Halfway up the stairs to Natasha’s apartment, Dimitri remembered her building had an elevator.

Too late now. Didn’t matter. Blood pounded in his veins, amped by anger.

Anger was easier. Easier than fear, easier than betrayal, easier than loneliness. The phrase nichto ne vechno ran though his mind. Nothing lasts forever.

No, damn it. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He wouldn’t lose her. Fuck The Dance Off and her producer for their meddling. Whatever had happened, he would fix it, and he’d bring Natasha home.

He was convinced now. Home was what his house had become over the days she’d lived there, a place they created together. All these years, he’d been looking for a sense of home again, and he’d found it—with her. She was home to him. She’d given him a feeling of stability that had been missing from his life for twenty-five years. And he had the feeling, or at least the hope, that he’d been able to do the same for her, that his efforts to show her that he loved her, that she was worthy and deserving of love, had succeeded.

Regardless, he wasn’t giving up without a fight.

When he got to her apartment, his chest heaved with exertion and emotion. The door was open, but he pounded a fist on it anyway as he entered.

Five heads whipped around in his direction. Natasha sat on the floor in the center of the living room, flanked by Kevin Ray and Lori Kim. In the kitchen stood two other pro dancers from The Dance Off, Jess Davenport and Mila Ivanova.

Shit. An audience.

“Everybody out!” he barked.

Kevin’s brow lowered. He opened his mouth, but Natasha laid a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine. Just give us a few minutes, please.”

Lori got to her feet. “Let’s go to the froyo place on the corner,” she suggested in a nervous voice, and sidled past Dimitri without looking at him.

The other dancers followed him out into the hallway. Kevin stared him down, Jess seemed unconcerned, and Mila muttered in Russian, “Don’t be an asshole.”

Dimitri shut the apartment door behind them, then went to help Natasha to her feet. “Tasha, what the hell are you doing?”

The words tumbled from her lips in a nervous rush. “They gave me my apartment back, rent-free for the next two months. I need the job, and I need this place. I’m staying here. I’ll make arrangements to get my car back soon.”

“You can get the car when you come back—”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Don’t ask me.” She wouldn’t even look at him, keeping her face turned away. “If you ask, I won’t be strong enough to say no, so please, if you love me, don’t ask.”

Betrayal and confusion warred with him, making his muscles tense. He loved her. He’d just learned to embrace that, to ask for and offer more. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? “I don’t understand.”

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t. It’s a risk, but if we go back to how it was before—it’ll break me. I can’t do it again. I tried to stay away from you before, but you kept bringing me back in, so this time, I need you not to try. I need you to let me go.”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“I need you to. Don’t you get it? I have to do this myself. I have to prove I’m good enough—that I can live on my own like a responsible adult, that I can fix my finances, and get my life back on track.”

“I can help you. I’ll get you an apartment, somewhere closer to me, and—”

“What, like a kept woman? I don’t think so.”

“Fine, then. Let’s get married.” The words came from nowhere, suddenly in his brain and coming out of his mouth. While she stared at him, open-mouthed, he repeated them back to himself. Actually, they didn’t sound half bad.

She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. “You’re out of your fucking mind. We’ve been on one date. And it will look even worse if I suddenly elope with one of the judges.”

“Stop worrying about this. I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t you get it? That’s not what I want! I want to take care of myself.” She rubbed her eyes. “You’re too intense, and you make things too easy for me. You don’t think it’s tempting to let you take care of everything? It fucking is. But I need to know, for myself, that I can do it on my own.”

There was nothing he could say to that. He wanted her to accept his love, but to do that, she had to feel within herself that she was worthy of love. He couldn’t force her to feel that way. It was something she had to do on her own.

Just when he was starting to feel like things were settled, at least in this area of his life, she was gone.

He was alone.

He took a step back, because it was what she wanted.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry you feel that way.” God, that was just the lamest fucking thing he could have said. But words failed him now. So he spoke from the heart. “I’ll fix it, Kroshka. I’m going to give you your space, because you’ve asked for it, but trust me, I will fix this. I am not walking away from you again.”

He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, but his resolve was thin, and he got the feeling hers was, too.

If it was this hard to pull away from each other, wasn’t that a sign they should give in and be together?

But this wasn’t the time to push. He understood now. This was what she wanted. And he’d told her he’d give her anything she asked of him.

She wanted space? She wanted to fix things on her own? He’d give her that space.

And in the meantime, he’d continue to help from afar. Once his show was set up, he could hire her. And in the meantime, there was one more thing he could do.

Leaving the apartment, he took the stairs again, needing to burn off the restless energy. He didn’t have time to be depressed or lonely. He had too much work to do.

He called Alex, told him to rent a car and meet him at his house. Then he raced home, and headed straight for his office. Once there, he yanked the folder with his contract out of the desk, and with great satisfaction, stuffed it into the shredder.

Then he called his brother, his parents, and every single person who owed him a favor.