There was a surprising lack of traffic around LAX that morning, and Dimitri made good time. Alex texted that there was a problem with the luggage carousel, so Dimitri parked in the lot. While he waited, he pulled up Natasha’s YouTube videos on his phone.

Her face appeared on the screen, full makeup but with her hair pulled back into a tight ballerina bun. Her image waved and grinned. “Hey everyone. Thanks for all the likes on the last video. ¡Los quiero mucho!” She blew kisses at the camera and introduced the song she was about to dance to.

Dimitri couldn’t hold back his smile. She was too adorable, too beautiful . . . and holy shit, too talented. His smile faded as he watched her dance.

He’d seen her dance before, of course. Countless times. But it was always to someone else’s choreography—including his own—or her own routine danced with an unskilled partner.

This was something else. Her classical ballet training was evident in her strength and the lines of her body, the way she completed each movement. She incorporated moves from other dance styles seamlessly, in a way that fit the music and the story being told. When a text message popped up on the screen over the video, he cursed and swiped it away. But it was from Alex, so he switched apps to check it.

In the parking lot, he wrote back. Come find me.

Alex knew what the Porsche looked like. Dimitri went back to the video. As soon as it was over, he watched the next. He was on the fourth when Alex knocked on the car window.

Dimitri popped the trunk, and finished watching the video—danced to a sexy R&B song—while Alex tossed his suitcase inside. When his cousin slid into the passenger seat wearing a scowl very much like the one Dimitri often sported, Dimitri picked up the second coffee from the cup holder and passed it to him.

Alex gulped down half the cup before speaking. “So, you finally pulled that stick out of your ass and decided this was a good idea?”

“Posmotri na eto.” Dimitri switched to Russian and thrust the phone at him. “Look at this choreography.”

With a sigh, Alex took the phone and sipped his coffee while he watched. Dimitri leaned in to watch it again. When it was over, Alex passed the phone back.

“So?”

“So?” Dimitri shook the phone at him. “She’s amazing. She’s even better than I am.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Is that the woman who’s living with you?” He glanced back at the phone. “She looks familiar. Is that Natasha Díaz, from your TV show?”

“How do you know she’s living with me?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “You just answered my question, and now I know why you were ignoring my messages. Your mother told mine that Nik said you’re living with a woman, but he wouldn’t say who she was.” He tipped his cup toward the phone. “Now I know. She’s one of the dancers from your show. Isn’t that a conflict of interest, since you’re a judge?”

“Shut up.” Dimitri started the car. “I got you a room at a hotel.”

Alex snickered. “Don’t want to intrude on your little love nest.”

Why did everyone keep calling it that? “Did you fly all the way across the country to make fun of me or to talk about producing a show?”

Alex rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. I’m a little punchy. Didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I’ll drop you off at the hotel. Drink some more coffee, take a shower, whatever. Then take a taxi to the restaurant. The staff arrives early. I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk about the pitch.”

Alex yawned. “Why not now?”

“I forgot the notes.”

“When are you going to start doing this digitally?”

Dimitri shrugged. “I think better on paper. Easier to sketch out my ideas.”

“You know you can draw on computers now.”

“I know. I have one that does it. Not the same, though.”

“Fine.” Alex pushed the seat back into a reclining position and popped on his sunglasses. “So, tell me what’s going on with Natasha.”

And because it was Alex, and Alex was practically his brother, Dimitri told him. Everything. There was an accident on the freeway, so they had a lot of time.

By the time they pulled up to the hotel, Alex was rubbing his forehead.

“Hold on, hold on. Let me get this straight.” They’d switched back to English. “You’ve been messing around with Natasha—and other women—for three years, when what you really wanted this whole time was her?”

Put it like that, and it sounded terrible. “Yeah.”

“Because you were too chickenshit to tell her you wanted to—what? Be her boyfriend?”

Scowling, Dimitri parked in the drop-off lot. “I guess. Yeah. She was dating other people, too.”

“And now, because you work together, you have to keep it quiet that she’s living with you, and she’s still trying to move out.”

“Correct.”

“Have you even told her how you feel?”

“I said I love her and she didn’t believe me!”

“Well, shit. I wouldn’t believe you either.” Alex squinted at him. “How exactly did you tell her?”

Dimitri rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s private.”

Hooting with laughter, Alex smacked his arm. “That means you fucked it up. Come on, tell me. Please. I flew all this way and you’ve made me listen to this whole stupid story for the last forty-five minutes.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. But take it from someone who’s married—words are shit. You’ve got to back it up with action.”

“I’m trying.”

“Action she sees as loving, not your weirdo version of it.” With those parting words, Alex climbed out the car. “Pop the trunk, jackass.”