"Something to drink?" Dimitri offers from the kitchen.

We're in a blandly attractive hotel room, a far cry from the personal cozy feeling of Dimitri's apartment. The minimal decor and neutral colour palette make me feel like I could be in a fancy doctor's office or something.

"Hmm?" I call back, distracted from my previous task of examing the abstract painting hanging above the table.

Dimitri's head appears around the kitchen dividing wall.

"Wine?"

"Uh. Yes please."

He nods before disappearing once more.

I look around the room for something to distract me from the anxious churning in my stomach. I feel like a thread that's been cut loose, floating aimlessly without an anchor.

Dimitri enters the room carefully, holding two glasses.

"Luckily the vodka's shit," he says with a smile, handing me my glass. "Otherwise we may have both ended up on the couch."

I give a shaky laugh, relieved that even in a situation like this, the banter that we've always shared still comes naturally.

"I'm no match for your tolerance anyway," I reply. "Your first drink was at what, twelve years old?"

He sits down, comfortaby stretching one arm out along the back of the couch. "Hmmm, I think I may have been eleven. But I'm not sure."

I laugh. "Yeah and I was sixteen, like a good kid."

He grins. "A good kid that sneaked into a bar underage to watch some guy play the guitar?"

"In my defence, he was gorgeous."

This makes him laugh. "Was? So past tense?"

I grin, still awkwardly standing in front of the couch. It's one of those L shaped ones, with uncomfortable expensive scatter cushions.

"You okay Roza? You can sit anywhere you like."

Still, I hesitate. Of course I know where I'd like to sit, but it may make talking difficult. So I sigh and perch on the end closest to me, not quite in reach of the arm I know I'd fit so perfectly beneath.

Dimitri watches my dilemma with a spark of amusement, as though he can tell what I'm thinking.

"I have a couple of questions," I begin.

"I thought you might," he replies, grinning at me over the rim of his glass.

I follow suit, taking a fortifying sip of my own wine. This is the most awkward I've ever felt with him; normally his presence instills a sense of calm. But underneath the anxiety, there's still that thrill of being alone with him, paired with the giddy feeling of taking a risk.

"I guess mainly I'm wondering why I'm here."

My heart leaps into my throat, and my fingers begin to play at the stem of the glass balanced on my knee. Having taken the plunge and run out of courage, I find myself watching my hands instead of his face.

Dimitri chuckles. "I could ask you the same thing. From my side it's because I wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet."

I nod, my eyes still fixed on my lap. But I know I'm being a coward. Somehow I know he'll answer any question I have, and he'll do it honestly. So I should extend him the same courtesy.

I take a breath and look up at him. And his godly good looks hit me square in the face, setting my stomach immediately back into knots.

But despite the nerves, I drink in the sight of that slight smile in his eyes, the stray piece of dark hair that's escaped its tie. Those lips that make me want to throw my worries out the window and lose myself in him, even if it is only for one night.

I take a steadying breath.

"You've told me you don't date," I say in a rush, preventing myself from thinking too long on that last thought. A swelling feeling builds in my chest, like that split second feeling as you're convincing yourself you can do a backflip.

"We've talked about why we won't work," I continue, "and the reasoning was pretty solid. Externally, nothing's changed. So I have to ask if I'm here as like a one time thing."

The end of my sentence comes out so quietly, I wonder if he even heard me. It feels like I'm saying too much, like I'm being too direct. I am vulnerable here, pinned to my seat by such beautiful eyes. But I hold his gaze, and it takes every ounce of bravery that I possess. Because there's just too much at stake.

He murmurs something in Russian as he searches my face, then shakes his head when my expression shifts to curiosity.

"I'll tell you what it means later," he says, correctly guessing the reason I opened my mouth. "First I need to say something."

A pause follows, with another sip of wine that tells me maybe I'm not the only one who's nervous. I try not to be distracted by the novelty of watching the unflappable Dimitri Belikov take a deliberate breath before he speaks. I've never seen him like this, its fascinating.

"You're right. Externally nothing's changed. But internally..." He breaks off, then brings a hand to his face. "God this is going to sound so cliche."

I can't help but laugh at that. The artist in him needs to find some groundbreaking line that hasn't been used before. He needs to be expressive and original. Maybe it would help if he sang it instead.

My eyes widen as the realisation hits.

"Why should I give in and say the thing that's on my mind," I whisper, recalling a line from his closing song.

