It's showtime.

I took a little time to unpack and reorient myself when I got home, but soon I was left with no choice but to put on my proverbial war paint. So I've already added everyone to a group chat, having gone through the call sheet to find and add in the numbers that I didn't already have saved. Now all that's left to do now is send everyone the invoice and...

My thumb hits the button.

I let it sit for a minute, and then paste the explanation I prepared and send that too.

Hey guys, sorry for the group chat. You might know that I recently took over Mason's job for an event. Later when the payment came through from the client I thought there had been a mistake. But no, the client just paid me what they would have paid him. You can see the rate he charged in this invoice.

Several people begin typing all at once.

This is a joke, right?

It's got to be.

Nah man. You see the company's watermark on that invoice?

Lol

He billed himself at double Gerry's rate?

What the fuck

I let the messages go for a bit, since some people won't have seen it immediately. Of course, it's likely some will be working or busy with other stuff. But I wait until I've seen the majority of names in the responses before I text again.

I know, I type, I couldn't believe it either. But I got paid what Mason billed, and I just wanted to be up front about it. I'm asking you guys to decide what I do with the extra money.

Gerry responds first.

Mason tried to tank Rose's career, and she's offering to make it up to us? I say keep it as a bullshit fee Rose.

Silence from the others, and then Lewis adds: Dean dropped her last minute too

Oh true. I think Owen had to step in because they were short staffed.

Shit, says Owen. I didn't know that was why. You should definitely keep it then

Yeah we're not going to take your money Rose

You earned it for putting up with all our shit

Does it even make up for that?

Lol, not the way you assholes rig

I smile, and start to type a response. But then a message pops up from Dimitri.

Roza, are you home safe?

Whoops.

I click through to his message immediately and reply.

Sorry! Yes, home safe. I got distracted with telling the crew about Mason.

Considering what time it is, Dimitri's probably getting his hair and makeup done for the shoot, so I'm not expecting a response. But I get one.

No worries króshka. You told them already? How did it go?

Ah, so that's how it's spelled! Thank God I have that written down now so I can google what it means. But I'm getting distracted, and I type my message out before I can be further lost down that train of thought. I tell Dimitri it went well, and that the guys are being surprisingly sweet.

I'm glad Roza.

I bite my lip, deliberating whether I should let him go or extend the conversation while I can. But his company, even digitally, is hard to resist.

How's everything going there? I ask.

Currently getting all dolled up, he replies.

Then he sends a selfie of him in the chair. He's pulling a face while three different people are hovering around him; one blow-drying his hair, another with a pair of tweezers cleaning up his eyebrows, and the third seems to colour correcting the circles under his eyes. The last girl has a particularly awesome tattoo on her forearm.

I send him a laughing face, then follow up with: I can't believe they think you need three people to make you prettier.

Oh, but I do. I didn't get much sleep last night.

And even though I'm alone in my living room, reading that makes me blush.

Sometimes sleep is overrated, I reply. Then, while he's typing, I go back to the group chat with the crew to type a response.

Thanks guys! Next coffee run is on me though

Whenever that is, I think to myself, since my next job will keep me busy for months.

Actually, it would be good to know more of the specifics of the tour so I can plan accordingly. If I'm going to be on the road for long enough maybe I should think about leaving my apartment and putting my stuff in storage. Hmm. I should speak to Tasha.

Luckily Dimitri responds before I can fall too far down that rabbit hole.

I have to agree, you're better than sleep. Can you let me know the dates you'll be in LA when you have them?

Smooth talker, I reply with an eye roll emoji. Then add: Yeah, I should hear back from Lissa today.

Perfect. Actually, can you send me Lissa's number?

I narrow my eyes. I can, I type out. But why?

Brand collaboration.

But the smiley face he adds has me suspicious.

See, now why don't I believe you?

I think that says more about you than me, he shoots back.

I grin. That's not a very convincing response.

Well I tend to be much more convincing in person anyway.

And... yeah I can't argue with that. Even just reading his words, I can picture the exact coy smile he'd have on his face, the way he'd lean towards me after making some comment about my blush.

I take a deep breath, trying to control myself. I attempt to calm my erratic heartbeat and stop the flow of those pesky mental images. But apparently Dimitri decides I'm taking too long to respond.

You okay there Roza? Need a hand?

God fucking damnit, this man will be the death of me. Because I remember vividly what he can do to me with just one hand, and the memory has me biting my lip. Exactly as he intended, I'm sure. But I also think back to this morning, and what he admitted right before I left.

