Chapter 82 – Ivan POV
The car ride is suspicious.
Zander won't tell me where we're going—only that I don't need to dress up, and to wear something comfortable.
So I sit in the passenger seat of his luxury car, in a soft hoodie and joggers, arms folded, throwing him suspicious glances every few minutes while he hums along to the playlist like he hasn't been the embodiment of romantic suspense for the last hour.
"Can't you give me a hint?" I ask.
"Nope."
"Zander…"
"Patience is a virtue, my beautiful prince."
I roll my eyes but hide a small smile. The nickname still gets to me.
Eventually, we turn off the main road. Trees blur past the window, until the landscape opens up into the quiet edge of a field. Then I see it.
A cottage. Small. Cozy. Straight out of a dream.
The car crunches over gravel, and we park in front.
Zander gets out, jogs around, and opens my door.
"Come on," he says.
"This is important."
I follow him out to the side of the cottage, where the sunlight is softer, golden as it stretches across a modest patch of land. Rows of flowers bloom in uneven lines—some full and bright, others just stems, others still trying. It's not the work of a professional. It's tender. Human.
"These," he says, his voice low, "are all flowers that only bloom when the soil's been properly cared for."
He pauses, then glances at me, just once.
"I thought… maybe if I learned to be patient with something fragile, I'd be better for you too."
The words hit me in the chest, harder than I expect. Zander Vale—CEO, untouchable, sharp-tongued alpha—is blushing. Actually blushing.
"I know it's cheesy," he adds, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze.
"But I wanted to do this for you."
I stare at him.
This isn't about the flowers, or patience, or even the careful way they've been tended to. This is Zander—my Zander—laying his heart out in the dirt and hoping I don't step on it.
"You… you planted these?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He nods once, eyes trained on the ground like it might swallow him whole.
"I read they were delicate. That if you rushed the watering, or planted them in the wrong moon cycle, they wouldn't take."
He pauses, breath catching a little.
"I messed up the first batch. Had to start again."
My heart twists.
"I love it," I say softly, stepping closer to the row of blooms, fingers brushing over the petal of one that managed to bloom bright orange against the odds.
"They're beautiful."
"I wanted to get it right," he mutters.
I turn to him. "You did."
His head lifts, just slightly, and I can see the disbelief still lurking in his eyes.
So I go to him.
No dramatic speech, no teasing comment. I just wrap my arms around his waist and press my forehead to his chest.
"You didn't have to grow flowers for me," I murmur.
"I know."
I smile against his chest, warmth spreading through me like sunlight through stained glass.
"It is," I whisper. "Zander… this means more to me than you think."
He exhales into my hair, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
"I didn't know how to say it. How much you mean to me. So I thought—maybe if I grew something from the ground up, you'd understand. That I'm willing to try. To learn. Even if I mess up."
I look up at him then, eyes wide, heart thudding in my chest.
"You didn't mess up," I say. "Not even a little."
His lips twitch into the softest, shyest smile I've ever seen on him. "Yeah?"
I nod, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."