Page 100 of Have To Be Mine

Dash stood at the edge of the runway watching it all unfold. I couldn’t look away from him. He was soaked to the bone. His dark shirt clung to every muscle, plastered against his chest and arms like a second skin. I knew what those muscles felt like under my fingertips. His hair was wet and wild, pushed back from his face. Water dripped from his jaw. He looked nothing like the polished, put-together man I’d first met in Athens.

He looked magnificent. My Dionysus.

His eyes tracked every movement onstage, scanning for problems before they could develop. A father watching his children, making sure everything ran smoothly. His brothers stood nearby—Adrian with his arms crossed, Briggs with his head cocked to one side like he also couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They were watching Dash with expressions I recognized.

Respect. Pride. Maybe even a little awe. They were seeing what I’d seen all along. What I’d been too scared to fully acknowledge. Dash Blackwell wasn’t the family fuck-up. He could turn a rain shower into something iconic.

The final model made her walk, and the crowd erupted. Applause thundered across the hilltop, mixing with the sound of rain and music. People were cheering, whistling, screaming their approval. The energy was electric. These people were soaked, their fancy clothes ruined, and they were loving every second of it.

And then Dash’s focus shifted. His eyes swept across the crowd and landed on me.

I stood there dripping, my clothes clinging to me. I probably looked like I’d been dragged through a hurricane. He started walking toward me. The crowd was still cheering, still calling his name with people trying to get his attention. But he didn’t seem to notice any of it. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he closed the distance between us.

I heard a man’s voice come through the loudspeakers. I glanced at the runway and saw Callum, also shoeless and soaked with a huge grin on his face. He raised his hands and the crowd quieted.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice boomed across the hilltop. “What you just witnessed wasn’t just a fashion show. It was a testament to the power of creativity, adaptability, and sheer determination.”

More applause. Callum was good at this. Really good.

“Blackwell Couture has always been about pushing boundaries. About creating moments that transcend fashion and become art. And tonight, Dash Blackwell showed us exactly what that means.”

He gestured toward Dash, who had stopped a few feet away from me. Dash seemed oblivious to everything around us. His eyes were locked on me. I couldn’t tell if he was happy to see me or pissed I had come back.

“This is just the beginning,” Callum continued. “The Blackwell family is expanding our vision. New lines, new experiences, new ways to celebrate the most important moments in your lives. And if what we saw tonight is any indication of what’s to come, you’re all in for something extraordinary.”

It was a perfect segue. Callum was planting seeds for his own launch without stealing Dash’s spotlight. The crowd ate it up.

“So let’s give one more round of applause for Dash Blackwell and the entire team that made this night possible!”

The crowd roared but we were both locked on each other. I couldn’t breathe. Dash was my Greek god in every sense of the word.

“You came back,” he said.

I nodded. I was still trying to catch my breath from the run and then seeing him had stolen what little air I had managed to get back into my lungs.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

I wiped rain from my face and stared into his eyes. “Because I’m an idiot. I was wrong.” My voice cracked and I had to start again. “I’m so sorry, Dash. For everything I said. For calling you those things. I was hurt and scared and I wanted to hurt you back because that felt safer than admitting how terrified I was.”

He took a step closer. “Terrified of what?”

“Of this. Of you. Of what I was feeling.” I was suddenly freezing despite the warm rain. “I’ve been in my head this whole time. I convinced myself I was protecting us both, but really I was just being a coward.”

“Why?”

I needed him to understand this was a me thing. But saying “it’s me, not you” felt just a little trite for the situation. “I should have stayed. I should have told you the truth instead of running away like I always do when things get emotionally complicated.”

“What truth should you have told me?” he asked.

I took a shaky breath. “I’m not who you think I am. This version of me is not real. It’s a fantasy I let myself become for a week because it felt good to pretend I could be someone different. You fell for a woman who doesn’t exist.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” I shook my head, feeling tears mix with the rain on my cheeks. “The real me is boring. Dull. One-dimensional. The real me doesn’t know how to exist without structure and control.”

The way he was looking at me was making this speech so much harder.

“I’m a product of my family history,” I continued. “Generations of military service combined with losing my mother when I needed her most. I learned to survive by building walls and following rules and never, ever letting anyone get close enough to hurt me. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be.”