Page 31 of A Sinful Gravity

That woman on a rainy night with a wrecked car, calling everyone and getting almost no answer—she was gone.

Now I was a principal dancer. Laila's mother. Someone who'd walked here one step at a time on her own.

My phone buzzed.

A name appeared on screen. Seb.

I sipped my coffee and answered.

"I saw tonight's show." His voice was warm as always, like rare winter sun in London. He paused, transitioning naturally. "Amy talk to you about Washington?"

I hesitated. "You know about it?"

"She asked me. If you go, they want us to partner again," he said. "I told her it's up to you. You go, I go. You don't, I'm fine either way."

I looked out at the flickering lights. Said nothing.

"Luna," his voice softened slightly, "I respect your choice. Whatever you decide, I support you. I know Washington for you is..."

"Just another performance venue," I said, calmer than I expected. "No different from any other city."

He didn't call me out. Just said, "Sure," then added, "Alright, just another venue. Kennedy Center's a good stage. We didn't nail that Milan version last time—this is a chance to fix it."

I walked to the window. Night was deep, Thames lights glittering like scattered gold.

Seb and Cassian were completely different men.

Seb respected every decision I made, even when he disagreed.

When my foot injury flared, he said nothing—the next day, the best pain patches appeared in my locker. When Laila gotsick and I couldn't leave rehearsal, he silently covered all my positions without one complaint.

That quiet companionship once left me bewildered.

Once, after rehearsal, we sat in the empty studio. He suddenly asked, "Luna, have you ever thought about starting another relationship?"

I froze, then told him straight. "No. Maybe never. I'm not sure."

He looked at me, gaze gentle. Then he said, "Okay. I understand."

That was it. No pressing. No disappointed expression. No "I'll wait for you"—that supposedly romantic but actually pressuring line. Just "I understand," then he stood and got water.

In that instant, it was like lightning struck my brain.

People could be like this. Saying no didn't require elaborate explanations or apologetic pleading.

I'd once exhausted myself trying to please someone who didn't know how to respond in that marriage, worn myself down to nothing, only to finally understand—when only one person gives in a relationship, that's not love. That's depletion.

So now, I didn't want any chance of repeating that. Even though I knew Seb would probably never be that way.

"Luna?" Seb's gentle voice came through the phone. "Still there?"

"Yeah," I said. "Thinking about Washington."

"Decided?"

I ran through the contract details in my head. Kennedy Center, four-week residency, best terms I'd seen for this kind of invitation. Venue, promotion, logistics—everything showed real commitment.

And it was my work. My stage.