So my response is a simple: I miss you too Comrade. And then I send him Lissa's contact.

He's quiet for a few minutes, and I'm half convinced he's been called away to start the shoot. But then his response pops up.

God, Roza. You have no idea how much I wish you were here.

I thought you're supposed to be too busy to miss me? I'm trying to keep it light, despite the lump in my throat.

Well the minutes inbetween the busyness feel like an eternity.

My vision mists.

I love you, I type. I stare at it on my screen for a few seconds, then erase it with a sigh.

I know the exact feeling, I reply instead.

His next message takes a few minutes. Tasha keeps glaring at me.

I smile. Do you happen to be on your phone instead of working?

Do you really think so little of me? They're busy adjusting the lighting and I'm being assaulted with a giant brush and powder.

That mental image makes me laugh out loud.

I'd love to see that, I say.

And to my delight, he responds with another selfie.

The way they've done his makeup is subtle, but it has a huge impact. The sharp planes of his face have more emphasis, lending him that air of danger that his label wants so desperately to convey. His jawline looks like it could cut glass, and his hair looks so perfectly messy that it must have taken hours. And yet I can still see my Dimitri in the laughter shining in his eyes, the way he's clearly not taking himself seriously even though he looks like a god. In the picture he's leaning away from a fluffy white brush, held by the makeup artist with the tattoo.

One second, I type, I need to search for a tutorial on how to wolf whistle.

Flattery, Roza? He replies.

Honesty, Comrade, I shoot back. You always look amazing, but it's fun for me to see all the different ways that it's possible.

In fact, I zoom in on the picture to get a better look. And that's when I catch sight of Tasha's face in the background.

So even though he's typing, I have to interrupt. Uh, Tasha looks like she wants to rip your balls off.

I get an eye roll in response. No, pretty sure that's just her face.

Well now I know that's not true, considering all the times I've watched her drool over him.

Are they waiting on you to start? I ask.

Uh, no, comes the quick response. Then: carry on telling me how handsome and fuckable I look.

That does make me laugh.

Absolutely, I agree. Handsome and fuckable and totally going to get your phone confiscated.

Am not, he texts. Well, to that last one anyway.

I guess we'll see, I respond. Seriously, go work if you need to work Dimitri. I'll be here when you have time.

But you're so much more fun.

That makes me chuckle. In order to keep having fun I need my boyfriend to remain alive.

I love hearing you call me that.

I grin, but my heart flutters like a hummingbird in my chest.

My boyfriend needs to get to work, I type out, trying not to let on how much I'm enjoying this.

His response is a single sad face, which makes me laugh again. And then another message comes through.

Hi Rose, it's Mia. I'm holding onto Dimitri's phone while he's working. He says to tell you he'll talk to you later and that (and I quote) "Tasha's a bitch"

Well, I did try to warn him. So I text her my thanks, and I'm about to leave it at that. But then it occurs to me I should ask her about the tour stuff, rather than bugging Tasha when Dimitri and I have just pissed her off. So I switch over to my chat with Mia.

Hey, me again, I type. I agreed to be sound engineer for the tour. I'm just wondering if there are dates or any information available so I can get organised?

Yeah I can make sure you get those, she replies. Send me your email and I'll pass it on to the tour manager.

So I thank her again and send over my email address. And then I have to face the utter silence of my apartment.

I feel empty again. After spending so much time with Dimitri, and experiencing all the vibrance that comes with his presence, it feels a little like I'm Dorothy returning to a colourless Kansas. Try as I might, I can't think of a single thing I want to do that doesn't involve getting to where Dimitri is. I'm a little irritated at myself, but I guess this is what comes with the territory of a new relationship. So I end up scrolling through the pictures he sent me.

I start with the ones of me. Naked, stretched out on the bed with beautiful lighting and Dimitri's lyrics scrawled across my skin. I smile to myself and touch my side, where I made sure the lettering remains even after my shower. Then I scroll to the video he took of me bringing him breakfast. I can't see him, but I hear his voice. So even though my blush makes me cringe, I play it back a couple of times just to listen to him again. I swipe, scrolling through the series of selfies he took of us. With our bright smiles, I have to admit we look good together. And the one where he kisses me is adorable. Which brings me back to the pictures he sent of him at the shoot. I sigh when I reach the latest photo, the one of him avoiding the makeup brush. It brings me to the end of a very small collection, and I find myself feeling a little despondent.

