When all that's left of my sandwich is a few crumbs on a plate in the sink, I try calling Lissa. But after two attempts with no answer, I shoot her a text telling her to call me when she can. And while I'm at it, I send another text to my dad asking how the horse race went. Maybe if I'm subtle I can figure out what's going on with him and Janine.

Then, since the laundry finished about thirty minutes ago, I decide to hang it up to dry and go for a run. But as I'm changing into my running shorts, I feel something small and solid in the pocket of my discarded pants. I frown, running my fingers over the object again, just to be sure. Once I've maneuvered it out of its fabric prison, the silver thumb drive Adrian Ivashkov gave me sits plainly in the middle of my palm.

What had he said? Listen to it and I'll know what he means? I can barely remember the context of the conversation. But...

I bite my lip, deliberating. I always listen to music when I run anyway...

So I fire up my laptop and plug in the drive. The songs in the main folder are all by Dimitri, but I don't recognise any of the titles. Part of me wonders what game Adrian is trying to play here, because I somehow doubt his motives were pure. But I'm also curious. So I transfer the songs over to my phone while looking for my running shoes. By the time I've tied my laces the transfer is complete.

As I exit my building, I take a quick look up and down the street. I'm not used to feeling that prickle of unease since I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand, but my time with Dimitri and my run in with Tasha have made me extra cautious, wary of being watched or followed. But I'm not the one who's famous, so I chide myself for being paranoid.

I slip in my earbuds and tuck a leg up to stretch my hamstrings. Then, once I've shaken out my ankles, my feet hit the pavement and I press play. My initial pace is always slow, as I give my muscles the time they need to wake up and work. But the muted accoustic guitar that fills my head is the perfect starter.

Something about the rich, mellow tone of the strings makes me sure of two things. The first that this is Dimitri's favourite guitar, brought with him from his home in Russia. And the second is that he recorded and produced this song with Adrian.

I can pick out characteristics of Dimitri's earlier style if I try. It holds the same charm, the same draw as when I first saw him perform. But then when Dimitri's voice comes in, it becomes infinitely more.

"Standing at a crossroads but
I know my hands are tied
Darling when you looked at me
I wished I couldn't lie

Honey all that faith in me
About to crash on down
And when you hear me clearly
I know I won't make a sound"

Adrian's production talent is all over it, and I hate that it sounds so godamned good. That raw soulful quality to Dimitri's voice is almost like hearing him sing in his home studio. The audible soft caress of his fingers on the strings, as though his guitar is entirely unplugged. It's all the intimacy of Dimitri singing for himself, but polished to perfection. Dimitri and Adrian clearly make one hell of a team.

"What did we lose? Oh nothing much
Sometimes it all just fades away
Why can't we choose? It's not up to us
When there's nothing left to save"

I'm concentrating so hard on the music that I can barely feel my legs moving. My lungs expand and contract in time with the songs that course through my head. The next track is slightly faster, but in that charming way that folk can be upbeat. The tone is a little lighter, a little more hopeful.

"Let's not be hasty
I'll savour the taste of you
Like the finest wine,
I could drown in your eyes"

My mind is spinning, as though the music is pulling at the end of a reel of thread. These songs are beautiful and moving; a reflection of massive talent on both their parts. But even more than their individual gifts, I know that what I'm hearing is the result of two people who have put egos aside and genuinely collaborated. There's soul in these tracks; something that's all too rare in the cutthroat pace of this industry. Dimitri and Adrian sound like they sat together for hours and...

...and yet not a single one of these songs has been released. From the number of tracks in the folder, they had more than enough to make an album. And with the big names that worked on it- not to mention the quality of their work- it's safe to say it would be a huge hit. So... I wonder about Dimitri and Adrian's possible motivation in keeping these songs away from the public. I'd have to double check the dates in the file information, but something tells me that time wasn't the issue here. My stomach is starting to churn with unease.

Four and a half miles sail by without a thought of stopping, with the building feeling of exertion in my legs seeming so distant that it could be happening to someone else. As I continue to play down the songs in order, it's becoming increasingly clear to me that I'm listening to Dimitri and Adrian falling in love. It starts out with a mutual interest in music, and an immediate creative connection. And then over the course of the album, I hear how they become more and more in sync. It's beautiful. But it's also fucking hard to bear.

