I study his face, searching for the truth behind his words. After months of breaking down his walls, I’ve gotten better at reading him, but right now he’s deliberately keeping something locked away.
“Okay,” I say softly, lifting his hand to my lips and kissing his knuckles. His fingers relax slightly in my grip. “Whatever you say, big guy.”
The tension between us eases as we round the final curve in the road, and suddenly the trees part to reveal a stunning A-frame cabin perched on the edge of a small lake. The structure rises majestically among the pines, its huge glass front reflecting the water and approaching sunset.
“Holy shit,” I breathe as Victor parks beside the cabin.
“You like it?” There’s genuine excitement in his voice now, the first I’ve heard all day.
“Like it? It’s fucking incredible.”
Inside is even more impressive—vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, a stone fireplace that dominates one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the lake like a living painting. Modern furniture blends with rustic touches in a way that feels both luxurious and unpretentious.
I wander through the space, running my fingers along the smooth countertops, admiring the art on the walls. When I reach the back of the cabin, I stop, frozen by what I see through the window. On the deck overlooking the water sits a table draped in white linen, set for two with crystal glasses that catch the light from dozens of candles. Rose petals are scattered across the wooden boards, and fairy lights twine through the railings, glowing softly against the deepening dusk.
My throat tightens as I turn back to Victor, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression.
“You did all this?” I ask, gesturing toward the romantic setup.
He nods, stepping closer. “Arranged it. Had a service come set everything up before we arrived.”
I’m still taking in the stunning view when the sliding door opens behind us, and a professionally dressed server steps onto the deck.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he says with a polished smile. “Would you prefer to freshen up first, or would you like to begin dinner service?”
My stomach growls audibly in response, forcing a laugh from me. “I’m fucking starving, actually.” I look at Victor apologetically. “Sorry, it’s been hours since lunch.”
“Same here,” Victor says, his earlier tension seeming to melt away. “Let’s eat.”
The server nods and gestures toward the elegantly set table. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
We settle into our seats across from each other as the sun sinks lower behind the pines, casting golden-red light across the lake’s surface. Within moments, the server returns with an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes.
“With Mr. Kaine’s compliments,” he says, expertly popping the cork and pouring the bubbling liquid.
A small plate of delicate canapés appears next—tiny pastry shells filled with caviar and crème fraîche, alongside perfectly seared scallops.
I take a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles dance on my tongue as I look around at this perfect setting. The candles flicker in the gentle evening breeze, casting warm light across Victor’s face.
“This is...” I gesture at everything around us, searching for the right words. “Amazing. Incredible. I have to admit, I didn’t take you for super romantic. This is next-level stuff.”
Victor’s expression softens, and he reaches across the table to take my hand. His thumb traces circles on my palm—a gentle, intimate gesture I’ve come to love.
“I never have been,” he admits quietly. “Not until you.”
The server brings out our main course—perfectly seared steaks with truffle mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus. Everything is exquisite, but even as I savor each bite, I can feel Victor’s nervous energy from across the table. His eyes keep darting from me to the lake and back again, and he’s barely touched his food.
“This steak is incredible,” I say, trying to fill the strange silence between us. “Though I think you’ve cut that same piece of meat about ten times without actually eating it.”
He forces a laugh and takes a bite, but his movements are mechanical.
The server returns with dessert—some kind of deconstructed tiramisu that looks like art on the plate. As we pick at the sweets, I try to maintain conversation, asking about his new fighters, telling him about a track I’m producing. But his responses are distracted, short.
My patience finally runs out as I set my spoon down. “Victor, seriously. What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all day, and now you’re barely here with me. Did something happen with the gym? Is it Dawson again?”
Victor takes a deep breath, setting his napkin on the table. “Not exactly. Fuck, I’m nervous.”
Before I can respond, he pushes his chair back and moves to my side of the table. My heart stutters as he drops to one knee beside me, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small black velvet box.