I close the app and lock my phone, willing myself to do something a little more constructive than wallowing in self pity. But I still have that photo on my mind, and as I close my eyes and rest my head back against the sofa, I find that my mental focus starts shifting away from Dimitri's face. Instead, I find myself thinking about the makeup artist's tattoo.

Good ink is expensive, ask anyone. Even though tattoos are practically part of the AV crew's uniform, so is the unpredictability of our income. I mean, I've always wanted one, and I've had several ideas over the years. It's just that I've never had several hundred dollars lying around. Let's be honest; if I did, I'd probably feel guilty about not putting it in my savings.

But suddenly, thanks to Dimitri's first gig we worked and now the Mason situation, here I am. I have enough to set aside for savings and to cover expenses over the next two months. Plus there's actually some left over. For the first time in my adult life, I have some serious fun money. And I'm pretty sure I know what I want to spend it on too.

It feels completely surreal when I pull up outside the tattoo studio. I've followed them for years, liked all of their work, and I always swore that when I finally had the money, this is where I'd get my first tattoo. Actually, it's strange that everything worked out so easily: I have spare cash and decide to get tattooed, they have an opening immediately when I call. Which is perfect considering the transient nature of the design.

It feels... fated somehow. The result is a a mix of emotions swirling in my chest: excited anticipation meets the desperate hope that it doesn't hurt too much for me to handle. So I walk into the studio, passing under the sign that reads "Gilded Lily Tattoo."

"Hi," I say to the blonde lady at the desk. "I called about thirty minutes ago, they said you had an opening today?"

"Oh hi," she replies, standing up to greet me. She's around my height, but skinny. Blonde and tan, with a full sleeve of beautiful golden lilies on her left arm. "We spoke on the phone. You must be Rose."

"Yeah, that's me," I smile. "You're Sydney?"

"I am," she smiles. "It's nice to meet you. Let's get comfortable and then we can talk about what you want."

I follow her behind the counter to the sofa that's against the wall. The shop has a welcoming witchy vibe, with vibrant art on the walls and house plants in every available spot of sunlight. Sydney offers me a coffee, which I gratefully accept, and then we sit down to chat. She keeps an iPad in front of her to take notes.

"Okay, so what are you thinking?" she asks. She's cool and professional, which is very reassuring considering this is my first tattoo. So I lead with that, before giving her a rundown of my idea and the placement.

Sydney whistles. "You want your first piece on your ribs? You're sure?"

"Well it's has kind of already been decided for me," I explain. But damn, her response doesn't exactly set my mind at ease about my pain tolerance.

So Sydney takes me through to the back where I can take my shirt off and show her what I mean. She takes some pictures with her iPad, then I get dressed again and we go back through to the sofa where she traces over the picture with her design.

"So I know that the text is important," she says as she sketches, "but I'm wondering if you'd consider adding some florals woven between the letters? It will break up some of the harsher lines and provide a sort of frame for the piece."

I lean over to see her screen, watching her work. And holy crap she's fast. The lines seem to flow from her hand like they have a mind of their own, settling delicately into place and framing the piece just like she said. She draws the last leaf and turns her iPad towards me so that I don't have to crane my neck.

"It's just a rough sketch, to show you the idea," she says, matter-of-factly.

I can't help but laugh. "This is better than anything I could have drawn in six hours."

But she brushes off the compliment. "What do you think?"

I move closer, focusing on the design. She's made the text thinner but maintained the original font, making it look much more delicate. The leaves and flowers are artfully scattered amidst the letters, making the way the lines stagger look like it was carefully composed.

"It's beautiful," I tell her honestly. "I'm assuming the text is thinner because the lines will thicken as the tattoo settles?"

"Exactly," she replies with a satisfied nod. "Are you sure there's nothing you'd change? I still need to clean it up before I print the stencil, but the shading will only be done on your skin."

"Hmm," I muse as my eyes skate over the design again. Hesitantly, I point at the area in the top left. "This bigger flower at the top. What do you think about having some of the petals falling off?"

Sydney picks up her pen again, narrowing her eyes as she pictures my suggestion. It only takes her a minute to erase the petals on one side of the flower and add them back in, staggered beautifully as they drift down the side of the design. They're so poised, so graceful. I already know it's perfect before she turns to show me the updated drawing.

The excitement builds steadily in my chest as Sydney takes a little more time to refine the design. She's incredibly meticulous; an obvious perfectionist. After confirming again that I love it, I'm practically bouncing in my seat when she starts printing it out.