Finally I decide I've had enough. I run the rest of the way in silence.

To my surprise, when I stop my watch at the door to my building I've almost run seven miles. My legs begin to ache as though they've also just been informed of this fact, and I find myself walking very carefully to the elevator.

Back in my apartment I take extra care with my stretches, reveling in the deep pull as my muscles cool down. After which I take a long, luxurious shower. Using only my best products of course.

I pull on a t-shirt and sweatpants and waft my coconut sandalwood smelling self over to the living room sofa in order to check my phone. I had kind of hoped to have heard from Dimitri again, but no such luck. And Lissa also hasn't replied. But my father tells me that the races were a great success. Naturally he backed the winning horse. I roll my eyes.

So do you own the winning horse, or do you own the owner? I type back.

God, knowing him he probably owns the bookies.

I tap away from that conversation, and idly scan through other messages. Like a magnet, I find my thumb hovering over Dimitri's name. Maybe I should text him? Ask how things are going?

I shake my head at myself. He said he would call tonight. So either he'll call or he won't. And I will be fine.

But as I sit there considering, I find myself tempted to message another person. He's still saved in my phone as Mixing Desk Guy, and I'm reluctant to change it now. It just seems like far too much effort for someone I doubt I'll have much contact with. But I do wish I could ask him why he handed me that USB. And I wish I could count on him to give me an honest answer. Is some form of answer better than letting all my questions stew in my head?

After a few moments of mental agonising, I figure it's unlikely that he'll even respond given what I know of his day's activities. So I just send a short text telling him I listened to the songs.

I've barely hit send when my phone vibrates.

My pulse immediately picks up, only to be disappointed to find it's a response from my father. There's still nothing from Dimitri.

Glad to see your sense of humour is intact, Abe writes. I assume you saw I went with your mother.

I sigh. So much for subtlety.

Yeah. When did that happen?

He responds with a lips zipped emoji, and I want to roll my eyes.

Maybe if I keep you guessing you'll feel the need to call your parents more often.

My hand automatically rises to my face, trying to rub away the exhaustion my father's 'jokes' generally elicit.

Since I don't know how to respond, I just don't reply. But the events of the day have left a knot in my stomach, and I find myself feeling unsettled to be in my own home. I've heard nothing of Lissa's situation with Christian, and I really need to do something to stop myself from thinking about Dimitri. But I'm too antsy to watch a movie or to read.

So I do what I always do when I feel something strongly; when I need some way to express myself. I head back into my bedroom and snag my guitar from the corner of my closet.

It's nothing like Dimitri's.

She's an old Cort I saw through the pawn shop window when I was in high school, and immediately fell in love with. It did take a fair amount of begging before my father convinced my mother it would be a good idea, but I spent the entire summer holed up in my stuffy room with my windows open to coax in a breeze, and the door closed to spare my mother the sounds of me figuring out how to play.

I cast a loving glance over the shape of the instrument, remembering. There are chips in her finish and a fair few faded stickers from a time I thought that was so cool. Not to mention a light coating of dust to inform me it's been far too long since I last played. On the fretboard there are crescent shaped indentations from numerous occasions when I was too lazy to cut my nails, and the dots of the fret markers I had to paint back in with whiteout once they faded.

I tune the strings with an app on my phone. The top E was so flat I actually winced, but she sounds decent enough when I'm done. My fingers stroke the strings as I strum a few chords, and I find myself smiling. Feeling the smooth finish of the wood brings back memories. I really do love my guitar.

I'm slower at first as I wait for my muscle memory to kick in. With a chuckle to myself I decide to play Flowers Fall, singing the original words for old time's sake. My voice takes a verse and chorus to warm up, by which time my fingers are moving smoothly over the frets.

Flowers fall and fade to black
Just beyond my reach
Beauty that I cannot catch
Just like you and me

My mind begins to fade into the background. It's almost the opposite of when I'm running. I run to think, to clear my head. Giving myself a repetitive task like moving my legs somehow unlocks my brain's abilities to work through things.

But this, here. I become a channel for the music to flow through. My fingers on the strings, the air in my lungs. The words of each song give voice to things I couldn't explain if I tried.

