28. Winter
WINTER
I stare at my reflection, hands pressed to the edge of the vanity like I can hold myself steady if I grip hard enough.
The makeup, the costume, the tight bun at the crown of my head…
every detail is exactly how it’s supposed to be, and still I can’t shake the nerves crawling under my skin.
I run my finger over the tiny braid that is slicked back and tucked into my bun.
That’s for Tristan. I can’t wait for him to notice.
He will, because Tristan notices every little thing.
I’ve practiced for months, years, for this moment. Every late night at the studio, every blister and bruise. All of it has led here, and the weight of it makes my chest feel tight.
I drag in a breath, force myself to stand taller, but my pulse only races harder.
Then…three knocks at the door.
My stomach flips because I already know who it is.
Tristan. The love of my freaking life.
The door swings open, and there he is, shoulders filling the frame like he owns the whole damn world.
He does own my world, and he always has.
I genuinely love him so much it’s hard to process sometimes just how much.
I feel a blush rising up my neck and into my face when I see what he’s holding.
The biggest bouquet I think I’ve ever seen in my life.
Pink and white daisies, soft sprigs of baby’s breath threaded between them.
That’s our thing, mine, Lilac’s, Madi’s. The three of us love daisies so much that the boys are forever keeping vases full of them around the house. Seeing them here, now, in his hand… it feels like he thought of every detail, thought of me.
He extends them, steady, certain. “I thought you might need something to calm your nerves before you go on.” He doesn’t mean the flowers. He means him, because he is what keeps me sane, calm, collected.
I take them, my fingers brushing his, and warmth spreads through me. His gaze doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften. It pins me exactly where I am, like I’m the only thing that matters in his world.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice low, like he’s confessing instead of complimenting. His eyes zero in on the tiny braid I incorporated into my mandatory bun. He lifts his hand and runs his fingers along it gently and smiles down at me.
I don’t need to say it, because he knows, but I want to.
“I wanted something to remind me of you today.” My eyes catch on his tie.
Crooked. He’s not a suit kind of guy, but he’s dressed up for me.
I don’t even know how he cleared being here today.
It’s supposed to just be me and the judges.
I don’t question Tristan’s capabilities to sway people’s decisions any longer.
He gets what he wants, when he wants it, and today I’m very grateful for that.
My hand lifts on instinct, smoothing the silk, tugging the knot straight.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. Just watches me with that heavy stare that makes my stomach knot, like he wants to memorize the shape of my fingers against his chest.
When I drop my hand, my cheeks hot, he leans closer. “I love you,” he murmurs, quiet but absolute. “And I can’t wait to watch you dance tonight.”
He shifts then, pulling something from his pocket. A small shape pressed into my palm.
I look down.
My breath stops.
A locket. My locket. The one I lost when I was a child. We just talked about this the night he let me read his journals.
Shock slams through me because there is no way on earth that he actually found the real one. “You had it replicated?” My voice cracks. “The details… it looks just like it.”
I tear my eyes from it, glance up at him, and he’s already looking at me. Not smug, not proud. Just soft. He’s so fucking soft for me.
“Open it, dushen’ka,” he whispers.
My fingers shake as I find the clasp and snap it open. Inside, my mother’s worn and tattered picture on one side. My grandmother’s even more faded one on the other.
The air leaves my lungs in a gasp, and happy, yet confused tears burn at the edges of my vision. My throat is too tight, but I still manage to whisper, “Where did you find this?”
Tristan leans down, the brush of his mouth against my forehead in the gentlest gesture.
His voice rumbles low, meant only for me.
“I paid the Morettis back recently with a contact Sebastian and I have just like I told you would happen. Then it was my turn to ask for a favor. I’ve tried over the years, but I knew that they would have better access to track it down.
It had been pawned, but there’s no telling where it was all these years before it ended up there.
I didn’t think the photos would still be inside, but I suspect it was sold for not very much money and then forgotten. ”
My chest cracks open. I fling my arms around his neck, holding him as tight as I can, my face buried against him.
“I love you,” I whisper, broken and fierce.
“I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
” Gratitude burns hot, almost painful, because he’s given me back pieces of my family I thought were gone forever.
His hands press into my back, steadying me, and when he finally pulls back, his mouth finds mine. A kiss that’s soft but sure, a promise pressed against my lips.
“I’ll hold on to it for you while you dance,” he says when we break apart, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“Thank you,” I breathe, kissing him once more before he lets me go.
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone again.
I set the flowers on the vanity, the mirror throwing my reflection back at me.
Costume perfect. Makeup flawless. My chest still heaving like it might break apart.
I drag in a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but all I see is him. All I feel is him.
The air backstage is too warm, but I know that’s just my nerves.
I smooth my hands down my costume even though it’s perfect, not a thread out of place.
My chest tightens like every hour of practice, every sacrifice, every bruise and blister has gathered here to crush me all at once.
My breath comes shallow. If I let it, the nerves will eat me alive.
But then the curtain rises.
I step out, and for a heartbeat it’s too much, the lights, the silence before the music, the mere fact that I’m here to be judged.
Then I see him.
Tristan.