Once I sign all the necessary paperwork, we go through to her studio in the back, with the intimidating leather tattoo bed in the middle of the room. Sydney instructs me to take off my shirt and bra, and then comes over to me with a spray bottle and cloth.

"Can you lift your arm for me please?" she asks, and I feel the cold spray on my ribs once I do. It's accompanied by a pang in my chest as Dimitri's writing is wiped away. But I try not to dwell on it. The marker would have faded anyway, no matter how hard I tried, and at least I still have the pictures. And the memories. The mental picture alone almost gives me goosebumps.

Sydney shaves the area next, and then carefully places the stencil on my skin. She peels back the paper and straightens up to scrutinize it. One curt nod, then she sends me to the mirror to check. And God, it's beautiful. I feel like the placement complements the anatomy of my body, perfectly echoing the curve of my ribs. So I lie down on the drape sheets that cover the tattoo bed, and rest my arm above my head as directed to keep it out of Sydney's way.

My heart beats faster as she prepares the ink and rolls her chair into position.

"You ready?" she asks.

I do my best to brace myself for the pain, and nod my assent.

"I'm going to do one line so you know how it feels, and then I'll check in again."

The machine buzzes as she turns it on, an angry sound that seems to rattle my skull. But I take a breath and tell myself it will all be worth it, trying my best not to watch the needle in my periphery. And then...

Pain blossoms on the skin of my side. I feel the machine vibrate against my ribs, and the needle almost seems to scratch me. But I'm able to mentally track the line that Sydney draws, and honestly, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Like it hurts, of course. But it's not unbearable.

Sydney lifts the needle. "You okay?"

"I'm good," I reply. "It's actually not too bad."

I see her nod. "I have to admit, I find it can be almost meditative. Wiping is normally the worst part. Just let me know if you need to take a break, okay?"

"Okay," I agree. "Thanks."

So Sydney continues her work, and after the first couple of minutes I'm able to understand what she meant about it being meditative. I find that I feel more like an observer to the pain, trying to guess by the shape of each scraping line which part of the design she's on. Intermittently she wipes away the ink, and though the paper towel doesn't feel too bad, I know it will probably get worse as my skin gets more raw. But on the whole, I'm somehow able to relax onto the pain and let my mind wander.

Though Sydney seems like more of the quiet type, we do make conversation while she's busy. It is a little difficult to talk while also trying not to move my ribs. But she asks me what I do and I tell her about my job, we talk about how she came to open the studio and how long she's been tattooing. The conversation is sporadic though, and we lapse into silence whenever she needs to concentrate, or when she goes over an area that's particularly painful and I need to grit my teeth. After a while I end up getting lost in my thoughts, only vaguely aware of the needle buzzing on my skin.

"I'm finished with the line work," Sydney says a short while later. "So I'm going to start filling in the letters."

It takes me a second to register that she's spoken, and I start as I'm drawn back to reality. Sydney takes this in with a small frown, and then my ears are suddenly filled with silence.

Oh, she turned the machine off.

"What was the last thing you ate and when?" she asks.

I think back. "Uh, I had an omelette for breakfast. At like eight."

"Right," she replies sharply, "you need to eat. I'll run to the café next door since you can't put your shirt back on. Is there anything you want specifically? Any allergies?"

I shake my head.

"Okay," she says again. "While I'm gone try stand up and walk around to stretch your legs." She throws her gloves in the trash and slings her bag over her shoulder, then turns back to me while pointing at a cabinet in the corner. "There's also a towel in there if you're uncomfortable and want to cover up, just don't let anything touch your side. Remember it's an open wound."

"Makes sense," I reply. "Thank you."

Once Sydney has left the room, I do as she suggested and wander around the space. Standing does have me a little lightheaded at first, but it goes away when I start to get my blood flowing again.

I don't feel like I need to cover my boobs seeing as I'm alone in the room, qnd I'm pretty sure Sydney's seen enough in her career that not much will phase her now. So I make my way around the room , entertaining myself by looking at the art on the walls. In many of the pieces I'm able to recognise Sydney's art style, but others must be part of her personal collection. I'm particularly drawn to a watercolor painting depicting some koi fish in a pond. The way the light hits the water evokes memories of going to the park with my parents when I was a kid.

After a while though, I end up on my phone catching up on messages. The group chat with the crew has faded into silence, and I'm pretty sure Dimitri is still at the shoot. Lissa's asked if we can schedule a call tomorrow night, to which I readily agree. I really need to ask her how things are going with Christian, and she probably wants to talk about LA.

