Page 25

Chapter 25

The Last Dance

Dmitri

T he front door swings open to the sound of giggles.

My girls are home.

My girls.

The thought slams into me, a full-body check that leaves me winded, standing at the kitchen counter with a serving spoon in my hand like some lovesick idiot. Because if I don’t figure out how to tell her that she needs to stay, she won’t be mine much longer.

“Papa!” Ris’s voice drifts in from the foyer, heavy with exhaustion but laced with pure satisfaction. “I ate sooo much pasta at Kaycee’s! And ice cream! And—” A massive yawn cuts her off mid-sentence.

“Sounds like someone’s ready for bed.” Erin laughs.

Good. Because tonight, I want Erin all to myself.

I step into the hallway just in time to see Ris pressed against Erin’s chest, her golden curls tumbling over Erin’s shoulder like spun sunlight, tiny fingers absentmindedly twisting through the fiery waves of Erin’s copper hair. Under the warm glow of the foyer light, their strands tangle together—gold and red, bright and soft, woven like they were always meant to fit.

Jesus .

“Story?” Ris mumbles, her words half buried against Erin’s neck.

“Of course, sweet girl.” Erin’s eyes meet mine over Ris’s head, soft and warm and— fuck me —blazing.

“Want Papa to?—”

“No,” Ris cuts in, nuzzling closer. “You do the Gerald voice better.”

My lips twitch. My kid is an excellent wingman.

“Go ahead,” I say smoothly. “I’ll have dinner ready when you’re done.”

Erin shoots me a knowing smile, like she’s just as eager for some time alone, but she doesn’t say anything. Ris is already tugging her upstairs, yawning through a monologue about her playdate.

Perfect timing.

The garden is ready. Fairy lights weave through the cherry trees, throwing soft, golden halos against the deepening twilight. The pool shimmers under the fading sun, rose gold dancing across the water’s surface.

And beneath the largest tree, where the branches stretch wide like a natural canopy, I’ve set the table. Small, intimate, and perfect to woo my girl.

The menu is simple, but thought through—her favorites, little things I’ve noticed over the weeks. Burrata with heirloom tomatoes. Chicken Kiev. A dark chocolate soufflé from the bakery in town. Wine breathing. Candles flickering. Mozart filtering softly through hidden speakers because she once mentioned it helps her unwind.

Everything is right.

She was supposed to be temporary.

But now, it’s time to make it permanent.

Her footsteps falter as she takes in the garden.

“Oh.” Just that one soft syllable, but it hits me straight in the chest.

I watch her take it all in—the intimate table setting, the candles flickering in crystal holders, the carefully plated food. Her lips part slightly, something unguarded flashing in her eyes before she tucks it away.

“What’s all this?”

My feet move on instinct, closing the distance before I’ve even decided to. My hands find her waist, fingers pressing in, pulling her against me.

“A date.”

She exhales this tiny, shaky breath that wrecks me completely.

“Dmitri, it’s wonderful.” Her eyes sweep over the garden again, lingering on the details I spent hours obsessing over. I brush my thumb over her knuckles, needing that connection.

“Let me feed you before I fuck you, solnyshko .”

It’s meant as a tease, but my voice comes out thick, heavy with everything I really want to say.

Stay with us.

Let’s make this real.

Be mine.

She feels it. I can tell from the way her breath catches, from the way her fingers twitch against my chest before curling into my shirt.

She tilts her head, lips curving in a slow, wicked smile. “I’m game for both.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?” My voice is a rasp, the word barely making it out.

She rises onto her toes, pressing the lightest kiss to my mouth.

“Feed me.”

I lead her to the table, pull out her chair, pour the wine in a slow, steady stream—anything to buy myself another few seconds. Rehearsing the words in my head. About staying. About Fire Island summers. About letting me love her.

If I could, I’d ask her for forever. Slip a ring on her finger, hold her to me, make her mine in every way that counts. But she’s too young, too free, still chasing dreams that need wide-open space, not walls built around her.

If I push too hard, I’ll lose her.

So, for now, I’ll keep it simple.

She takes her first bite of burrata and moans, and holy fuck?—

I grip the edge of the table like it might anchor me, letting the conversation drift—wine, music, Ris’s latest skating adventure, Finn’s absurd Dancing With the Stars offer. But beneath it, something simmers. A weight pressing down, waiting to break the surface.

