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“What?! You gave them thirty million dollars?”
I took his hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “When Mom liquidated all of their assets, I had her deposit everything in a bank in Belize under a fake name. Then I transferred it to a bank in the Caymans under my dad’s name and a couple layers of some shell corporations. So when the FBI looked into his accounts, it gave every impression he was trying to hide their assets. And then when he came back, spouting off about a ransom demand while it appeared he’d been in Zurich, it was further evidence he was lying.”
“Ok…” His brows came together as he followed the sequence of events. “Then where did you get this?”
“You are looking at the new controlling shareholder of NIB&T.”
“You’re giving up music?!” Somehow he seemed more pissed by that than when he thought I stupidly handed over the ransom money.
“No! No. God, no. This is a way topursuemy music. Without having to worry about money, now we can both do whatever we want.”
“We?” He still didn’t look convinced.
“Yeah. You and me. In L.A.... if you’re open to it, I mean.” Fuck, here it was. The real moment I was dreading. He’d either be totally cool with it or totally pissed.
“L.A.? As in California?”
“No, as in Louisiana.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course, California. It’s one of the best places for musicians to find work and it’s as far away from here as possible without leaving the country.”
“You want me to move to Los Angeles with you?” His brow hadn’t unwrinkled yet which made the butterflies in my stomach do continual loop-de-loops.
“More than anything.” Please say yes… please say yes…
A small smile started at the corners of his mouth, morphing into a dazzling one that left me blushing like an idiot and hopeful that he wasn’t going to laugh and then tell me “No” like a sadist.
“When do we leave?” he asked, a dark brow lifting.
Good enough.
I grinned and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me for a kiss.
EPILOGUE
SASHA
Three years later
Roan squeezedmy hand so hard I was afraid he was going to break something, or at least bruise a bone. Still, I forced myself to smile and hold on. His hand was already shaking, along with the rest of him, vibrating in his chair like a hummingbird.
I don’t know how he could move. This jacket was fucking killing me. Any time I tried to take a deep breath, I was sure one of the seams was going to bust open, which wouldn’t be good for whatever label the stylist said it was. Although, the jacket wasn’t nearly as bad as the pants. Unlike the black jacket, the pants (and the shirt) were bright fucking white and so tight I didn’t know how the hell I was going to get them off again. I was lucky I was able to sit without the damn things ripping open.
Roan, on the other hand, was dressed in the opposite — black pants and shirt with a white jacket. It was the stylist’s idea, he said. I said he should find a new stylist. But at the end of the day, it seemed to make Roan happy, so I went with it even if I felt like I was wearing clothes meant for a toddler.
A hush fell over the audience as the speaker paused for dramatic effect. “The winner of this year’s Best Instrumental Composition is… Roan Sinclair for ‘A Siberian Sort of Love,’ performed by Roan Sinclair.”
The pressure on my hand actually increased as I turned to face him. He stared back at me with those wide blue eyes, literally sparkling with all of the lights and cameras everywhere.
“I won!” he gasped.
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “You won! Go! Get up there!”
He nodded and got to his feet, wobbly like a newborn colt. It didn’t help various people were patting him on the back or trying to shake his hand as he made his way down the aisle. Rubbing his palms over his thighs, he jogged up the polished steps to the stage and accepted the golden gramophone with a smile so bright it rivaled the spotlight.
He shook hands with the presenter and stepped up to the podium, gripping his award and staring at it in awe.
“Thank you,” Roan said, breathless. “I am beyond honored to be up here tonight. Artists the world over will agree that creating something biographical is, well, terrifying.” He chuckled, along with the audience. “So thank you to my fellow musicians, my producers, and everyone else who came with me on this journey. Ya lyublyu tebya, Sasha.” He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and gestured toward me before hurrying off the side of the stage.
I love you, Sasha.
