Page 37

Chapter 37

The Only Dream That Matters

Dmitri

“N o peeking.”

“I’m literally blindfolded,” Erin huffs, her fingers gripping mine with surprising strength for someone who constantly complains about her weak left pinky. “If I peek any less, I’ll be unconscious.”

“Just making sure, solnyshko .” My hand rests firmly at the small of her back as I guide her out of the elevator. “Three more steps.”

She stumbles slightly, and I catch her, steadying her against my chest. Her hair smells like vanilla and rosin—that combination I’ve come to associate with home. With her .

She exhales sharply. “I swear to God, Dmitri, if this is some elaborate prank?—”

“We’re here.” My fingers tighten around the key, the metal still unfamiliar in my palm. A new weight. A new reality. One I hope to God doesn’t send her running.

I unlock the door, pushing it open with slow, deliberate ease. “Ready?”

She crosses her arms. “I’ve been ready for twenty minutes,” she grumbles, but there’s no real bite to it. Just the familiar impatience that makes my chest ache. That makes me want to spend the rest of my life hearing it.

She shifts slightly, tilting her chin toward me. “If I go in there, you have to promise to actually talk to me.”

My voice softens. Because this is it. There’s no more delaying. It’s a make-or-break moment.

“Yes.”

I slide the blindfold away, watching her face closely.

And then she stills. Completely.

Her breath catches, her hands frozen midair like she’s not sure whether to reach for something or let go entirely.

I wait, my pulse pounding in my throat. Watching. Praying.

The apartment stretches before us—windows framing a perfect slice of Central Park, afternoon sunlight spilling across hardwood floors. Empty. Waiting. A blank canvas.

Erin takes a step, hesitant, her fingers trailing along the marble countertop. “What’s this?” Her voice is small, careful.

“An apartment.”

She shoots me a look. “I can see that, smartass.” Her gaze sweeps the room again, brow furrowed. “Why are we here?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch her take it in—the crown molding, the prewar details, the kind of Upper East Side luxury she once described with a wistful sigh, unaware I’d memorized every word.

“Remember when you said you’d live in a fancy Upper East Side building someday? When you were a real grown-up musician?”

Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “At my student’s place.”

“Good memory.” I step closer, pulse kicking up a notch. “You said it was a dream.”

Something shifts in her expression—realization dawning slowly, cautiously. “Dmitri…”

I pull the second key from my pocket, holding it out. “Welcome home, solnyshko .”

She goes still. Her eyes flick to the key, then back to me. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

She stops, her brow furrowing. “Wait. How the hell did you even manage this in, what, a couple of weeks? Buying in the city takes months, Dmitri. Even for you.”

I smirk. “It’s still in contract. Jacob Levinson hooked me up with his brother, a big-shot Manhattan real estate agent. Technically, we shouldn’t even have the keys yet, but hey, VIP treatment. Gotta love being a hockey star.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re telling me Emma’s dad helped you find this place?”

I shrug. “Had to promise to coach his kid’s hockey league here in the city. Like I did in Tarrytown.”

She blinks at me. “You agreed to that?”

My lips twitch. “What can I say? I’m a team player.” I close the distance between us, needing to touch her, to anchor us both. “I almost let you walk away. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. A heartbeat later, her eyes shine with something raw, something too big for words. Panic grips my chest. Shit. This isn’t how I pictured this going.

“Hey.” I cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. “Don’t cry.”

She lets out a wobbly breath. “What about Tarrytown? What about Ris’s school? Your hockey practice?”

“Ris starts at Marymount in the fall.” I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing her in. “Where a certain cello teacher might see her between lessons.”

Her brows knit. “But?—”

“Galina’s taking the house in Tarrytown. She’ll be with Ris when we both travel. When you’re touring. When I’m on the road.” My voice roughens. “It’s all figured out, solnyshko .”

She studies me like she’s waiting for the catch, like the other shoe is about to drop. “You’re serious.”

“As game seven in the finals.”

A broken laugh escapes her. “That’s your benchmark for serious?”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

She shakes her head, exasperated, yet soft. “You can’t just throw money at everything, you know.”

I arch a brow. “Why not? Works for taxes.”

She smacks my chest, but there’s no heat behind it.

“This is too much,” she whispers.

“It’s not enough,” I counter, my hands sliding down to her waist, pulling her closer. “Not after watching you leave. Not after realizing what I almost lost.”

She swallows, fingers curling into my shirt. “I was coming back.” Her voice is quiet, like she’s just realizing it herself. “After Dubrovnik. After the tour.”

“I know.” And I do— now . After weeks of an empty house, of Ris asking when Erin was coming home. After finally understanding that letting her go meant trusting her to return. “But I wanted to make sure you had something to come back to.”

Her lips part, her breathing unsteady. “Something?”

“ Someone .”

A beat of silence.

“You’re so smug.” Her voice shakes, but she’s smiling, blinking fast like she’s trying to hold herself together.

I grin. “And humble. Don’t forget humble.”

Her laugh is barely a breath before I lift her clean off the ground. She squeals, arms wrapping around my neck, legs locking around my waist.

“Put me down, you caveman!”

“No.”

“Dmitri!”

I spin her in a slow circle, drinking in the sound of her laughter—the sound that’s been missing for too damn long.

“Say yes first.”

“Yes to what? You haven’t asked me anything!”

I stop, lowering her just enough so we’re eye to eye. My hands cradle her face, my thumbs stroking her jaw.

“Say yes to us .” My voice is low, steady. Certain. “To making music and making a home and figuring out the rest as we go.”

Her lips tremble, her green eyes shining. “That’s not a question either.”

I exhale, exasperated and helplessly in love with this woman. “Will you move in with us?” I press my forehead to hers, my voice rough. Wrecked. “Build a life with us? Let me love you even when you’re halfway across the world?”

She exhales sharply, her hands tightening in my shirt.

And then, finally?—

She nods.

A sharp, tight breath leaves me. I kiss her, hard and deep, until she’s gripping me like she never wants to let go.

When I pull back, my lips graze her ear, my voice low and teasing. “Also, if you need time to adjust, we can always go visit Attalus.” I nod toward the windows, where the Met is just a block away. “He’s been a solid wingman before.”

She chokes out a startled laugh, half sob, half breathless amusement. “You did not just bring up the statue right now.”

I grin, holding her tighter. “He helped me get my hands on you once. Seems fitting to give him an update.”

Erin shakes her head, still laughing, still crying, still mine .

Relief crashes over me, so fierce it leaves me unsteady. I kiss her again, deep and claiming, pouring every unspoken word into her— I missed you. I love you. You’re mine. I’m yours.

When we break apart, she’s breathless, her cheeks flushed, eyes flicking around the empty space. “So,” she murmurs, mischief curling at the edges of her smile. “Are we christening every room, or…?”

I bark out a laugh, heat surging low in my gut. “Eager, solnyshko ?”

“Just practical.” She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “It’s a lot of square footage.”

“Then we better get started.” I scoop her up again, ignoring her squeal. “I have some props handy I’ve been recently inspired to try out.”

“We don’t even have a bed!”

“Insignificant details.” I carry her down the hall, her laughter ringing through the empty space. “I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

She loops her arms around my neck, eyes bright with something bigger than amusement—something I can feel thrumming between us, anchoring us in place.

Home.

No matter where she goes, what stages she plays, what crowds worship her— this is what matters.

Her laughter, her warmth, her.

The only dream worth chasing.