Chapter 17 #3
Ani let out a loud laugh, then quickly buried her face in his chest.
“You, Raffi jan, are hilarious. And continue to surprise me in all the best ways—nineties pop-country references, ballroom dancing?”
He’d say it now. He’d tell her. She shared with him; he’d share with her.
He slowed their clip and then spoke. “I used to dance, you know. I stopped after Sev.”
Ani looked horrified. “Oh God, I didn’t realize. I would have never told my silly little story.”
“No, no, yours is legit, are you kidding? I’m happy you told me.”
She gave a small nod. “So, you took classes?”
“Yes, and competed.”
She blinked, her lips parting slightly, like she was seeing him in a new light. “Wow, okay. Surprise after surprise. Were you good?”
He shrugged. “I was getting good. Sev was always so supportive, came to my competitions. He and Mom. We kept it from Dad. Not manly enough, you know.”
He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. He hadn’t told anyone.
“I had no desire to, after Sev died. None. And not just competing—dancing at all. It felt polluted, cheapened.”
Because it had been about more than just some dance classes.
Yes, his mother had suggested them, but Raffi had been too scared of his dad finding out. So she brought in backup.
Raffi took a deep breath and shared with Ani.
“It was Sevan who pushed me, who reassured me. Who made it ‘okay,’ even though it was something we were doing without Dad knowing. Sev dragged me to my first lesson, clapped me on the back, and said, ‘You’re going to kill it, trust me.’ And he’d been right. ”
Dancing had been the one place Raffi let himself be something other than what their father expected.
It was where he felt weightless, where his body moved without thought, where he didn’t have to live inside the rigid, unspoken rules of their family.
It was freedom, and his mother, but mostly Sev, had given it to him.
Raffi continued. “But then…Sev was gone. The idea of dancing without hearing his voice cheering from the crowd, without him rushing out to the floor afterward, congratulating me like I’d just won an Olympic medal—it felt wrong.”
Like moving his body that way, trying to reclaim that joy, would be an insult. Like dancing without Sevan to witness it, to validate it, would erase part of what had made it meaningful in the first place.
He couldn’t say it out loud yet, could barely tell himself.
But then Ani looked at him with so much support in her eyes, with a quiet understanding, that it nearly undid him.
She wasn’t pitying him. She wasn’t rushing to fill the silence.
She was just…there. Listening. He felt like this was right, telling her.
Finally, she said, “I can imagine. So when did you start again?”
Raffi paused. A quiet breath, then: “Um. Now.”
Ani stumbled at his words and stepped on Raffi’s foot. He didn’t mind. She barely seemed to notice in her shock. “Wait. You mean to tell me you haven’t danced in—am I getting this right—ten years?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re dancing now. Why?”
Raffi exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment pressing against his ribs. The dance floor was full, the song rolled along in its romance, but in his mind, they were the only two people under the glittering lights of the tent.
Be brave, man, he told himself.
“You.”
The word hung between them, fragile but unshakable. Her eyes locked on his.
Raffi continued, “I felt like if I danced with you, I could do it again.”
She whispered, “Oh, wow.”
“Good ‘Oh, wow’?”
Ani nodded, quick little bobs. “Yes, absolutely. Thank you—thank you for sharing that with me. I feel like this could not have been easy.”
“Honestly, it’s been shockingly easy, dancing with you. Opening up to you.”
Then the smile she gave him. Her eyes so full. “You’re something else, Raffi Garabedian.”
He loved hearing his name out of her pretty, kissable mouth.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling a little nervous. Not wanting to fish for compliments but wanting, very much, to hear her thoughts on him.
“Oh yes. Your kindness, your humor, your generosity. Your rock-hard pecs.”
Now it was his turn to laugh, but really, he was lit up like someone had flipped a switch in him. A thousand watts shining on the marquee of opening night, letting everyone know something new was happening.
“Well, coming from you, that means a lot.”
“Coming from me?” she asked shyly.
“Ani,” he said seriously. “I want you to know, I—I—”
He hadn’t said these words in forever, not since Kami, but this time, it felt so different, not just lust or infatuation. It felt real.
He stalled on speaking but suddenly remembered Audre Lorde’s words, buried in his memory, a passage he had flagged and committed to memory.
Like he knew, one day, he would need them: “What is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
In Ani, he saw the woman who challenged him, who made him laugh, who shared her gifts with so much humility. He saw her in his too-short winery T-shirt, he saw her straddling him and bringing him back to life, he saw her private smile, he saw her under the water. And he had to tell her.
“—I really, really like you.”
Her eyes searched his like a lifeline, like his words were saving her somehow. Her brows pulled together, her expression a mix of seriousness, vulnerability, and shock. The fairy lights of the tent surrounded her lovely face like a halo.
The bridge of the song began, the lyrics desperate and pleading.
“Raffi, I—”
His chest tightened. Every muscle in his back drew taut, bracing for her response.
“—I feel the same way.”
And that was it. The confirmation he needed, the verbal key to his long-locked heart. Not an end but a beginning.
Raffi, still holding her, placed their joined hands against his heart. Let her feel it pound. Let her know how wild she drove him.
If he didn’t kiss her right now, he might die.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. Her eyes fluttered closed, taking in the moment.
“Please…” she pleaded.
The word cracked him open.
Shock, joy, and want all collided in one sweeping rush that left him dizzy. Their lips hadn’t even touched and already he felt undone.
She asked. And God, if she asked him for anything, he’d give it. Gladly.
His voice came out low and edged with restraint. “Ani, baby, I’m going to kiss you now.”
She took a huge breath, like she was gasping for air. “Yes. Yes,” she begged.
She hardly finished her sentence before Raffi tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers. The softest, sweetest lips he’d ever tasted.
He’d needed this. He’d needed her. Her and no one but her.
His hand slid from her back, up to her neck, threading her hair in his fingers. She moaned into his mouth, and he felt himself nearly blacking out at the ache in her want.
It couldn’t be real. Every kiss that had happened before this was a nonevent, simply skin on skin, but this—her lips, her mouth, her moans—set his entire body aflame.
He pulled back momentarily so he could see her pretty face, her sparkling eyes.
“Raffi,” she whispered, “that was—”
God, her voice, he could listen to it all day long. Soft, breathless, laced with the remnants of whatever spell they’d just fallen into together. Their hands were still clasped against his heart, and he knew she could feel it racing.
He kept his voice low, warm. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Her breath hitched, and something about it settled deep inside him, the way her reaction to him felt just as intense as his to her. He wanted to give her more—not just this, not just touch, but all of it. Everything. The kinds of things that stayed, that mattered.
“I loved it,” she said. Then the music ended, and it was quiet while the band introduced a new song, so he could hear exactly what she said, no mistaking it.
“But we can’t do that again.”