Dimitri's expression shifts, giving me a shy smile. "I was wondering if you'd recognise the melody."

I nod, still slightly awestruck. "I did. I was going to ask you, but then Tasha..."

"Mmm, I thought it might be that. What did she do anyway?"

I shake my head slightly. "I don't give a fuck about her right now, she's not important. It's the same tune you were playing, right after what happened in the kitchen."

"Yes. It didn't have words then, so I wasn't sure that you'd remember."

I close my eyes for a second, feeling the echo of my embarassment. I try to banish the surge of frustration that scene inspires, to leave it behind my eyelids.

"So nothing's different," I whisper finally.

Dimitri sets his glass down on the coffee table.

"Everything is different, Roza."

He runs a hand through his hair, freeing more tendrils that fall around his face. With a noise of frustration he pulls the tie free. Then he looks up at me with wild hair in a dark halo and fire in his eyes.

"I wanted to kiss you, that night in the kitchen. More than I think I've ever wanted anything in my life. But I felt like I couldn't..." he breaks off with a bitter laugh. "The way my life is, sometimes I feel like King Midas. Like the label takes everything I want and twists it around until I can't even recognise it."

It's hard to see him like this. It reminds me of the panicked man I saw in his dressing room, just before that first show. I just want to help him however I can, and that entirely overrides my previous nerves. I set my glass down and move closer to him, taking his hands in my own.

He softens slightly, returning the reassuring pressure of my fingers between his.

"Rose," he says, "Roza. I'm tired of trying to forget how you make me feel. I'm sick of worrying about everyone else, and what can go wrong."

At those words my body starts to melt. My head fills with helium, and a crazy grin errupts on my face.

He seems to be struggling for words, once again tripped up by that need to avoid cliches. But I have no such problem.

"You've put a spell on me," I tell him. "I've got you under my skin."

He looks up at me, surprise plain on his face. But beneath that, there's a spark of delight in those gorgeous brown eyes that make me feel so giddy.

"We belong together," I add with a grin.

He laughs. "I'm crazy for you."

"You take my breath away," I shoot back.

"Nothing compares to you."

"God only knows."

We're both laughing at this point, but Dimitri calms when he thinks of another one. And suddenly I'm not laughing anymore, as he leans in close.

"How about Kiss From a Rose?" he breathes.

He smells incredible. I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale, nuzzling into him. But my brain is frozen, focused on the moment in front of me and the anticipation of the thing I've wanted ever since I stood in his kitchen.

Well... if I'm honest, I've wanted him to kiss me since the second he met my eyes across the stage, all those years ago. I felt the connection then, even though I didn't want to admit it. I had no idea that he'd felt it too.

Dimitri's face is so close that it's starting to blur, his lips are parted and inviting. I can almost taste him, but he seems to be waiting for me to respond.

"Uh," I say hoarsely, "can I think of a witty response after you've kissed me? I'm kind of distracted."

He laughs softly, and says something in Russian.

And then, like a movie, his lips are warm and soft on my own. He's gentle and sweet, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck and tilting his head. I can taste the wine slightly, but mostly its the warmth of Dimitri.

And he's pretty fucking amazing.

I reach my arms up and wrap them around his neck as he winds his own around my waist. Instinctively I want to be closer, to feel contact at every point possible. But it's not just about the physical sensation of him around me, of his lips intent on their work against mine. It's like that connection has tugged something loose inside of me, and he's pulling my very being closer to his own.

And on top of my nerve endings alight with the warmth of him, and my tumultuous emotional response, I'm simply overwhelmed by a sense of relief. I don't have to pretend I don't feel anything for him; not to myself or anyone else. It's attraction as I've never felt it before, and desire strong enough to match.

The couch is large at least, and I have plenty of space to sling one of my legs over his lap and pull myself up until I'm straddling him, all without breaking the kiss. He moans into my mouth, and his hands squeeze my hips. Obligingly, I apply a little friction in the required area.

I pull away for a moment, making sure to hold his gaze as I pull my shirt off over my head. Dimitri makes an appreciative noise. He raises one of his hands, skimming his palm lightly over my ribs. His long fingers tease at the edge of my bra.

"You're godamned heavenly, Roza."

"Well, I've seen you mostly naked," I reply. "I figured it's only fair."

"Maybe we'll remedy that tonight."

My stomach clenches.