My voice rings out clear as day on the final note of Flowers Fall, but I barely take a moment's pause before launching into another song by one of my favourite artists, followed by my well worn version of Only Exception.

At this point my fingertips are starting to ache, but I find myself unable to stop. So maybe it's a mercy that my buzzer sounds from the living room just as I start the chorus of Never Let Me Go.

The unfamiliar sound pulls me to my feet. Normally people just text me when they arrive. So I'm hesitant as I walk over to to the system and press the talk button.

"Yeah?" I call.

A crackle, then: "Roza? Thank God I got the right number. It's me."

My stomach does a backflip at the sound of his voice. I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a strange noise. So I buzz him up.

And then I turn to face the current state of my apartment.

Fuck.

Despite having run 7 miles today, I swear I manage to add another half as I sprint around my kitchen and living room haphazardly tossing objects into cupboards or appropriately dark corners. I only just manage to transport three used mugs from the coffee table to the sink when there's a knock on the door. I do my best to catch my breath in the six steps it takes to get to it. But as I turn the handle, I realise that it was entirely futile.

Because the sight of Dimitri's gorgeous face hits me square in the chest, and what little air I managed to regain entirely vanishes. His eyes are wide as he takes me in, and the way he breathes his own greeting makes me wonder if he's also struggling for air.

"Hi," I respond with a slight smile. "Come on in."

"Thank you," he says simply, stepping into my apartment.

I watch in stunned silence as he removes his leather bomber jacket and hangs it by the door.

"Oh, I brought wine," he says, proffering the bottle in question.

The muscles in his forearm capture my attention, and my eyes flick to those long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. It tugs at something in my center, and I have to swallow.

"Thanks," I say.

As I take the bottle through to the kitchen, I try to calm my racing pulse. I can hear him moving around in the living room, and definitely do not want to give him too much time to examine things in case he spies the crap I shoved behind the sofa. So I hurry to join him in the room as soon as I can. Or at least, that was my intention. But upon rounding the corner, the sight of Dimitri Belikov in my small apartment is so surreal I freeze up for a moment.

He's so tall. Like intellectually I know he's tall, but seeing for myself just how much space he takes up in my little living room with those long legs and broad shoulders...my mouth goes dry.

"So uh. This is my place," I say unnecessarily as Dimitri turns away from his examination of a photo of me and Lissa I have on the sideboard.

His eyes meet mine and his lips quirk. Of course my face immediately flushes.

"But you already knew that," I continue with a wince at my rambling.

Dimitri Belikov is in my apartment. Like. Right there in front of me, in the space I sometimes pull out a mat and follow along with a yoga video on YouTube. Damn, I'd love to watch him do yoga. My brain follows that train of thought all too easily, until I suddenly realise I've been gawking at him instead of being a proper host. So my cheeks heat further as I belatedly offer him something to drink.

He had been flicking through my bundle of crew lanyards I kept from past jobs, but looks up to reply.

"Thank you, Roza," he says. "But I'm good for now."

I nod, not really knowing what else to do. My eyes sweep over him again, and notice there's some tightness in his shoulders. In fact Dimitri seems a little distant tonight. But I realise that I'm staring at him again, as well as awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. So I cross to the sofa and take a seat, trying to puzzle out the reason for his reticence.

He spends another few moments looking through the line of books I keep on my windowsill; an assortment of my favorite novels alongside technical guides on sound for work.

"I don't think I have any Westerns," I say lightly.

Instead of a retort, Dimitri gives me a wry smile that fades into what looks like discomfort. I feel a spike of alarm. There's definitely something going on.

"Dimitri?"

He smiles, but it doesn't dispel that unsure expression, then seems to realise I'm waiting for his response.

"Sorry, I'm-" he takes a step towards me and then stops. He swallows, steps back. Runs a hand through his hair. "Uh, Is it...okay...for me to be here?"

I blink, barely able to believe my eyes. The way he's tripping over his words, the way he's standing so awkwardly. Confident, cocky, can-stand-on-stage-and-perform-in-front-of-thousands-of-people Dimitri is barely recognisable. And oh my God if he isn't adorable.

"Hey," I say, unable to help my smile. "I'm the awkward one, remember? You're stealing my thunder."

He grins shyly, and shifts his weight to his other foot.

I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss somebody so much in my life.

