Page 43

Chapter 43

Amelia

T obias is still asleep beside me, all that dangerous energy from last night softened by the morning light spilling into the room. My eyes trace the rose inked on his chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath, and suddenly, I'm fifteen again, clutching a funeral program with shaking hands.

The day we buried my father was all bright sunlight and hollow voices. The whispered condolences scraped against my nerves like broken glass, and I remember the way my black dress stuck to my skin, how the church pews felt too hard, and how everything just felt wrong.

Tobias had stood beside me—this seventeen-year-old boy trying so hard to be my anchor when my entire world was collapsing.

He'd waited until everyone left before approaching the fresh grave, and I watched him from a distance through grief-blurred eyes, numb and empty, as he picked up one of the roses that had fallen from the flower spray. Even now, years later, I can see his hands cradling that flower like it was something precious instead of a castoff from the worst day of my life.

"Keep it," he'd said later, standing awkwardly in my bedroom doorway. "To remember." Like I could ever forget the way my world had cracked wide open. As if I needed a physical reminder of the day we put my father in the ground.

But I kept it.

That rose is still pressed between the pages of my father's last gift to me—a biography of Anna Pavlova, the prima ballerina who danced like she had wings. I haven't opened that book since I slid the flower between its pages, too afraid of what memories might spill out. Sometimes, I wonder if it's still white or if it's faded over time.

Looking at Tobias now, at the rose forever etched into his skin, I realize he understood something I couldn't back then. Some memories are worth keeping, even the ones that hurt.

Tobias looks like something that's almost too beautiful to touch, but god, I don't want to stop touching him.

I glide my fingers across his abs before trailing them upward over his chest. One side is dominated by the lion tattoo, its mane sprawling across his shoulder, while the other is softened by the rose—a perfect contradiction. The lion exudes power and strength, while the rose represents something calmer. Together, they’re chaos and control—wild but perfectly balanced, just like him.

I'm addicted to the way his skin feels under my fingertips, drunk on the fact that I'm allowed to touch him like this.

My eyes drift to the piercings in his nipples, and the temptation is too much. When my mouth finds the first barbell, I flick my tongue against the cool metal until his breath catches. I can't help but chase that reaction, moving to his other nipple, tugging the piercing with my teeth, just to hear him make that sound again.

His hand slides into my hair—not gentle, not rough, just present. "Morning, Firefly."

"Morning," I murmur against his skin, finally giving in to the urge to run my tongue along his jaw before pressing a kiss to his lips as if it's the most natural thing in the world for me to do.

Like this is just another morning, just another kiss.

But because my brain hates me, I'm hit with a flash of insecurity. What if he doesn't want this? What if I'm overstepping? His eyes open and lock onto mine, reading me like he always does.

"Don't get in your head."

His voice is soft but leaves no room for argument as his hand cups my jaw, tilting my face so I can't look away. His thumb brushes my cheek, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his sleepy smile doing dangerous things to my heart.

"If you need to talkabout this, we'll talk. If you don't, then we won't. But don't get lost in here." He taps my temple gently, his touch grounding. "We've never hidden from each other, so if you need to talk, you talk to me."

"Is this as confusing for you as it is for me?" I whisper, hating how vulnerable I sound.

"Hell yeah," he says, and then he laughs. "But it doesn't feel like I'm doing anything wrong by wanting you."

"Oh god, you really are a smooth bastard." I bury my face in his chest, and his fingers find my hair, working magic against my scalp. "I've seen it before, but I've never been on the receiving end of it."

"That's my fucking error."

"Okay, that's it. I need to move." I wrench myself away, forcing myself to sit up before I get lost in him completely. "I need to go, or I'm definitely getting fired."

"What time are you home later?" he asks as I throw the sheet off me and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

"I've got a full day today, so sometime after six."

"Shall I grab us takeout?" His eyes roam over me like he wishes I wasn't about to climb out of his bed. "We can sit and have the conversation you don't want to have but know we probably need to."

"Yeah. Okay."

"It'll all be okay, Mills, I promise." He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before letting me go.

I stand, wrapping the sheet around my almost-naked body as I head for the door. Behind me, Tobias laughs—a low, rumbling sound that makes me turn back. He's propped up on one elbow, his hair a perfect mess, eyes dancing with amusement.

"What?" I say, tightening the sheet around me.

"What are you doing?" His grin widens.

"I'm just in my panties," I explain, stepping back towards the door as if he hasn't already seen my entire body.

"You were very naked last night." His voice is teasing, full of mischief, and I can't help but laugh, backing away faster.

I slip into my room, closing the door behind me, grinning like an idiot as I lean against it, but some feelings are meant to be felt in their full, messy glory.

I slept with Tobias. Fact .

It was the kind of sex that ruins you for anyone else. Fact .

He's going to break my heart. Possible .

Will that stop me from doing it again? Not a chance in hell .

The shower should help clear my head, but instead, I surrender to the memories flooding back like a highlight reel of the best sex of my life—his hands trailing over my skin, his mouth branding my throat, his name ripped from my lips as I fell apart beneath him. I'm giving myself way too much time to replay every delicious moment, and my body is torn between being blissfully sated and desperately aching for more.

Coffee. I need coffee.

Or maybe just another orgasm.

But the universe is a magnificent bitch because the second I step into the kitchen, Tobias walks in like temptation wrapped in a towel. White cotton rides dangerously low on his perfect hips while water drips from his hair, trailing down every tattooed muscle.

My eyes shamelessly devour him because now I know exactly what that towel is hiding.

Every. Delicious. Inch.

He catches me staring, and his smirk unfurls like he knows he's the reason my thighs clench and my breath hitches.

