“Non-negotiable, I’m sorry.”
“But—”
“You don’t need me to, you’re earning your own money, etcetera, I know. I’ve heard it all before. And I don’t care. I’m more than prepared to give the money away to people I don’tknow because of guilt and a sense of responsibility. Let me first give a little to someone I love because it’ll make me happy.”
“It’s a lot of money,” he says, weakly.
“And it barely makes a dent in what’s coming to me. But that’s my priority and then … I want to start a charity. Not for profit, not tied into the family business, just something that will genuinely help people. I haven’t worked out the details yet, but I want to do something that will help the most amount of people I can.”
Christian’s big hand runs over my hair. “Fuck, I love you.”
“Good, because that makes asking this next question easier. Can I come with you? In a few months when you leave and you’re traveling around with the play, I want to be there. I can make plans for my business while we’re gone and whatever I come up with, I’ll make sure it allows me to be wherever you need to be.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do anything for you, love.”
He ducks his head, hiding the smile I know is on his lips. It warms me, reminds me of all the things about him that I’ve fallen for and continue to fall for.
“I still find it hard to believe we found each other.”
“I like to think that everything that’s happened was always meant to be.”
“Hard to argue with that when I’m looking at a life with everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Little does he know I plan to give him everything. The things he wanted and the things he never would have dared to dream about.
Epilogue
Christian
Nine Months Later
Getting back to Seattle after a long time on the road was an enormous relief. I loved our time away, I loved performing and getting to see different cities and towns all over America, but I missed my friends and I missed home.
It helped that Émile was with me. I’m not sure I would have made it without him.
Which is wild when a year ago, I would have said I’d do anything to go on tour with a show. It’s funny how dreams change. Every time I look at Émile I’m reminded of it.
After talking to Reece about it, we came up with a plan. He’s written another production Rosswell House have bought the rights to, and I get to stay in Seattle to train the cast. Choreography, fitness conditioning, nutrition, and consultingon rehabilitation plans for injured dancers will all be part of my role.
Permanently.
In Seattle.
“I still can’t believe you dragged me out of the house at seven in the morning,” Émile says as I pull into a parking space at Gas Works Park. It’s hard to fight the happiness trying to break free as I turn off the car and jump out. The last few weeks have been a lot of back-and-forth communication with my Bertha family—including Gabe who’s moved out, and Molly, the guy who took his room—organizing this surprise for Émile, and, fuck, I hope he likes it. It’s like, no matter how many times I tell him how I feel, it’s never enough. Not really.
He’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met.
“This is cute,” Émile says, joining me on the path. His free hand slides into mine as his other grips his coffee. “A morning stroll.”
Something like that.
But instead of leading him to Lake Union like he expects, I veer to the right, toward the hill. And where all my friends are waiting.
A cheer goes up the second they see us and at first I think it’s because they’re excited—it’s been a while, but then—
“What the hell is that?” I ask, eyeing theenormousdragon-looking thing that’s taking up half the damn hill.