The gasp from the audience is the last thing I hear, blocking out the rest. I clutch his hair, and he grips my back, our inhales in sync. Our exhales timed. My heart explodes. In a billion pieces at the way he stares at me. At how he holds my face, caringly, like the love of his life just ran into his arms. He whispers something in Russian that I know means: I love you.
