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Anytime he spoke Russian, it made my heart skip a beat. But for him to declare his love in public, on live TV, in Russian? It was all I could do to stay in my seat and not rush the stage.
He reappeared a few minutes later, sliding into the chair next to me.
I didn’t give a fuck if the camera was still tracking him. And I damn sure didn’t give a fuck if the paparazzi were around. As soon as he was within arm’s reach, I pulled him close and kissed him until neither of us could breathe.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I said, holding his face between my hands.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s true. You believed in me from the very start. I wouldn’t have had the courage to come this far if I didn’t have you by my side.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Solnyshko.” I stole another quick kiss before the show continued.
With his award balanced on his knee, he slipped his hand into mine and squeezed it again, turning back to watch the next round of nominees. He was still buzzing, but at least it was out of happiness this time.
Hours later, after a quick stop at In-N-Out, we pulled in the driveway of our house instead of going to any of the after parties.
Our house.
A large, modern, concrete and glass structure that sat right on the beach in El Segundo. It was the largest place I’d ever called home and by far the most expensive. But Roan insisted. The gourmet kitchen, the steam room, the beach access. He said it was for me, plus it had plenty of room for his own music studio.
We paid in cash.
The fact he put me on the title still blew my mind. By law, it was as much mine as it was his. Over time, Rule #4 went beyond sex and came to include every aspect of our lives —everythingwas a mutual decision and everything was split evenly, from financials to chores.
But it worked.
His stupid rule worked.
Weworked.
By some twist of fate, we met under the worst conditions and transformed our lives into something I never thought was possible. For me, the credit went to Roan. His unwavering faith in me, his unconditional love — I couldn’t ask for more.
On our way through the house, we stopped in front of the fireplace. Roan hefted the golden gramophone up and set it on the mantel, squeezing it between pictures of him performing and us on vacation in the Mediterranean.
“Looks perfect,” I said.
He grinned and carried on, leading the way to the balcony. We both stripped out of our suit jackets but I immediately proceeded to peel off those damn white pants before I even attempted to sit down again.
“Mmm. Dinneranda show,” Roan said, dropping onto one of the chaises.
“I think you did that on purpose,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt as well and tossing it aside. It might have only been March, but the salty night air felt rejuvenating. At least for me. Roan wore hoodies pretty much year round.
“Maybe.” He grinned up at me and scooted back on the chaise, straddling it so he could arrange the contents of our In-N-Out bag on the end.
I sat on the ground next to him, using the chaise as a table. “Next award show,youcan wear the white pants.”
“Deal.” He leaned down and brushed his nose against mine. Before he could get too far away, I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him in for a better kiss.
He smiled against my lips, tipping his head back so he could look at me. Just like on stage, he was fucking glowing under the moonlight. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen him happier that tonight, but now I had and I made it my mission to make him smile like that as often as I could, to see if I could get his eyes to sparkle like that for the rest of his life.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, caressing the side of my face.
“For what?”
“For being you.”