Sitting front and center like he belongs there, even though he shouldn’t be. He knows what I need right now, and that’s enough to chase the panic away. I breathe. And I smile, just a little, because he’s here. Because he will always be here when I need him.
I’ve never been able to say that about anyone else.
The first notes swell, and I take my place.
My chest rises with the music, arms lifting, fingers curving just so.
I fall into the choreography I’ve bled for all this time.
The arch of my back, the sweep of my arms, the stretch of my neck, it all feels sharper under the stage lights, like my body knows this moment is it.
My shoes glide as I spin, turns catching the rhythm exactly. The music pulses through me so fluidly that I swear it feels like a second heartbeat. The nerves burn away, replaced by something electric, something that makes me feel exhilarated.
Every motion is clean, every line exact. My chin is high, legs stretched out long, arms strong in each position. Years of practice stitched into each movement, but it isn’t just discipline. It’s defiance. Every perfect step is a declaration that I came this far.
Then I let go.
The leaps stretch wider, the spins faster, my body chasing the music like I might actually take flight. The spotlight blurs, and for the first time it isn’t about control. It’s freedom. It’s my soul pouring out through every extension, every beat, every breath.
And all the while, he’s there. Watching me like I’m the only thing in his entire world.
My chest swells as I move through the final sequence. Gratitude presses hot against my ribs for the way he always finds me. For the way he doesn’t care about rules or anyone else’s opinion. For the way I’ll never have to doubt him.
The music builds, carrying me higher. Each leap, each turn is a prayer, a promise, a thank you. Every step is for him just like his every breath is for me.
And as I dance, I can feel his eyes on me. They never waver, never leave, just like he’ll never leave me.
The last note fades, and silence rushes in.
My chest heaves, sweat cooling on my skin, and all I can hear is my own pulse in my ears.
The panel doesn’t speak. They never do. They simply rise from their seats and file out without a word.
It isn’t rude. It’s the way it’s done, and I won’t know my score until later in the year.
For the first time, I don’t care what the grade will be.
None of it matters. I know what I did out here.
I know I killed it. Every move, every breath, gave them everything I had.
More than that, I gave myself proof that I can do this.
That all the things that used to hold me back don’t own me anymore.
I leave the stage, and I can already feel the stiffness sinking into my muscles as I step into the hallway leading to the dressing room.
Madi and Lilac are waiting with flowers clutched in their arms, pink and white petals peeking out over the paper wrap.
Hayden and Callum lean against the wall like they’re bored out of their minds, which tells me that Madi and Lilac have already reprimanded them for pawing at them at least once.
I smile, waving as I greet them, but their attention shifts down the hall behind me.
Tristan.
He moves toward me with that slow, steady stride that makes it hard to look away.
Madi and Lilac squeal, crashing into me before I have the time to brace for the collision.
Their arms wrap tight around me, voices overlapping.
“We wish we could’ve watched! You were amazing.
I know you were, I’m so proud of you.” Their words tumble out fast, and it’s hard for me to know who is saying what, and I can’t stop smiling.
As Tristan closes the space between us, my body reacts before I think.
I slip past my favorite girls in the world, straight into his side, his arm already there waiting to catch me.
I bury myself against him, breathing him in, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me like I’ve never been more perfect.
Soft eyes. Completely undone just for me.
Madi lingers, grinning like she knows exactly what’s happening.
“Okay,” she says knowingly, giving me another hug before gesturing toward the flowers.
“We’ll take these home for you, but we’re going to leave you guys alone because Tristan doesn’t look like he’s super up for company right now.
” She giggles, tugging Lilac’s hand, and calls over her shoulder as they head down the hall, “We’re making a fancy dinner in your honor tonight, so try not to be long, you two! ”
Tristan cuts his eyes at her, sharp, but doesn’t bother with words. I elbow him lightly because even though Hayden would do the same to me, I can’t have my boyfriend beefing with my best friend over who gets to make me dinner tonight. “I love you guys!” I call after them.
I hear Hayden groaning like a child, “I don’t want fancy food, I want wings and homemade fries.”
“Today is not about you, Hayden,” Callum mutters, but the way he hitches his voice up lets me know that he’s mimicking Madi’s voice.
The timing is too tempting. Hayden waits until Lilac isn’t between them and shoves Callum hard into the wall.
Callum shoves him back just as hard in the other direction.
I think this is going to escalate until Callum pulls a crumpled bag of sweet and sour candy from his jacket pocket and tosses it at Hayden in some kind of truce.
Hayden rips it open, chewing a handful with a smirk before slamming a shoulder into Callum again.
It dies quick when Madi glances back, her long, blonde ponytail snapping with the motion. Both boys straighten instantly, the fight gone, trailing obediently after her and Lilac.
I can’t help laughing, the sound spilling out of me as they disappear around the corner. But when I tilt my face back up, Tristan hasn’t even noticed their antics. His eyes are only on me right now.
He lifts a hand, stroking gently over my hair that’s still pinned up tight, and bends down to kiss me soft and slow. The kind of kiss that feels like possession and worship at the same time.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless. “It won’t take me long to change,” I murmur against his mouth. “I’ll just shower at home… with you.”
His lips curve, but his eyes burn down into me. “I have something else in mind, dushen’ka.”