By this time I've completed yet another circuit of the room, but I'm loath to sit down again considering I'll probably be spending a few more hours on the tattoo bed. Luckily Sydney gave me the WiFi password, so I begin another lap and open Instagram.

God, looks like Abe and Janine went on another date. I roll my eyes, asking myself why my father insists on posting these pictures. But a little voice in my head answers that it's probably because he knows I'll see them. I take a screenshot and send it to Lissa, knowing she'll be able to commiserate. I scroll through someone's vacation in Bali, somebody else's meal at a really nice restaurant, a photoshoot... Oh wait, that's Dimitri.

They've posted a behind the scenes video of his photoshoot, teasing 'a big announcement' in the caption. Several hundred comments are already making predictions, but my attention is drawn to Dimitri in all his glory, posing for the camera. They have him in black jeans and a leather jacket without a shirt, and he's absolutely delectable. You'd think having seen him completely naked would have calmed my response to him, but no. I drink in the sight of him, trying to decide if I prefer the pictures he sent me. They definitely have more personality, I decide, though not nearly as much nudity. Which is a damned shame. I'm once again wishing I had more photos of him from our time together, but I'm always so shy to ask.

It's at this moment that Sydney walks back in, carefully balancing two boxes of food. I rush forward to grab them from her before any harm can befall her or our lunch. I decline her offer to tape a drape sheet to my chest, and she looks pretty unbothered by my topless state, as I'd predicted. And so we sit and eat together in the studio after Sydney arranges me on the sofa so that no part of my torso comes into contact with the fabric.

"How is it feeling?" she asks as she opens one box and hands it to me, exchanging it for the closed box on my lap.

I'm grateful I didn't have to open it myself, since moving my shoulder pulls at the tattoo site on my ribs.

"It doesn't hurt exactly," I say, nibbling on a fry while I consider my answer. "It's sensitive I guess? Like I know it would hurt if I touch or move it. But I'm not in pain."

Sydney nods sagely, taking a small bite of her quiche. A brief silence falls while we eat, and I'm surprised how much better I'm feeling after just a few mouthfuls of fries. My blood sugar must have been pretty low, and I'm glad Sydney noticed.

She glances over at me, and I can see she's assessing the colour in my face. I receive a brief nod of approval before she turns back to her food.

"So you said they're song lyrics," she says idly. "What's the song?"

The quiche is heavenly, and I swallow my first bite to respond. "It hasn't been released yet."

"Oh, okay."

She sounds a little confused, so I try to clear things up.

"My boyfriend kind of wrote the song on me."

"He's a musician?"

I nod.

"Have I heard of him?"

I angle my head as I think, looking around her studio at the decor. Dimitr's music doesn't really strike me as Sydney's vibe, but maybe?

"You might have," I reply thoughtfully, "but I doubt you'd listen to him currently."

Sydney laughs. "Sorry, I sound like I'm trying to pry it out of you." She pauses, has some more of her food, then continues: "How long have you been together?"

"Not long," I reply casually, covering my mouth with my hand. I go in for another bite, then look up from my food to find Sydney staring at me.

"Define 'not long'," she says slowly.

I wonder why she's looking at me like that. "Uuh, less than a week, officially?" I reply, trying to puzzle it out.

Her eyes widen.

And that's when it hits me, how this situation must sound to her. "Don't freak out," I say, way too late.

"Listen," she says, holding up her hands, "I'm not here to judge, and I mean, it's already on your skin. But I do hope you know that it sounds kind of crazy."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I just realised. But I swear it's not for him or anything. He doesn't even know that I'm doing this."

Which now that I think about it might pose its own problems, I grimly tell myself.

"It's okay, Rose," Sydney says, probably able to recognise the mild panic on my face. "You wouldn't believe the types of people I've had to deal with in the past, and you seem pretty sane to me. So you don't have to explain yourself. Just so long as it isn't something you're going to need lasered off in a year."

"I won't need to get it lasered off," I reply, but her reaction has got me thinking. "Actually I think explaining my reasoning to you will help me articulate it to myself."

She nods and takes another bite of her quiche, indicating I should go ahead.

"My life has changed recently" I begin, aware how cliche it sounds. But I carry on regardless. "Everything was different pretty much overnight. And at the moment I'm aware that things can change again before I know it. So I wanted to..." I trail off as I search for the right phrase. Earmark? Not quite. Then I decide on: "I want to leave a bookmark in this chapter. Not because it will stop things from changing. But so that I have something to remind me of the happy memories when I look back."

