The song was for you. It was to you.

I take a breath.

Am I dreaming?

He seems to realise I need a moment to think about that, and calls over a waitress. She's blonde, beautiful, and all too happy to help.

Dimitri orders us refills of our drinks, and a basket of fries. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but I'm not about to check it now.

"I'm not super hungry," Dimitri is saying. "Is there anything else you want?"

I shake my head and he smiles.

"We can share the fries then." He turns back to the waitress. "Can you make that a large?"

She says something in response, but I'm not really listening. I've been replaying the lines he sang in my head, having seen the video enough times to know it by heart. And while I hate to do it, there's something I really need to tell him.

"Dimitri," I say when the waitress is gone. "About that last line..."

His smile is sad, like he knew this point was going to come up. I get the feeling we've finally come to the real reason behind meeting here tonight.

"Roza," he says gently. "I'm drawn to you. You're gorgeous, and so easy to talk to."

I can hear the but dangling off the end of his sentence, like a tree growing out the side of a cliff.

"I'm definitely drawn to you too," I agree, then say the word he was trying to avoid. "But... I just got hurt by someone I thought I was close to. And as a rule, I don't really date."

His eyes twinkle with a strange kind amusement, mirrored by my own sad smile. "I guess we have that in common too then. It's difficult with my line of work."

"Too many late nights," I say, accutely aware of the dark humour in us bonding over this.

"Too many people around, that a partner can't meet," he adds.

I nod. "Always being busy on the weekends."

And then we both start laughing, though it's not really very funny. Wistfully I wonder if in another world we could make it work, but that train of thought is interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with our order.

I lift my glass and drain the rest of its contents, making room for the new one that's set in front of me. The waitress is busy looking at Dimitri out the corner of her eye, evidently under the impression she's being subtle. She places the fries in the middle of the table and begins to turn away. But then she spins back around, addressing Dimitri.

"I'm so sorry to do this," she gushes. "But I love your music. Could I please have a selfie?"

Does she really miss the way Dimitri's eyes tighten before he schools his face into a smile? It's obvious enough to me. But he leans in and smolders at the phone she stretches out to snap a photo. And I try to breathe evenly while his hand automatically moves around her shoulder.

"Thank you so much!"

She pulls back and almost dances away, clutching her phone to her chest with both hands.

Dimitri turns back to me looking almost embarassed.

"Sorry about that," he says. Then he picks up his fresh beer and takes a long drink.

He still looks uncomfortable, which makes me want to reassure him.

So I smile. "I see what you mean, about dating."

He rolls his eyes. "It's less about encounters like that, and more about the likelihood she'll put her number on our cheque."

My stomach tenses, but I try to keep it from showing on my face. I reach across the table and grab a handful of fries, feeling my phone vibrate for the third time tonight.

"Have you ever thought about trying to be less attractive?"

I try for a teasing tone, but something about his small answering smile makes me think he sees the truth.

"Any suggestions on how I can do that? Because I'm trying to think of anything you could do in my position, and I'm drawing a blank."

I blush, trying to lighten the mood. "Well I could promise to sing for you, I think that would help."

"I disagree. But I'm willing to test that theory if you are."

I'm about to answer when his phone rings. He glances at the caller ID and mutters something in Russian.

"Sorry, it's Tasha. I have to take this."

He walks away from the table to answer the call, and I figure if he's on his phone, I may as well see who's been messaging me.

The most recent text is from Mason, just an image that I can't see in the chat preview. But I'm not about to open anything from him right now, so I check the other messages. One is from Lissa asking how the date went. And the other is from Gerry, which is a bit unusual. I hit open.

Yo, what happened with you and Mason? He's busy trashing you to the crew.

I blanche. He's fucking what?

My fingers fly across the keyboard in my anger, typing a response.

Our date didn't go so well. What type of stuff is he saying?

I pause, deliberating on whether I can trust him with my next question or not. But then I think, fuck it.

Do I have to worry about my job?

Mercifully, he reads my message almost immediately, and starts typing a response. I still bite my lip, trying surpress the anxiety that's suddenly coursing through me.

I'm sorry Rose. I didn't know he was like this. I'm not going to tell you what he said. But it's not going to encourage people to hire you

Fuck. Fuck!

A heady mix of anger and panic sweep through my entire nervous system. Without thinking twice, I down my almost full drink. But it doesn't help, not that I honestly thought it would. Now I also feel a list nauseas.

How could Mason possibly stoop this low? After everything we've been through together? I'm going to have to leave the city to get a job now.

Empty, numb, but praying for a miracle, I open Mason's message. It's a screenshot of a tweet from a notorious gossip site, bearing a picture of me and Dimitri at our table, mid laugh. It's captioned: Dimitri Belikov finds a new heart to break, and below that Mason sent a text

Yeah totally not a date.

I have a few choice responses for him, but my eyes are drawn to the timestamp, on the tweet. It was posted 20 minutes ago.

FUCK.

I don't have anything left in me, but I know the press will already be on their way here thanks to this. I stand and grab my bag, just as Dimitri hurries back to the table.

