Page 90 of Twisted Shot
And theylovehim for it.
CHAPTER 32
THEO
Theo steps offstage to the sound of applause fading into cocktail chatter and the soft swell of the string quartet returning to life.
His legs feel unsteady. His hands throb, fingers stiff from the iron grip he’d kept on the cue cards. Sweat clings to his back beneath the crisp tuxedo shirt, the fabric damp and suffocating against overheated skin. His mouth is dry, and his pulse hasn’t come down, still surging like a river in a flood.
But none of it matters.
Not the applause. Not the crowd.
Only one person matters right now.
He scans the edge of the curtains, expecting to see her mid-task, tablet in hand, composed as always. Instead, he nearly barrels into her waiting offstage, out of view. One more step and he would’ve flattened her like an unsuspecting rookie on open ice. He stops short, every muscle pulled tight, heart slamming like he’s back on stage.
“Mila—” he starts, but stops when he sees her face.
Her eyes are glassy, and her cheeks are flushed, and she looks?—
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Just…raw.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m sorry if I?—”
“Don’t.”
She grabs his hand and pulls him with surprising urgency into a dark alcove backstage, draped in velvet and shadows. The sounds of the gala dull instantly—the music, the murmurs, the clinking glass—everything fading except her.
She turns to him fully now, ocean blue eyes shining.
“You didn’t mess anything up,” she says, voice breaking around the edges. “You were brave. You were honest. And you were—God, Theo. You were beautiful.”
Mila steps closer, closing the space between them until her hand rests gently on his chest with his heart hammering beneath her palm. He breathes in her perfume, citrusy and familiar, like sunshine warming his face.
“I thought—” He swallows hard, the words thick in his throat. “I thought once you knew. About me, about my family…about all of it. You’d look at me differently.”
“I do,” she says, her voice quiet but unwavering, eyes locked on his. “But not in the way you’re afraid of.”
His throat tightens, aching around everything he doesn’t know how to say.
He finds no words, so she becomes his voice.
“I care about you, Theo,” she says softly. “I care so much it scares me. And I’ve been trying to keep everything separate—my job, you, him—but I can’t anymore. I don’t want to.”
Her words crash over him, powerful, warm, and overwhelming. He sways slightly, like her voice and her touch are the only things keeping him standing.
She reaches into the shadow between them and lifts something into the light.
A black mask.
His mask.
“I think this belongs to you,” she whispers, her voice barely more than breath as she holds it out.
