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“Both have merit,” I mused, pretending to weigh pros and cons. “Rooftop has the skyline, the danger, the thrill of heights. Very on-brand.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “But beach has that whole moonlight-on-your-skin thing. Wet sand, crashing waves, you riding me while trying not to get caught …”
“God,” I muttered, my thighs clenching. “Why is that somehow hotter when you say it?”
“Because I mean it.”
I bit my lip. “We could start on a rooftop and end on the beach. A two-part experience.”
He smirked. “You know I’m going to be scouting locations the second we land, right?”
“I assumed you already had.”
“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” he said, voice low and promising. “There’s a private garden terrace at the top of a friend’s hotel in West Hollywood. Keycard access only. Panoramic views. No cameras.”
I inhaled sharply. “Add it to the list.”
“There’s also a waterfall trail in Topanga that no one hikes after dusk.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve really thought this through.”
He leaned closer, his hand drifting up my calf beneath the cashmere throw. “You inspire long-range planning.”
I laughed softly, drunk on the way he looked at me. “Just so we’re clear—this trip is about justice and vengeance.”
“Absolutely,” he said, his palm now resting warm on my thigh. “With occasional breaks for strategic field research.”
My heart beat faster, the tension between us winding tighter. “Strategic, huh?”
“You have no idea,” he said, his voice velvet and gravel and pure promise.
I didn’t. But I knew one thing for sure. Los Angeles was never going to see us coming.
I shifted in my seat, the mood softening as my thoughts turned inward. “You think I’ll ever go back to ballet?”
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I miss it, but I’m not sure I miss the politics, the perfection, the way it demands your entire identity. It’s like … ballet only ever wanted the version of me who didn’t screw up. Who didn’t fall. And that girl doesn’t exist anymore.”
Elias nodded slowly. “You know I can get your suspension lifted.”
I blinked. “What?”
He met my gaze evenly. “I’ve already spoken with someone on the board. Told them what happened. Told them what you’ve been through. They’re not heartless. They just needed someone to remind them how human greatness actually works.”
I swallowed hard. “And what if I don’t want to go back?”
“Then don’t,” he said simply. “But I wanted you to have the choice. Not the shame.”
Emotion welled in my throat, thick and unexpected. I looked out the window, at the impossible stretch of sky, and tried to find the words.
“Thank you,” I whispered finally.
He rose then, walked the few steps between us, and knelt beside my chair. His hands came to rest on my thighs, his touch grounding.
“You don’t owe me anything, Vivi. I’m not here to fix you or direct you. I just want to walk beside you while you figure out who you want to be now.”
I leaned forward, brushing my lips against his.