"Rose, we have to go. Someone posted a picture."

I manage a nod. "I saw. I'm ready."

He looks at me for a second, and his brow furrows. But there's no time for this.

"If we don't leave now, they'll bombard us," I say. My voice is oddly detached. "Maybe the staff can sneak us out through the back."

The concern doesn't leave his face, but he drops a bill on the table and gestures for me to lead the way. I can feel the gin starting to hit me, and I realise I only had a handful of fries in my stomach.

But then his arm is around my shoulders and he leads me through the door behind the counter. The weight and warmth are reassuring after everything, anchoring me to my body when my mind just wants to float away.

We enter the kitchen and his phone rings again. This time he just answers it.

"Hello?"

I can hear Tasha on the other end. "The cab is across the street, you just have to get to it. And for the record, I told you this was a bad idea. I hope that girl is worth the trouble."

"Thanks," he says shortly, then hangs up.

"Hey! You can't be in here!"

Dimitri's arm tightens around me.

"Hey man," he says to the angry chef who addressed us. "I'm a singer, and one of your staff let the press know I'm here. I don't want to deal with this tonight. Is there an way to get onto the street through here?"

I notice our waitress in the corner, her eyes wide with shock. Dimitri looks at me, then follows my gaze. She jumps and bolts back through the doors.

The cook looks between the closing door and Dimitri's less than impressed expression, and then his entire demeanor shifts.

"I am sorry about Amber. I'll be talking to her about this as soon as we get you two out of here. Follow me."

He leads us through the kitchen to a side door which spits us out in the alley next to the building. Across the street, the red brake lights of the waiting cab beckon us to safety. Dimitri opens the door and bundles me in, then climbs in beside me. He gives an address to the driver, and we start to move. We sit on either side of the back seat without touching, but I barely notice.

My thoughts spin faster than the tyres of the cab, flashing erratically before my eyes. All the work I've put in. All the late nights, the favours, the chauvinism that I pretended didn't bother me. My breathing starts picking up.

"Rose, I am so sorry."

His voice is quiet, but no less earnest for that.

Unable to speak, I just shake my head.

"I swear, I'll have her fired."

I close my eyes, trying to calm my breathing. It doesn't work.

"Hey," he says softly, moving closer to me. "Can I hug you? Would it help?"

My breaths are now coming in gasps that are almost painful. And it's worse to know he's watching me unravel. But I lean my head against his chest and he wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair and whispering soothing sounds in Russian.

Tears leak out my eyes, absorbed into his shirt. Every inhale I can smell him, like mint and leather and aftershave. And slowly that heady scent combined with his comforting warmth causes my breathing to slow. He carries on rubbing soothing circles I to my back after I'm quiet, somehow knowing how fragile I still am.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers into my hair. "I should have left you alone. I should never have dragged you into this."

My voice is slightly hoarse when I speak, muffled against his shirt. "It's not you."

He makes a sound of disbelief, then lifts his head to look out the window.

"We're almost at my apartment. I can call you another cab to take you home from there, if you'd like. But I'd really like to make sure you're okay first."

I take a breath, sit up, and wipe my eyes. He lets me go, but keeps his hands out like he's worried I'll fall.

I try to inject some strength into my voice, to convince him that he doesn't have to pity me.

"It wasn't about that. I got a text while you were on the phone. Mason..." I feel my face crumple as I say his name, threatening to pull me under again. "Mason said..."

I break off with a sob.

Dimitri reaches out and guides me back to his chest without hesitation, letting me cry into his shirt.

"It's okay," he soothes. "You don't have to talk about it. It's okay."

I feel the cab roll to a stop, and I try to pull myself together. But I'm in a cab crying the pieces of my heart into the chest of a virtual stranger, while Mason is out there ruining every ounce of work I've put in to get to where I am.

Dimitri keeps one arm around me as he reaches out to pay the driver.

He holds my hand, guiding me out the car and through the front door of a building that would be really impressive if I was in a different headspace. The foyer is modern and beautiful, with marble floors and clean lines. Even through the blur of my tears, I know I should be in awe.

The elevator takes us to the top floor of course. I should tell him I need to go home. This is so not his problem. I should be preparing to curl up in a ball on my bed until I can figure out how to handle this. I need to calm down and figure out my next steps.

But I feel like I'm made of glass. And even though he's practically a stranger, Dimitri's warmth and presence are comforting. I don't want to go home, because the second I'm alone I have to start thinking about what the hell I'm going to do.

So I don't say anything as I follow him through the sleek black door that's way taller than it has any reason to be. And I silently chastise myself for being so damn weak.


Author's Note


Thank you so much for reading! I'm having so much fun with this. And while I do feel a little bad for making Mason the bad guy, we all know Rose wasn't meant to end up with him anyway.

Anyway, please let me know what you think! It's always so amazing to read your reviews. I'm currently posting every Monday, but with work being busy, I'm running out of chapters in the bank. So if you'd like to follow and favourite, please feel free. It's a good way to stay up to date with when I post.

The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.