Page 149 of The Pucking Arrangement

Luka leans back, satisfied. “Then tell him that.” He swirls the last of his wine. “The idiot probably thinks you’re choosing your career over him. Men are very dramatic about these things.”

I huff out something between a scoff and a laugh. “Says the most dramatic person I know.”

“Exactly. I’m an expert.” He grins, lifting his glass in a toast. “To Dmitri Sokolov, the lucky bastard who’s managed to capture Erin O’Connor’s heart. May he have the good sense to realize what he has.”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my glass. “He’s not mine,” I whisper, but the words feel flimsy. Like I don’t even believe them anymore.

Luka tilts his head, studying me, his usual teasing replaced with something quieter. “Then why do you look like you’re waiting for him to stop you?”

I open my mouth, but no words come.

Because I don’t have an answer. At least, not one that makes any damn sense.

We finish dinner with lighter conversation, but Luka’s words loop in my head like a melody I can’t shake. By the time we step outside, the air is crisp, the streetlights glowing against the darkening sky. But clarity still feels impossibly far away.

“Dubrovnik is happening,” Luka reminds me, giving me a quick hug. “The festival will put you on the map,draga, even if you’d rather stay in New York right now.” He winks, squeezing my shoulder. “The music goes on, Erin. Your broody Russian will be here when you return—probably pacing a hole in his floor, but definitely here.”

I swallow, nodding. “Thank you,” I say, meaning it.

“Just promise me one thing,” he calls after me as I turn to leave. “When you figure this out—and you will—invite me to the wedding. I want to see the mighty Sokolov in a tuxedo.”

His laughter follows me down the street, but my mind is already somewhere else.

Not on Dubrovnik. Not on the tour.

But onhim.

On Dmitri, standing in the shadows of the rehearsal studio, watching me play.

On the way he let me go without a fight.

I step into my apartment, the silence pressing in, the suitcases still unpacked.

And for the first time, I wonder?—

Why did I think walking away from something so perfect was the right thing to do?

Chapter30

Empty House

Dmitri

Five-thirty a.m. Like clockwork, my eyes snap open. No alarm necessary. A decade of early morning practices has made my body its own ruthless timekeeper.

For a single, disorienting second, I reach across the sheets, fingers seeking warmth. Softness. Copper hair spilling across my pillow.

I find nothing.

Just empty space. Cold sheets.

Like the last seven mornings. Like every morning stretching ahead of me.

Der’mo.

I stare at the ceiling, my heartbeat a dull, empty thud against my ribs. The house is silent. Too silent.

Down the hall, I hear nothing—both Ris and Galina still lost in dreams where people don’t leave.

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