"Okay, come here," I say, patting the seat next to me. "Sit with me."

I reach across to grab his hand as he joins me, savoring the simple fact that I can touch him because I want to. With a smiling glance at our linked hands, Dimitri raises them to his face and presses a kiss into the back of mine. He does seem to have relaxed a little, but the wary look crosses his face again before he speaks.

"I wasn't sure if I should come," he explains after a moment. "I couldn't decide if it was weird or not."

I give him a soft smile. "Why would it be weird?"

"You told me your building when I sent the cab that first time, but I didn't know your apartment number," he admits. "I think yours was the fifth button I tried."

The mental picture of Dimitri standing at the door pressing buttons at random turns my smile into an outright grin. "Well you could have texted me."

He shakes his head. "I knew I'd lose my nerve if I texted." His eyes widen slightly, his tone turns earnest. "Is it really okay? You don't want me to leave?"

I'm trying desperately to control my expression. But the edge of my mouth lifts; an outward sign of the warmth fluttering in my chest.

"I'm glad you're here," I say, then because he still looks hesitant: "I spent the day trying to stop thinking about you."

Relief breaks across Dimitri's face, and he leans towards me with an exhale. His sweeps his nose down the column of my neck, coming to rest nuzzled into the space near my collar bone. I tilt my head on top of his in answer, my free hand going to his hair. Something seems to settle inside me, as though I have the answer to a nagging question.

"Did it work?" he asks after a moment.

I breathe a laugh, feeling his skin press against mine briefly as my chest expands.

"No, it did not," I tell him.

He mumbles his response into my skin. "Mmmm, for me as well."

We remain silent for a little while, content in our contact, and I feel him slowly relax into me. From my side, the jitters associated with the fact that he's in my home have subsided into that same sense of comfort his presence has always brought me. And I imagine he's been reassured that his presence is entirely welcome. My focus shifts to his breath tickling my neck, the feeling of his hair beneath my fingers, the warmth of him against my body. And I silently struggle with the sheer force of the emotion this man elicits within me. I really don't want to think about that right now.

Inevitably, after a while my shoulder starts to complain about lack of bloodflow. Not wanting the moment to end, I was going for a subtle shift into a better position, but Dimitri sits up with a knowing look in his eye.

"Am I putting your arm to sleep?" he asks with a smile.

I lopsidedly shrug. "I'd say it's worth it."

"We definitely need you to maintain full use of both your arms," he laughs.

"I don't really need both hands to use the soundboard, you know."

"I suppose not," he smiles. "But then someone else would have to mic me up."

I purse my lips. "Fair point. It's an important job, especially when your jeans don't fit."

That elicits a laugh, but the warmth leaves his eyes after a brief moment. Dimitri takes a breath.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he says.

From the look in his eyes, I know he's not referring to anything that happened in my apartment.

My own smile fades. "When Tasha asked if we were together?" I confirm, and he nods.

Okay. Well I guess we're talking about this now. I attempt to gather my thoughts, and feel that little bubble of hurt rise to my stomach. We're past the point of hiding now, so I swallow my trepidation and ask him directly.

"Why did you hesitate?"

"I knew Tasha would immediately insist on the NDA," he replies after a moment. He reaches out and absently starts playing with my fingers as he speaks. "I do know why it's necessary. But I hate that I have to ask so much of you so soon. I hate that it gives them power over you too."

That flicker of frustration in his eyes, I can tell he means it. He wants to protect me from the people who have made his life hell the past few years. But just because I understand, doesn't mean it's rational.

"Dimitri," I sigh, "it's not like this is my first ever NDA. I know what you do. Has it occurred to you that I had some idea of what I was getting myself into?"

He sags a little, letting out a breath. "Some idea is different from having to deal with all the shit that comes with me."

I frown as something in his tone sparks a memory. What had he said in the bar when we made our escape?

I should never have dragged you into this.

It gives me a guess at his motivation.

"Why does it seem like you keep giving me outs?" I ask, trying to hold back the rising outrage bubbling in my chest. "You think I'm going to change my mind about being with you?"

He looks up, and I have my answer in the guilty look on his face. My pulse picks up, and that outrage morphs into something stronger. I almost feel my gaze sharpen, locking his eyes on mine. I grab his chin to make sure he can't look away from me, and his eyes widen.