And then, it does.

She sets her glass down, fingers absently tracing the rim. A tell.

“I need to tell you something.”

The air shifts. My body goes still.

She hesitates, then the words tumble out in a rush, like she needs them gone.

“Luka invited me to come to Dubrovnik. For the summer festival. And then…” A sharp breath, like she’s bracing for impact. “He wants me to tour with him in the fall. Thirty cities. All over Europe.”

A slow, cold knot twists in my stomach.

“It’s an incredible opportunity. The kind that could launch my career. I’d be crazy not to take it.” Her voice wobbles like she’s trying to convince herself just as much as me. Then the final blow—soft, but absolute. “I said yes.”

The space around me tilts.

The words I’d planned— stay with us, build a life here, be mine —die in my throat. The speech I rehearsed about telling Ris? Gone.

Because while I’ve been picturing a future with her, she’s already set hers in motion.

And I can’t stop her. I won’t. Not just for myself—though fuck, it’s already too late for me—but for Ris.

My daughter. Who curls into Erin’s side like she belongs there. Who asks for her at bedtime. Who lights up when she walks into a room. Who has already started picturing a forever I have no right to promise.

I can’t let her get hurt.

I can’t let her get even more attached.

So, I do the only thing I can.

I let Erin go.

“When?”

“The festival starts July fifteenth.” She shifts, like she’s bracing herself. “I’ll leave at the end of June. I might come back in August or just stay in Europe. Luka invited me to Zagreb. He has a rehearsal space. Then the tour starts in September.” Her voice drops, quieter now. “It runs through December.”

Five months.

The number lands like a punch to the ribs.

Five months of her gone. Five months of no Erin, no stolen mornings, no music drifting through my house, no warmth pressed against me at night.

Five months of Ris asking when she’s coming back.

“It’s an incredible opportunity,” she continues quickly, words rushing together now. “The exposure, the connections, the chance to play these historic venues?—”

“Erin.” I cut her off, gentler than I feel. “It sounds incredible.”

She blinks, surprised. “It…does?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the wine bottle, not because I want it, but because it gives my hands something to do. Something to stop them from reaching for her. From pulling her into me and asking her to stay.

“You’re talented. You work hard.” The words scrape my throat like gravel, but I force them out. “You deserve this.”

“Oh.” She looks…lost. Like this isn’t the reaction she expected.

Like she was expecting me to fight.

“I thought…” She chews her lip. “With Galina coming next week, I should probably move back to the city anyway, and?—”

“Yes.” The word comes out like a scrape. “That makes sense.”

She freezes. Tears flicker in her eyes. She was expecting something else. She was expecting me to ask her to stay.

I force myself to meet her gaze and hold it.

“You should move back.” My throat is tight. The words taste like acid. “Having you here was—helpful.” Her breath hitches, and I exhale, steadying myself. “But it’s time to go back to our lives.”

“I…” She swallows hard, blinking too fast. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

I do. I want her here, with us.

But I can’t say that. Not when she’s finally getting everything she’s worked for. Not when keeping her here would mean taking something from her.

So, I make a decision.

We have a few more days. And then, I’ll let her go.

“Dance with me?”

She looks up, startled. “What?”

I push back my chair and stand, reaching for her hand.

“We have a few more days.” My voice is in shreds. “Before the world takes you away from me.”

Her lips part, eyes wide, like she finally understands.

That this is the end.

That I won’t chase her. Won’t ask her to choose.

Because I won’t risk Ris’s heart.

And because I know, deep down, she’s already chosen.

She stares at me, like she’s trying to read between the lines. But then, slowly, she slips her fingers into mine.

I pull her close as Albinoni swells around us.

Her head finds my shoulder, like it was made to rest there. My arms tighten around her, my body curving to hers.

“Tell me about Dubrovnik,” I murmur into her hair.

And she does.

She paints me a picture—concerts under the stars, ancient stone stages, music floating over the Adriatic. Her voice is light, animated, but her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.

“It sounds perfect,” I say when she finishes. “I want this for you.”

And I mean it.

Even though every word is killing me. She pulls back just enough to look at me, something breaking in her eyes. “Dmitri?—”

“Shhh.” I press my lips to her forehead. “Just dance with me.”

Because if I let her finish that sentence, I might beg her to stay.

And I won’t do that to her.