"Keep eye-fucking me, and I'll bend you over this counter and make you seriously late." He doesn't even bother looking at me. He just grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and saunters back into his room like he didn't just melt my brain. "See you tonight," he calls out, his voice echoing down the hallway.

I choke out a shaky "Bye," grab my bag, and bolt out of the apartment like it's on fire.

Sliding into my car, I slam the door shut and just sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and trying to catch my breath. I link my phone to the Bluetooth, scroll down to Allison's name, and hit call as soon as I turn the ignition.

"Good morning, my beautiful little weirdo," she answers with a chirpiness that should be illegal before noon.

"Well, you sound uncharacteristically happy, considering it's morning."

"It's my day off, and I'm eating a croissant in bed with Ragnar Lothbrok on my TV, so yeah, I'm living my best life."

I laugh, shaking my head as I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"Absolutely. Is it working?"

"Completely."

"So you'll come home?"

"Definitely not."

My eyes drift to the street, where fall has painted Chicago in fiery reds and deep oranges—nature's farewell to summer.

"Okay, pause Vikings . I have news."

"I'm ready."

"I had sex last night," I blurt out.

"Oh my god! Wait, with who? Are you seeing someone?"

I exhale sharply, suddenly nervous. "Shit."

"Amelia, spill."

"It was Tobias."

Silence.

"Allison?"

More silence.

"Okay, you're killing me here."

"Sorry, I just… Tobias? How? How and when? I'm so confused."

"He kissed me while we were at our parents' house."

"Like out of nowhere? Was it a joke?"

"No, it wasn't a joke, Jesus."

"Sorry. Are you sure this happened, or have you been having really vivid dreams?"

"Okay, I'm hanging up."

"No, no, don't. Sorry, I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what to say."

"Something's changed between us. I know I've always had a semi-inappropriate crush, but I don't know how this happened to him."

"Have you asked him?"

"No, that conversation is happening tonight."

"I can't believe you slept with him. How was it?"

"Fucking unreal."

"I'm not surprised. I knew that asshole wasn't all ego; I knew he'd be able to back it up."

"He did, but a part of me wishes I never knew because being ignorant would've been better than seeing him with someone else one day."

"What if he wants to be with you?"

"Okay, it's not like that."

"Ha, okay, Pinocchio."

"What?"

"I know you think this little crush has only ever been physical, but that's crap. Yeah, it may have started that way, but over the years, it changed, and you know it. That's why you never fully gave yourself to anyone you dated. You drew the line at sex. No emotions. No feelings. Because deep down, nobody compared to him."

Now I'm the silent one.

"It's okay to admit you feel more."

"I hate you right now."

"Because you know I'm right."

"I'm going. But I love you."

"Love you. Call me tomorrow after you profess your love."

I hang up, gripping the wheel harder as her words echo in my mind, flashing like warning signals. Because she's right, and I hate that she's right.

I'm not really sure how I got to the training room. One minute, I was in the car driving, my mind spinning with too many thoughts and zero answers. Next, I'm standing in a space alive with movement and energy, waiting for Betsy Bell to arrive.

The room buzzes with low chatter and the sound of rubber soles scuffing against the polished floor. Dancers move around me in their own worlds, all lean muscle and grace, stretching and bending like they didn't wake up with their entire universe tilted on its axis.

"Don't freak out," Logan's voice cuts through my haze. "Most of these people have been here for years."

"I'm so glad to see your face. I feel a little lost," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

"You'll be fine. Betsy's cool. It only gets intense closer to Christmas when everyone's prepping for the tour. For now, it's just a bunch of people dancing their asses off and getting paid for it without the pressure."

"Is that what you did last year?"

"Yeah, it was awesome," he says, his grin widening. "I can't wait to tour this year though. Hopefully, you'll get on it too, although I don't think my mom will be that excited about losing two of her staff," he jokes, his laugh easy.

I freeze, the thought hitting me like a ton of bricks. "Shit, I can't do that to her."

Logan shakes his head, his expression softening as his hand finds my shoulder. "If she knew you'd pass up an opportunity like that, she'd fire you anyway. You'd have no choice but to go."

"Your parents are awesome."

"Yeah, I got lucky," he says simply, and before I can reply, the door dramatically bursts open, and all eyes whip toward the entrance as Betsy Bell strides in, commanding the air itself.

An older woman, dressed entirely in black, strides into the room with an air of authority. Her black pixie-cut hair is slicked back, and her lips are painted a bold, unapologetic red.

"Betsy?" I whisper to Logan, and he nods, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Hello, hello, hello, my darlings," she exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the room. "Apologies for my tardiness. My cat—God bless her diva soul—demanded an unreasonable amount of attention this morning. You know how it is."

Soft laughter ripples through the room as Betsy twirls and steps toward the sound system, which is playing a gentle classical piece.

"Everyone head to the barre. Demi-pliés and body bends. I want to see those knees bending like they have a mind of their own."

The next hour passes in a blur of jetés and pirouettes, and by the time we're finished, my muscles are screaming, but my heart is soaring.

The day continues with a grueling Pilates class designed to push us to our limits, followed by rehearsal for the Romeo and Juliet tour. There are a few of us who aren't part of the final performance, but being included in the practice feels like a dream. Every lift, every turn, and every whispered correction from Betsy is a reminder of what's at stake—and what's possible.

The stage isn't even real. It's just tape on the floor, but I can already see it in my mind—the costumes, the lights, the applause.

I might not be in the final performance. I might only get five minutes—hell, five seconds—of actual stage time. But I want those seconds like I've never wanted anything before.