"I'll sign a hundred NDAs," I tell him, willing him to take in my words. "I'll meet all your exes. I'll turn down bribes and leave at odd times so you can work and I'll understand when you leave me standing there in the middle of a conversation because you need to get a new idea down on paper before it's gone." My vision begins to blur, but I don't care right now. I need this dumb, gorgeous man to understand what I'm saying right now.

"I'll do that all gladly," I continue, "because I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you after I've left the room for four seconds." My voice breaks, choked with the emotion welling up in my throat. But I'm not done.

My fingers tense as I get to the most important thing I have to tell him. "I will do all of that and more because even with all the shit we dealt with today, you are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

I let go of his face and move my hand to touch my own cheek, finding it warm. Dimitri stares at me in stunned silence. He's quiet for long enough that my fingertips feel the shift as my face morphs from the slight flush of emotion into a spectacular oh-God-did-I-really-just-say-that blush.

"Maybe I should have that wine now," I murmur to hide my embarrassment.

Dimitri shakes his head, as though clearing his thoughts. Then he takes my hand again before he speaks.

"There aren't many times in my life that I've been left completely speechless," he says. A small smile, then: "You know I've normally dated for at least a week before I start fucking up this badly."

He watches my answering smile, then continues in an earnest tone. "I am sorry Roza. But I don't think the stakes have ever been this high for me." He lowers his voice, barely above a whisper. "Losing you is not an option."

My heart contracts. "Why would you lose me?"

He smiles. "Because I can be a fucking idiot sometimes."

And I have to laugh at that, have to accept the unspoken offer of returning to lighter conversation as I say, "Only sometimes?"

Dimitri's grin is almost as wide as his face. And then he swiftly leans forward to kiss me, expertly moving his lips against mine for a moment that turns out to be far too short for my taste.

"Only sometimes," he repeats, as though nothing happened. And then pauses before adding: "Smartass."

I just stare at his mouth, with the phantom feeling of his kiss lingering on my lips.

I've never experienced this level of attraction to somebody, where they have the power to turn me on like flicking a switch. Maybe I'm a total sucker for him. Maybe I'm drunk on his presence, or maybe I'm pent up to the point where he could ignite me with a glance. But I do know that I will disintegrate without the touch of his hands on me right now. So it's as simple as looping my leg over him until I'm astride his lap, with that incredible face filling my entire field of vision.

His brown eyes are wide as they take in my sudden proximity, and I watch his gaze flick downwards to my open mouth. I stroke his hair back from his face, curling my fingers into his hair at the base of his skull. And I watch him watch me move closer, until we could be breathing the same air.

"Roza."

My name is a groan, so I steal the rest of the sounds from his mouth as I cover it with my own. My tongue sweeps across his, deliciously warm and wet. I use the fact that I'm above him for once to my advantage, tilting my hips forward and using the grip I have on his hair to deepen the kiss.

Dimitri's lips are like silk against mine, the way his tongue moves reminiscent of tangled bedsheets and silent screams. His hand roves up my side, and I let out a moan of my own as his fimgers wrap around my neck. His knuckles tighten, fingers flexing gently, and my entire body goes limp and tight at the same time.

But then he pushes me back, breaking the kiss. "Roza," he gasps. "This isn't what I came here for."

I go cold, sitting back so I can see his face. My eyes are probably comically wide, but I'm just trying to figure out how I misread the situation this badly.

"Do you not want to?" I ask, my voice high with shock.

Dimitri looks away, and I feel like I'm going to be sick. I should probably get off him, but my muscles are frozen.

"I do want to, Roza. But I came here to talk to you. I'm not... expecting anything."

I blink, giving my brain time to wrestle back some of that bloodflow. And when his words register, a small chuckle escapes my lips before I'm able to stop it.

"God Comrade, please don't scare me like that."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "It wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you know there's no pressure."

This man will be the death of me.

"I appreciate that," I reply with a smile as I lean forward again. "But uh...maybe I could use a little pressure right now."

Dimitri hits me with a grin. "I'm sorry Roza, I didn't mean to leave you hanging."

I almost growl my response. "Then don't."

