Kasia nods, smiling softly. “Here until Sunday.” Then a string of Polish follows, excited, certain. I don’t need translation, I understand: she’s a hit already.
Then someone else is calling me, someone important, apparently, by the way Stefan’s gesturing. I force a smile and step away. The women waiting there are the usual, flawless, curious, used to being thecenter of attention. I let them take a picture, laugh when they ask if the veil’s at the dry cleaners, play the part I’ve been rehearsing for years. But over their shoulders, I see her.
Kasia’s surrounded bySzklane Sercenow, animated, expressive, hands moving as she talks. The way her face lights up when she laughs, it’s enough just to get to observe it. I still can't believe I get to watch her again, in person,right herelike some stupidly gorgeous miracle. She’s in her element, vivid and alive, her language threading through the noise. I nod when someone beside me says something. All I'm thinking about is how many steps it'll take me to be back by her side. She excuses herself from Szklane Serce, heading over to grab a drink and something catches the corner of my eye. I glance over and see them. Two label execs who’ve been around long enough that everyone knows the stories. I’ve had to shake their hands before, smile through the bile, pretend not to hear the things they say when women walk away. They circle her like sharks scenting blood. She’s being polite, of course, smiling a careful, nervous smile I’ve seen her wear before when I was a patient in her exam chair. I don't think, I just act.
“Excuse me,” I say to whoever’s still talking. My feet are already moving.
I slide in beside her, hand at her waist, pulling her in with enough authority to startle us both, making myself a human barrier between her and them. Her breath catches, I feel it run through me, and her hand comes up, instinctive, resting flat against my chest. Half on fabric, half on skin. The heat of it sparks along me like a live wire.
“Evening fellas,” I say, voice loud enough to carry. “How are we tonight? Enjoyed the show?”
They blink, smile too wide. I don’t give them the chance to recover. “I see you’ve met mydate, Kasia.”
The worddatelands like punctuation. Final, a boundary with bite. They mumble something, nod too fast, and find somewhere else to be. The silence they leave behind is electric. Her hand is still on me, my arm still around her waist. The air between us charged.
I lean down, close enough that my breath stirs her hair. “Sorry,” I murmur. “Reflex. Didn’t mean to grab you like my mic stand, but those guys areassholes. They don’t keep their hands to themselves if there’s something theywant.”
She tilts her head up, eyes meeting mine, and just nods. That’s it, but it’s enough to obliterate any ounce of control I’ve tried to hold onto tonight. Everything touching is fire, her fingers, her skin, her scent, her pulse beating so close I can feel it sync with mine.
Then glass hits marble with a crack. I look up,Rithy. He’s on his feet, stool kicked aside, drink spilled. He storms toward the balcony, shoves the door open, and slams it behind him hard enough to rattle the frame. The room stirs; conversation shifts. We part slightly, my hand dropping but not letting go completely, fingers still brushing her hip. I should go after him, Rithy’s temper is unpredictable, but I don’t move. I simplycan’t.
Then Kiri stumbles over, grinning like a man who’s never known self-awareness. “Ignore him,” he says, tipping his drink toward the balcony. “My brother’s just being fucking dramatic. Happens at least twice a night, like clockwork.”
The spell cracks. Her hand falls from my chest and the space where it was burns colder.
Ronan appears next, cheeks flushed, clearly feeling the whiskey. “Thank God you got there first,” he says, wagging a finger at me. “I was halfway to rescuing her, but then Freja, that drummer from Råvind ambushed me, you saw what she was wearing right? What was I supposed to do? Priorities.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Jesus, Ronan. Glad to see chivalry’s still dead.”
He grins. “Always follow your heart, right?”
“You were followingsomething,” I say, and the whole group breaks into laughter. When I look at her, her eyes bright, her laughter bursting out like color, I swear I canseeit. Shades of purple swirling around her like smoke. The laughter fades into something softer, easy. When I look down, she’s still watching me. The smile she gives, radiant, private, feels like the kind of thing I’ll be chasing in every song I ever write from this moment on.
A tap on my shoulder pulls me back. Ronan, cheeks still flushed from whiskey, jerks his chin toward the balcony.
“Come on,” he says. “We should check on Rithy before he hurls himself into the soundscape or something.”
I glance past him to the glass doors. Rithy’s silhouette is a restless blur against the lights outside, cigarette ember pulsing like a warning.
“Yeah,” I say, setting my drink down. Then I look back at Kasia.
“I’ll just be a minute, okay? Stay here, stay safe.”
Her brows lift, amused. “Safe? From what?”
“Haima,” I tell her, smiling. “Rithy, he’s a bomb sometimes. You don’t want his shrapnel hitting you and he's in a bloodymoodtonight.”
That earns the smallest laugh, soft enough I feel it more than hear it. “Go,” she says. “I’ll survive.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She nods, and I force myself to move before I start re-negotiating with fate. I wave a hand in front of Kiri’s face; he’s too busy grinning, eyes taking in his latest fascination, some actress or influencer perched on the velvet armchair, champagne glass poised like a prop.
“Earth to Kiri,” I mutter. “Balcony. Now.”
He blinks, slow to rejoin the living. “What? Why—oh. The prodigal guitarist, right.” He sighs, setting his glass aside. “Can’t leave him unsupervised for long.”
“You got it.”
