CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Lily
I don’t know when it happens. The moment the music swells, or when his tongue stills, or when I realize my body isn’t braced for impact anymore.
I just know that suddenly I’m shaking.
Not from fear.
From release.
I fold forward, holding onto the railings as I break apart for him. The second the last wave crashes over me, he’s placing my foot back on the floor, and he’s standing in front of me. He doesn’t say a word. He presses my face into his chest as the tears come fast and hot, my chest hitching like I’ve been holding this breath for years.
“I didn’t think I could ever feel happy again here,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I thought it was gone. That he took it from me.”
His hand slides up to the back of my neck. “He took nothing from you,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re still her.”
That’s what undoes me.
Still her.
I sniff, wiping my face with the back of my hand, embarrassed by how hard I’m crying and not caring at the same time. My chest aches, but it’s lighter now. Like something old finally cracked open and let the air in.
“I miss it,” I admit quietly. “Ballet. The discipline. The pain. The way it made me feel like my body belonged to me.” I swallow. “I think… I think I want it back.”
His arms tighten just a fraction. “Then you’ll have it,” he says, no hesitation. “When this is over, and we’re safe. We’ll make space for it.”
I nod against him, my tears soaking into his jacket. “I’ll start practicing again,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Even if I’m terrible at first. Even if it hurts.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be there for every step. I’ll make my gym a ballet studio for you.”
He shifts then, guiding me gently until I’m settled on his lap, my back to his chest, my legs tucked in close. I curl into him without thinking, fitting perfectly, like my body remembers this safety even when my mind forgets.
The music carries on. The dancers move. And this time, I let myself watch. I let myself breathe.
His arms stay wrapped around me the entire show, one hand resting over my heart, the other on my thigh, absentmindedly tracing patterns like he’s reminding me I’m here. That I’m alive. That this place doesn’t own my pain anymore.
It was never the ballet that ruined me. That was the place that became my home. My safe space that was torn away from me.
Every so often, I feel his lips brush my temple. My hair. My cheek.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
By the time the final bow comes and we applaud them, I’m calm but also drained. Whole in a way I didn’t think was possible this morning.
I lean back against him, tilting my head up just enough to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He smiles. “You’re mine, Lily.”
He threads his fingers through mine, lifting them to his mouth and placing a kiss.
“And you’re mine, Drago.”
A thought pops into my head that breaks the moment. “What happens now? We go home and pretend we’re nothing?”
He swallows. “In twelve days, we have a peace talk arranged with the enemy. If all goes to plan, then you will be safe. So will your father. We can tell him then, once it’s less tense.”
I nod slowly. “Twelve days of sneaking around?”