Dimitri pulls me back to him, with a fierceness that wasn't there before. We both know where this is going, it's almost like I'm starving for him. In one fluid movement he rolls me onto my back on the couch, hovering above me with his loose hair framing a scorching hot look on his face.

"Bedroom?" I breathe.

"Mmmmm," he hums, but then he sighs.

Disappointment floods through me, effectively returning my emotions to a slightly more rational state. I reach down to grab my shirt, but Dimitri wraps a hand around my wrist.

"It's not that I don't want to, Roza. Believe me."

"Yeah, no it's fine," I mumble. "Don't worry."

He smiles, trying to get me to meet his eyes. "It's been a really long day for both of us. And I want to be able to take my time to learn what you like."

Despite the instinctive sense of rejection, I know he has a point.

"That makes sense," I nod.

"Plus, I'd like to not be coated in stale stage sweat while that happens."

My eyes widen as the realisation hits. Oh shit. I probably smell horrendous. Suddenly I don't need to put my shirt back on anymore. There's a reason why we wear stage black, it was probably able to stand up by itself.

Dimitri laughs. "You're good, Roza. I just don't want to send you running for the hills. But you can shower first, if you'd prefer."

About an hour later I'm in one of Dimitri's sweatshirts with some Cyrillic slogan across the chest. He also leant me a pair of his boxers to sleep in. I'm sitting on the bed, listening to the sound of the running shower and the adorable snatches of vocal interludes.

I'm not sure if it's for my benefit, but his voice is all the more beautiful when it isn't perfect. I feel pretty honoured to be able to listen to him singing for fun. And despite the less glamorous ending to our conversation earlier, I'm hugging a pillow in an attempt to contain my delight at the fact that Dimitri Belikov HAS FEELINGS FOR ME TOO.

If I were a teenager, I'd be scribbling in my diary. Part of me cannot wait to tell Lissa all about it, but for now I just want to soak it all in.

The water cuts off and I hear the shower door open and shut. The giddy feeling in my stomach increases exponentially as he opens the bathroom door. And then my brain needs a second to process.

I've seen him shirtless, I know he's gorgeous. Godlike even. But when Dimitri stands in the doorway in nothing but a towel tucked low around his hips, with his damp hair slicked back and his skin gleaming from the heat of the water...

Words fail me.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckles.

It's not until he walks past me sitting on the bed and heads to the door across the room that I regain the ability to speak.

"Where are you going?"

"The living room," he replies. "You can have the bed, I'll use the spare blankets in the closet."

I'm brought back to my senses. This poor man did a whole performance, dealt with all the bullshit, and now he's going to condense his tall frame to fit on a couch all night?

"Yeah that's not happening," I tell him, patting the matress. "This thing is huge, if you don't want to share it then I'll take the couch. It's only fair."

He shrugs one shoulder, looking adorably awkward. "I don't mind sharing. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

I roll my eyes. "You need a proper night's sleep, Comrade. This bed is so huge you'd have to organise an expedition to even find me."

"Comrade?" he laughs.

Hmmm. That just kind of slipped out, but he doesn't seem to mind. He still hovers at the doorway, and I suddenly realise that I just don't want to be apart from him, not even for a night. So I guess it's time for some more vulnerability.

"Come to bed," I say softly. "Please. I don't really know what's going to happen tomorrow. We have a lot of stuff to figure out. So I'd kind of like to just enjoy it while it's just us."

He takes a step towards me, but hesitates again.

"I get that, Roza," he gently replies. "But full disclosure: while I know I'm not up for the full show, if I join you there is no way I'd be able to keep my hands to myself all night."

I bite back a smile, as though that's not what I'd been hoping to hear.

"No show then," I say, raising my chin in invitation. "But maybe I could get a preview?"

He looks me over for a moment, and I have the satisfaction of watching his response. It feels good to know he likes what he sees. My chest is heaving in anticipation, I suppress the urge to bite my lip.

Dimitri takes it all in with a dark smile. And then he finally starts walking towards me, eyes heavy with promises.

"I guess I won't be needing this then," he says.

His towel hits the floor.


Author's Note


Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to let me know what you thought, please leave a review. It's always great to read your responses, they never fail to make my day. Also, if you'd like to follow and favourite in order to keep in the loop with when I post, please do.

I don't know why I found this one so difficult to write, but I think it turned out okay in the end. I hope the slightly increased length makes up for the delay in posting. I really appreciate your patience. Lately I've been having to do some hardcore adulting.

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