Page 117 of Dance with Me
He stared at her for a second, his warm brown eyes searching her face, and then he kissed her. His mouth pressed hard to hers, tasting of passion, tenderness, and above all, love. The woodsy, green scent of him swirled around her, soothing her nerves. When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed hard.
“I want to recite poetry to you, or sing, or say something clever or funny, but all I’ve got is, I love you, too.” He squeezed the back of her neck gently and dropped another kiss on her temple. “I love you, too,Kroshka.”
His words warmed her from the inside out. A feeling of rightness settled over her. Never had she imagined she could feel this way, or that someone would feel like this for her. But she believed him now. He’d shown it in countless ways, big and small. She could no longer deny his love for her, or hers for him.
She stroked his dark hair away from his face and asked, “What poetry would you recite?”
He huffed out a breath. “The only one I can think of is by Pushkin, and I’m not saying it.”
“It’s a love poem?”
“Yeah. But it ends tragically.”
“Oh. Well, you’ll have to find another, then.”
“I will. I promise. Even if I have to write it myself. You’ll have so many sappy love poems filling the house, you won’t know what to do with them.”
She grinned and stroked the stubble on his cheek. “I look forward to it.”
Epilogue
Esmeralda frowned when Natasha showed her around Dimitri’s house, but she didn’t say anything.
It was the best reaction Natasha could have hoped for, if she was being honest with herself. On some level, she’d hoped her mother would admit she was impressed, but this shouldn’t have surprised her. If anything, it showed her the truth: if her mother couldn’t be surprised by Dimitri’s Beverly Hills home with the three-car garage, swimming pool, and private dance studio—now complete with a pole—then how would she ever have been impressed by Natasha’s little Hollywood apartment?
Good thing she wasn’t trying for her mother’s validation anymore. The womanhadto be impressed, but she was as tight-lipped with her praise as ever.
Since Esmeralda’s friend hadn’t been able to make it, she’d threatened to cancel the trip, but Dimitri paid for her flight and hotel so she had no excuse not to come.
In the living room, Natasha let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Dimitri’s SUV rolling up the driveway.
“Dimitriestá aquí,” Natasha said, grabbing her clutch from the chair. “We’re meeting his parents at the studio.”
Her mother shrugged and slung her bag over her shoulder.“Vamanos.”
Natasha offered her mother the passenger seat, but Esmeralda refused and sat in the back.
When Natasha met Dimitri’s eye, a measure of tension eased. He was here. She wasn’t in this alone.
The ride to the studio was mostly silent. Natasha spoke to Dimitri about logistics—his parents’ hotel room, dinner plans for later atKras—but her mother didn’t say a word.
The punishing silence had been a big part of Natasha’s childhood. When Esmeralda was pissed, she didn’t speak, and often acted like Natasha wasn’t even in the room. For an active child who thrived on company, it had been the worst kind of punishment, and Esmeralda knew it. That she was doing it now meant she was trying to punish Natasha for something.
And for the first time in her life, Natasha didn’t give a shit.
Not caring what her mother thought of her, or why she was in a snit, was the most liberating feeling in the world. She should have tried it a lot earlier.
It was weird attending the premiere as a guest. She and Dimitri had seats right at one of the VIP dinner-club-style tables on the edge of the dance floor, with the other celebrities in attendance, but their families had to sit further back. They’d planned to introduce everyone before arriving at the studio, but Dimitri’s parents’ flight had been delayed.
Even stranger was how similar it felt to visiting Babe Planet. Maybe it was always weird when you visited a former job after quitting. It might feel the same if she visitedCorazónrestaurant in the Bronx, where she waitressed when she was a teenager.
Dimitri leaned in and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you again for arranging everything.”
“Of course. Nothing makes me happier than taking care of our family.”
Ourfamily. He’d accepted that Esmeralda was difficult, and had approached her with impersonal good cheer that bordered on dismissive. He didn’t try to charm her, but he also didn’t stoop to her bad mood. It was probably the best approach to take with her mother. If only she’d figured that out years ago.
