Chapter Twenty
Ted POV
"Yeah, I'll just... disappear," Luca says beside me, shooting me a sympathetic glance before melting into the golden haze of early evening. I blink, and he's already a speck on the horizon. I stare forward, and then I see why.
Rami Alden.
Leaning casually against a sleek black car, the late sun painting shadows across his jawline, Rami radiates the kind of still intensity that makes the world hush. I glance at Thieran, whose expression lights up at the sight of him.
Like a sunflower chasing sunlight, he beelines for Rami with a skip in his step. Then—because apparently Aldens don't believe in emotional moderation—he jumps.
Rami catches him without effort. One hand around Thieran's waist, the other bracing his back. Like it's instinct. Like this has happened a hundred times before. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Familiar. Intimate.
My eyes widen a little.
"I know. Sickening, isn't it?" a voice says smoothly at my side.
I startle, turn—and find Niall Alden standing there, looking far too smug for someone who appears out of nowhere like a ghost. When did he even get here?
"Come, come," he says, slinging an arm around my waist with that same breezy confidence.
"Let's go somewhere far, far away from whatever that is."
He grabs the shopping bags from my hands like they weigh nothing and steers me toward a car parked a few meters away. I glance back once—just once—as Thieran presses a kiss to Rami's cheek, and the taller man merely rolls his eyes in fond resignation.
---
"And voilà!" Niall declares, setting the final dish onto the small wooden table with a flourish. A whole spread lies before me: roasted vegetables, grilled chicken with a crisp lemon glaze, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a salad that doesn't look like it was an afterthought. The aroma is incredible.
I blink in surprise.
The cabin is warm, cozy, and tucked in the middle of what feels like an enchanted forest. The trees outside sway gently, fireflies flickering like sparks in the twilight. The drive here had me thinking he was going to bury me in the woods—no road, no signs of civilization. Just grass, trees, and now... this.
"You prepared this?" I ask, raising a brow at the man now untying his chef's apron. His black hair is slightly tousled, his sleeves rolled up. A smudge of flour dusts one cheek.
He smirks.
"Of course I did. I'm a man of many talents."
I squint. "You didn't call in a private chef?"
He gasps, hand to heart.
"Sunshine. I'm offended."
I roll my eyes, but dig in. The first bite makes my stomach weep with gratitude.
"This is really good," I say, around a mouthful.
"Thank you. I'll add 'impresses with cooking' to my checklist of seduction tactics."
We eat in silence. Not awkward—comfortable. The kind of silence where neither of us feels the need to fill the space with noise. Just chewing, the occasional clink of silverware, and the sound of the wind rustling leaves outside the window.
After dinner, he clears the table and returns with a neat stack of stapled papers.
"You said you wanted it in writing," he says, placing them in front of me.
I glance at the contract. Legal text. Formal formatting. Signed already on one page in his neat, confident script.
I grab the pen.
"You're not going to read through it?" he asks, amused.
"If you were going to screw me over, you already would've," I mutter, signing quickly.
He chuckles.
"Fair enough."
The date on the contract reads: May 9th, 2030.
"Very well," he says, flipping to his copy and countersigning it.
"Since you're apparently too lazy to read it," he adds, "it basically says that over the next twelve months, I will try my best to woo you, and in exchange, you will not actively flee. Payment will be issued every three months. Starting tomorrow."
I blink. "Am I obligated to have a physical relationship?"
His eyes glint with amusement as he leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands.
"Trust me, sunshine. When we get to that part, you'll definitely be a willing party."
My cheeks heat, and I look away, shoving a few stray curls behind my ear.
He tilts his head, still watching me.
"I've been meaning to say this all night, but you're stunning."
I want to brush it off, but it hits differently. His tone is too genuine, too quiet. I swallow and mumble, "Thank you."
"Where are we?" I ask quickly, steering away from the compliment before it short-circuits my brain.
He lets it go, thankfully.
"This is my little place," he says.
"Living with my parents can be... a lot. So I keep this cabin for when I want quiet. Or when I'm in rut."
I choke on air.
He grins. "Kidding. Mostly."