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“No, not at all,” I manage to say with a sob. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” I lean over and kiss him, breathe him in, my heart almost bursting with happiness. “Will you help me?” I ask, holding out the necklace to him.

Smiling, he motions for me to turn around. Then he gently brushes my hair over my shoulder. The piece of jewelry is so light and delicate that I can barely feel it as he puts it on me. My fingers close around the pendant all by themselves.

“Thank you,” I say again as I turn back to him, my voice still sounding hoarse.

His smile widens. “It suits you.”

“You chose it, after all. And you suit me too.”

“Looks like it.”

“We can make this work, can’t we?” I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb touching his mouth. “Even if soon everyone knows and is talking about us.”

“Yes. We can handle anything. Even if they talk about us. It doesn’t matter what they say. It doesn’t count. It’s not important. We are important.” He says it with such conviction that I can’t help but believe him.

“Okay.” I snuggle up to him again with a sigh of relief, my hand still closed around the little O, which somehow isn’t so little. “How were you always able to see me? Even from the beginning?”

He puts a finger under my chin and lifts it until I look at him. His gaze hits me right in the heart. “You showed me everything about yourself from the very start, Ophelia.”

“Yes,” I whisper, and I think that’s how it should be.

Phoenix knew who I was from the moment we first kissed. And I think, somewhere deep down, I knew who he was too.

Epilogue

Ophelia

Five weeks later

A hand closes around my upper arm and pulls me into one of the many dark corners behind the stage. The next moment, familiar lips press briefly against mine, then Phoenix pulls away from me again. He’s smiling broadly, his eyes shining with exuberance.

“If Pearson catches us together like this, he might change his mind and kick you out after all,” I say, even though he’s nowhere to be seen backstage.

It’s the day of the Christmas performance, our final ballet. The theater is filling up by the minute, and Pearson is probably still out in the foyer talking to the board or other important people. In this little backstage corner, it’s just the two of us.

“How are you doing?” Phoenix asks, ignoring my remark. “Are you nervous?”

“No, just excited.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” His hand brushes mine, and our fingers intertwine, close to our bodies. If anyone spots us, at least they won’t see everything.

The news about us got around faster than expected. It’s no wonder, really. After all, there had to be a reason why Phoenix was transferred from the graduating class to the freshmen in the middle of the semester, and it didn’t take long for the speculation to point in the right direction.

Actually, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be when the truth got out. There was a lot of talk, and I felt like I was being watched all the time for the first few days, but only a few of my classmates actually dared to ask me about my relationship with Phoenix. Tyler was one of them, and Charlie and Celéste too. The others hoped to learn more from them.

Francesca didn’t say a word about it, but you could tell she wasn’t particularly happy about losing Phoenix for our class. I try not to worry about it too much, although it’s difficult. Sometimes I think she must hate me, but she hasn’t treated me any differently since she found out. Actually, she acts as if nothing has happened, and maybe that’s the problem. If the last few weeks hadn’t been so stressful with the performance approaching, I might have brought it up with her.

Or maybe not. But after the performance I might. After the holidays. When the new semester starts.

“It’s not quite the same,” I reply after a slight delay. “But I’m fine.”

“Are your parents here?” Phoenix raises a hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip.

“No idea.” I shrug, but I’m not as indifferent as I’m pretending to be. He notices immediately, of course. He knows I’ve been worrying about it for days.

“But they said they were coming, right?”

“Mom wanted to come, yes. And Dad at least didn’t say he wasn’t coming. We’ll see.” I look into his eyes, and I can forget about my parents for a moment.