"That makes sense," Sydney says, looking relieved, then she laughs. "I'm really glad you're not unhinged."

I laugh with her. "I can totally see how it would seem that way now. I'll have to be careful how I tell the story now."

We finish our lunch and then it's back to business. I lie back on the tattoo bed, and Sydney puts on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Let's do this," I reply.

The buzz of the machine starts back up again, louder than I remember. And the pain is also more intense now, though that kind of makes sense with her doing shading. I'm aware of her sweeping the needle in a bigger motion, but going over the same areas a couple of times. The intensity starts to build, particularly with those spots right on top of each of my ribs bones. By the time Sydney tells me we're on the last flower, I'm gritting my teeth.

"And done," she finally tells me.

Sydney sits back and puts her equipment down, and I grimace when she wipes the ink away with a paper towel. At this point it feels rough as a cat's tongue.

"I'm just going to clean it up, then you can take a look."

"Thanks," I breathe, relishing the cool sensation of whatever disinfectant she sprays on me.

Now with more lubrication than just ink and blood, it doesn't hurt nearly as much when she wipes it clean. And when she's done, she directs me to stand and brings me over to the mirror.

My skin is a little red, a little irritated, which is only to be expected. But at the sight of the ink settled starkly on my skin, my heart contracts.

"I love it," I say softly, suprised to find myself a little choked up.

Out the corner of my eye I can see Sydney's smile, but I can't tear my attention away from my own personal work of art. Of course the words are backwards, since I'm looking on the mirror. But the lines are clean and sharp and elegant, sweeping along the shape of my body so perfectly that I can't believe I wasn't born with it. The lettering is delicate without being easy to overlook, and the flowers are so vibrant that I half expect to see them swaying in the wind.

"It's perfect," I tell Sydney, then turn around with a huge grin. "Thank you!"

She smiles. "I'm glad you like it! You sat like a champion, especially for your for your first tattoo."

My grin widens, and I look back in the mirror.

"Do you mind if I take some pictures?" Sydney asks.

"Not at all," I laugh, but then I hesitate. "Can you maybe uh, not tag me or mention my name though? I don't want to risk someone connecting me to Dimitri."

She shrugs. "Yeah, that's no..."

I'd resumed drinking in my reflection, but when she trails off I turn back to her.

"Sydney?"

Her mouth is a little open. "Dimitri as in Dimitri Belikov?"

"Uh, yeah," I chuckle nervously. "So you have heard of him?"

There's a gleam of excitement in her eyes. "My best friend from college got me into his music. When we were roommates we had his poster in our living room."

Honestly, I'm a little thrown. I hadn't expected her to know his music, let alone enjoy it. But the similarities of how we started listening to him make me smile.

"Yeah, my best friend and I snuck out to see one of his shows when we were in high school," I tell her with a smile.

She mirrors my grin, then suddenly clears her throat. "Sorry," she says, "it's just that that's pretty cool. Let's take some pictures by the window."

I cover my boobs to keep them out the way, and Sydney poses me to take some photos in the light. She shows me the pictures, and promises to send them to me. Then it's time to carefully cover my new tattoo with a clear bandage.

"Leave this on for two or three days," she tells me. "And try not to do anything that will make you sweat more than usual while it's on."

I nod. Maybe it's a good thing that Dimitri's so busy, if I'm not supposed to sweat. The thought makes me smile quietly to myself while I put my shirt back on and Sydney hands me a printout with care instructions.

"You won't be able to wear a bra for a week or so," she's telling me as we head back through to the counter so I can pay. "If you have any concerns, pop me a message or send me a picture. But it was great meeting you Rose!"

"And you!" I grin. Maybe I should try get Dimitri's autograph for her when he's less busy.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! If you've got any thoughts and you want to share, please consider leaving a review. Hearing from you never fails to make me smile, even though I'm not always the greatest at responding. Also, if you'd like to keep in the loop when I post, please feel free to follow and favourite. I'm also currently in the process of cross posting my fics to A03, so you can find me there with the same username.

It's New Year's Eve, and I am genuinely wondering where the year has gone. It's been a total whirlwind; with wedding planning, actually getting married, and then of course the clients making my life a lot more unpleasant than it needs to be. But throughout it all, I've actually been writing and posting, and I have all of you wonderful people to thank for that. Thank you for your support, your reviews, and for the people who asked if I was going to post again soon. 2024 was a pretty great year, and I can't wait to see what 2025 brings!

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