At those words his face shifts into something almost feline, and his smile takes on a languid look that perfectly matches the pace of the hand now tracing down my body. And despite the shock of the interruption, my blood heats instantly at the feeling of his touch on me, one single layer away from my bare skin. I arch into his hand, willing it lower. With that same achingly slow pace, he obeys

"So that pressure," he murmurs, his lips on my neck. "Something like this?"

His fingers tighten suddenly, eliciting an electric flash of pleasure through the fabric of my sweatpants. I hiss, rolling my hips to get more friction.

"I'll take that as a yes," he laughs into my ear, but I don't have the breath or the patience to respond.

In fact every molecule of my attention is now focused on the fingers casually tracing up the seam of my pants. At the top, they tease at the edge of my waistband, and my eyes dart between the offending digits and those gorgeous brown eyes currently alight with amusement.

"Dick," I inform him shortly as his touch hovers at my abdomen.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that an insult or an instruction?"

But my snarky response is cut off with a gasp.

In one swift motion Dimitri slips his hand beneath the fabric of my waistband, and his fingers glide into the warmth at my centre. My senses coalesce there, sending a shiver through me. I grind into him, earning a noise from the back of his throat. My own hands seek him out, that hardness straining at his fly. But he shifts away from my touch.

"Patience, Roza," he says roughly, a sweep of his fingers for emphasis.

And Dimitri's free hand rises to the back of my neck as my spine arches; a result of the steady movement inside me. He grips my neck, using the pressure to guide me backwards until I'm lying stretched out on the cushions with my legs draped over his lap. At no point during the shift do his other fingers falter, intent on slowly becoming my undoing. My thigh muscles tense, clamping down on his hand to draw him deeper. My vision darkens as my eyes flutter closed, removing the distraction of sight so I can entirely become that full, stroking sensation. Dimitri's weight shifts, and I sense his presence hovering over me. His touch traces down my neck, my collar bone, my ribs. He traces patterns on the fabric, sending waves of goosebumps across my skin.

Those fingers between my legs set a steady beat in time with my rising heart rate. My blood is singing through my veins, my breath coming in gasps. His mouth moves lower, echoing the path that his hand took earlier. Then he pauses at the hem of my shirt. I can feel his breath tickling my stomach.

The cold air hits the skin of my torso as he tugs my shirt up with his teeth. Thousands of tiny hairs across the surface of my torso prickle in anticipation. My lungs expand sharply, petfectly presenting my bare chest to Dimitr's idle hand. And apparently it's what he was waiting for, since he immediately begins teasing my nipple between his fingers. His lips find the other, pulling and sucking and biting, and his hand between my legs becomes more insistent.

I'm pulled in three different directions, my body stretching tight. His slick fingers pick up the pace, paired with more pressure from that circling thumb. And even with the intensity of sensation from so many different places, some part within me knows it's not the part of him I crave. I need more of him, more pressure, more tension. Instinct takes over, and I hook a knee over his shoulder. I'm spread wide for him, giving him absolute control. He pauses his ministrations on my breasts long enough to bite the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.

My stomach contracts, and the sound that comes out of my mouth belongs in an adult film. But I don't have the brain capacity to be embarassed at the moment, or for anything else really. Because I can feel myself tightening around those beckoning fingers, feel all of my muscles contract. My back arches, my ass clenches, my legs start to tremble.

Still Dimitri's fingers tease and stroke and thrust. And when I'm right on the precipice his palm flattens against me, his fingers pumping as he kneads my apex.

My eyes fly open, only to roll back into my head as I come undone. His lips are on my neck, his other hand gripping my breast just shy of pain. And I feel like I'm dissolving into him; tight and shuddering until I slump back against the cushions.

Once I've come back down to earth, I meet Dimitri's gaze. He's watching me intently, his eyes scorching and smug at the same time.

"Fuck," I breathe. My body feels warm and heavy, and a little like I've started melting into the cushions beneath me.

Dimitri's sultry smile widens into a grin. "That was just a warm up Roza."

Author's Note

I'm back with a whole new surname!

Thank you for reading! If you liked the chapter and you have some time, please leave a review. I'm having issues with my email notifications but it's always amazing to read your thoughts. Also, please feel free to follow and favourite if you want to keep up to date with when I post.

This is a little different to what I normally write, but I found myself having fun with that lemony tang. I still have so many plans for this story, so hopefully things will calm down enough for me to write them.

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