Chapter 83
Ivan POV
The cottage is cute. Too cute, honestly.
Zander showed me around with this smug, proud look on his face, and then ducked away to check on dinner. I asked to use the bathroom—which is connected to the only other bedroom here—but really, I just needed a moment.
It's beautiful. Everything about this place is quiet and intentional. The curtains are gauzy and warm-toned, the bed perfectly made, the walls decorated with simple, meaningful touches. I can't focus on any of it. Not really.
Because I had my own plans for tonight.
I close the door gently behind me. My hands tremble a little as I remove the hoodie—Zander's hoodie, my safety blanket, still faintly scented with him. I fold it neatly and place it on the bathroom counter. Next are my joggers. No underwear. Another choice I made deliberately. I fold those too.
There's a robe hanging by the sink, soft and thick. I slip into it, tug the belt snug, and splash my face with cold water. I tell myself it's to help me focus, but really, it's just to calm the flush rising to my cheeks.
I'm nervous.
Not because I don't want this.
But because I do.
Despite how I might look—despite the image people have of me in magazine spreads and interviews—I've only ever been with a few men.
James,he wasn't very good at it. The guy I lost my virginity to back at nineteen— can't remember that, I was wasted, all in another life that feels more fictional than this one. And then… Dorian. The memories blur there. I didn't live them, not really, but I feel their weight.
So I don't really know what to expect tonight.
Not from Zander.
Not from myself.
I fix my hair, adjust the robe. Stare at myself in the mirror.
God, I look flushed.
It's a little ridiculous. But I want this. I want him.
And I want it to feel different from before.
I eye the drawer of toiletries. My first instinct is jealousy—has someone else been here before me? But then I notice the seals. All unopened. New. Every single item is a brand I love.
I smile. Of course.
He stocked this place for me.
And just like that, the nerves start to melt away.
My heart still thunders as I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door.
It leads straight into the bedroom—warm lighting, polished floors, a sprawling king-sized bed dressed in soft neutral linens. It's beautiful. Thoughtfully decorated. Like everything Zander does when he lets himself care.
But I don't linger there.
I walk past the bed, barefoot and wrapped in the soft robe I borrowed. The floor is warm beneath my feet. The cottage's fireplace is glowing low in the open-plan living space, casting golden shadows across the plush chairs and soft throws. And in the kitchen, with his sleeves rolled up and an apron tied over his crisp white shirt, Zander is standing at the counter.
Cutting vegetables.
Carrots. Bell peppers. Onions. His movements are precise and practiced, but relaxed. Domestic. Like this is something he's done a hundred times.
And I don't know if it's the hormones or the lighting or the fact that I know what I'm about to do—but he looks so hot I could melt right there.
"Hey," I say, trying not to let my voice shake.
He turns, startled slightly, and his eyes catch on me—taking in the robe, the bare legs, the blush I can't seem to get off my cheeks no matter how many times I've splashed cold water on them.
He swallows, hard.
"Hey," he says, voice thick, and goes back to his cutting for exactly two seconds before he stops, puts the knife down, and wipes his hands on the apron.
"You okay?"
"You're cooking?" I say, my voice softer than I intend, almost reverent.
He glances over his shoulder at me, the low flicker of the stove casting golden shadows across his face. His sleeves are rolled up, apron snug around his waist, hair tousled like he ran his hands through it too many times.
He looks devastating like this. Comfortable. Domestic.
Mine.
"Yeah," he says, and there's a glint in his eye. "Trying to impress. I've been learning from a professional."
He sets the knife down carefully, turns to face me fully—and I swear, the world narrows to the space between us.
"You really pulled out the big guns," I murmur, my voice catching on the edges of my nerves.