Page 77 of Until We Come Home

“Derek... I...” I stumble over the words as all eyes in the circle lock onto us, his confident expression starting to falter. “Derek, can we please talk in private?”

A hush falls over the circle. The color drains from his face, and I catch his hand, pulling him up from the floor and guiding him away from the stunned crowd, past the tables, through the first door I can find, which turns out to be a small side room full of folding chairs. I shut it behind us and turn to face him.

“Mia,” he stammers, looking utterly lost. “What... why...?”

“Derek,” I say, taking a long, unsteady breath. “I’m so sorry. But I can’t marry you.”

He looks crestfallen, and the guilt lands hard. We’ve spent four years supporting each other’s careers, building choreography, and drifting back into each other’s arms. It was cruel of me to invite him to the lake, to agree to give us another try, when my heart wasn’t truly in it anymore. I hate myself for hurting him like this.

“But,” he stammers, searching my face. “We... you and I always find our way back. I thought... I thought this was what we were building toward.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “We always said we didn’t want traditional commitment, Derek. We built our whole dynamic on keeping things light. Why do this out of nowhere? You had to know this would be a total shock.”

“Because I wanted us to lock it in,” he says.

“Why, though?” I ask, trying to understand.

“Because I’m losing you!” he snaps, the panic raw in his voice as he steps closer. “I can feel you slipping away!”

And then I see it. The panic in him, the desperate move to hold on. Lark was right all along—he never felt threatened before because he assumed I’d be around. But watching Mateo and me together changed everything for him. I shake my head.

“Derek, I don’t want to get married,” I say. “And I don’t want to keep doing this back-and-forth thing with you anymore. I’m so sorry, but I think... I think we’re really over.”

His face goes blank, a cold silence settling between us as the muffled voice of the auctioneer drifts through the closed door.

“Is it him?” he asks quietly, a trace of bitterness lacing his words.

A quiet certainty takes hold. “I’m sorry, Derek. It’s... it’s everything. It’s him, but it’s me too. This summer changed me, and I know what I want now. And yes. It’s him.”

He nods, humiliation darkening his eyes.

“Well,” he says, and the fight has gone out of him. “I should probably go then. No point in staying.”

“I’m so sorry, Derek. Truly,” I murmur.

He pauses by the door, looking back at me one last time. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Mia. But you’ve changed. You really have.”

Tears spill over my lashes as he turns and walks away, the door shutting behind him. The crushing guilt of breaking his heart, the terrifying reality of losing him for good, and the desperate yearning for Mateo all crash over me at once.

I wipe my face furiously, humiliated by the spectacle and desperate to escape the theater before anyone else corners me. I slip out of the side room and back into the main hall, where everyone is either mingling between the tables or drifting toward the auction, and make my way through the crowd, my eyes scanning frantically for Mateo.

He’s not at the station table or anywhere near the bar. I spot James by one of the food tables and hurry over to him, my heart hammering in my throat.

“Mia,” he says, turning. “You were incredible up there tonight! We were all just talking about how⁠—”

“Thanks, James,” I cut in, my voice tight. “Have you seen Mateo? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Oh, uh, I haven’t seen him in a while,” he says, taking a bite of a dinner roll. “Not since your performance, actually. He mentioned wanting to say goodbye to you, but you were surrounded by people, so I think he might have taken off.”

Did he see Derek? Did they talk? Where on earth could he have gone?

“Did he mention where he was off to?” I ask, my pulse racing.

“Afraid not,” he says.

“Thanks, James,” I say, backing away. “You look fantastic in your suit, by the way—tell me all about how your arm’s healing later!”

He laughs and waves as I hurry past him, dodging the crowd as I head toward the main entrance. Lark catches my eye across the floor and tries to signal me, but I throw her a quick wave and push through the front glass doors, practically running down the stone steps into the crisp, chilly night air. Fallen leaves rustle across the pavement, and I pull out my phone, dialing Mateo’s number with trembling fingers.