Eli from the Pied Pipers appear, champagne glasses in hand.
“There’s our favorite classical rocker!” Zoey exclaims, pulling me into a hug. “Ready for the Midwest leg of the tour?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Can’t wait. Perfect timing, so I don’t have to miss any of my Philharmonic gigs.”
