It’s a painting.
Intricately done. Large enough that it must have taken hours.
Of me.
The icy blue waves in the background are exactly how I pictured them on the plane when he told me to breathe. The tiny freckles beside my nose. The dark haze in my eyes. Even the way I do my eyeliner.
I swallow hard, my throat burning.
I glance at the bottom corner.
His signature.
And a small heart beside his name.
Tears spill freely down my face. Not just because he’s talented—but because he spent his time paintingme. I am the art to him. Something worth studying. Worth memorizing.
Carefully, I place the painting on the bed and reach for the white envelope lying beside it. My fingers tremble as I open it and read.
Lastochka.
I promised I’d make this right for us. Your heart is special, and I want to be the man to treasure it.
To do that, I have to be worthy. And there are many truths about my past that I need to tell you.
Art for me is what quiets my mind. And I draw what inspires me.
Which is you, Lily. You inspire me to be a better man.
But I also know there are parts of yourself that you’re hiding, just as I am. Things we’ve both been too scared to confront on our own.
In the wardrobe, you’ll find a dress for this evening. I want to watch you fall in love again.
Maybe it’s not dancing. But perhaps you’d like to join me to watch the ballet as my date?
You saved me.
Let me help you find yourself again.
I’ll be waiting for you at the theatre. Charlotte will escort you there. 8 p.m. tonight.
If you say yes, this will be the start of the rest of our lives.
No more surviving. I want us to live.
Love,
Drago.
I read it once.
Then again.
A few weeks ago, the thought of ballet would’ve made my knees weak in the worst way. A dream I thought I’d never touch again. One that used to make me physically sick just thinking about.
But now?
The idea of sitting beside him. His hand in mine. His presence grounding me. I can do it. I want to live again.
