Chapter 29
29
I almost didn’t go.
Even with the invite in my hand, even with Taraj texting me twice to make sure I’d be there, I stood in my closet staring at my clothes like the right outfit might armor me from whatever the night was about to bring.
“Show up,” Raj had said. “She deserves that much. And so do you.”
He was right. But I didn’t go for me.
I went because Amaya was having a moment. The kind you only get once if you’re lucky. And no matter what pain lived between us now, I wasn’t about to miss her shine.
By the time I walked into the August Wilson Center, the place was alive. Music floated through the air—low jazz with a heartbeat thump under it. Like it had been curated just for her. People filled the space in curated chaos. Art lovers. Tastemakers. Photographers. The press. Even a few familiar faces from the studio scene pretending not to be impressed.
But all I saw was her.
Amaya stood near the far end of the gallery, surrounded by light and reverence. Her skin glowed under the soft gold wash of the spotlights. Her dress hugged her in a way that made my heart stutter, but it wasn’t just about how she looked. It was about how she moved. How people leaned in when she spoke. How her laugh carried above the low hum of the room and made everything else feel like background noise.
I watched her work the space like she’d done it a thousand times—but I knew better. I knew the nerves she hid. The way she double-checked everything. How hard she’d fought to get here. And God, I was proud.
But watching her from across the room, I also ached.
I saw her smile at someone—genuine, warm—and I felt it. That longing to be the one making her laugh again. To be the man she leaned into when she needed stillness. To be the reason her eyes softened the way they used to.
And then Taraj slid into her orbit.
My jaw tightened.
I wasn’t surprised to see him. It was his album cover on display beside her mosaic—the piece that had cracked her wide open and made the whole world see what I’d known for years. She was a fucking genius.
But seeing Raj talking to her, close, familiar and knowing he’d been around while I was too wrapped up in my own shit? Yeah, it burned. Hot and slow.
I didn’t move. Didn’t step forward. Just watched. Felt every breath in my chest like it cost me something.
Until she turned. Looked at me. Not past me. Not through me.
At me.
And for a beat, I couldn’t breathe.
Then—her fingers curled slightly, like she was reaching for something.
And that something was me.
She crossed the room without a word. No hesitation. No nerves. Just a woman on a mission.
When her hand reached for mine, I damn near lost it.
Her touch was soft, but it hit like a jolt. Like a circuit sparking back to life. I followed her, my hand locked in hers, my body moving on instinct. I barely noticed Raj lift his glass in our direction with that smug little smirk like he already knew how this would play out.
Maybe he did.
She led me to a tucked-away space off the main gallery. Somewhere quiet. Intimate. As soon as she closed the door behind us, the noise of the night melted away.
And all that was left… was us.
We stood in silence for a beat, the door clicking closed behind her. The music from the gallery faded to a soft hum outside the walls, and now, it was just us. Her back pressed to the door, my heart somewhere between my throat and my knees.
Her eyes didn’t meet mine at first. She looked down, arms folded across her body like she was holding herself together.
“I missed you,” she said quietly.
Those three words hit me harder than I expected. Not because I hadn’t longed to hear them. But because I had missed her too—with a kind of ache that never dulled.
I stepped closer, careful with her, like if I moved too fast she might slip away again.
“I missed you every damn day,” I said, voice thick.
She lifted her gaze to mine then, and it was all there—her hurt, her hope, her hesitation.
“I wanted to call you so many times,” she admitted, “but I didn’t know if you still wanted me to.”
I swallowed hard. “Amaya, there wasn’t a second I didn’t want you. I just didn’t know if I still deserved you.”
Her breath hitched, and her arms fell to her sides. “I didn’t know either. But I realize now that we had to go through this to understand each other better. To learn how to love each other better.”
I closed the distance then, slowly, giving her time to stop me if she needed to—but she didn’t. My hands found her waist, her breath caught, and I rested my forehead to hers.
“And do you understand me better.”
She nodded quietly. Her voice came just above a whisper. “Yeah, but so much time passed between us that it felt like it was too late.”
“I’ve only been waiting for you to let me back in, Amaya.”
She nodded, swallowing hard while pinning me with her beautiful brown stare.
“I’d be lying if I said I was okay,” I murmured. “Being away from you—it messed me up. Everything felt loud except the one voice I needed.”
“I tried to be okay,” she whispered back. “I tried to move on with my work, my life, but nothing felt right. I didn’t feel like me without you.”
I kissed her then. Slow. Deep. Like I was relearning the shape of her mouth, the sound of her breath, the way she melted when I touched her just right.
She pulled me closer, hands gripping my shirt. The heat between us flared—urgent, consuming—but something in both of us knew we couldn’t fall all the way in. Not tonight. Not yet.
Her dress was too beautiful. Her art too sacred. And she deserved to remember this night for everything it was—not just what happened behind a locked door.
I leaned back, breathless, my hands still cradling her waist. “Tonight is yours,” I said, brushing my thumb over her plump lower lip. “And I’m not gonna take that from you.”
“You’re not taking anything. You’re giving me everything I didn’t know I needed.”