“I would.”
“Even if it stays like this for years?”
“Even then.”
“What if I can’t promise you when it will change?” I press.
“I’m not asking you to give me timescales, Ari,” he says. “I’m asking you not to tell me this isn’t worth choosing.”
I feel like my heart is about to explode in my chest. “We keep it quiet. We don’t get reckless. We don’t pretend this makes us untouchable.”
“Agreed.”
“And when you leave on Monday—”
“I’ll come back,” he says immediately.
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even know when.”
“Does that matter?” he asks, shrugging.
I study him then, this impossible man who crossed the world to sayI choose youwithout demanding anything in return. “We play it by ear,” I say at last.
“You hate that,” he replies, smiling softly.
“Yes,” I say. “But I love you.” His hand tightens on my waist.
“You’d better. We’re not doing this forever. Just for as long as we have to.”
I rest my forehead against his. “Then,” I say quietly, “we survive it. Together.”
“Together,” he echoes.
Monday will come. So will duty and the rules. But so will Caiden — again and again — until the world finally gives us a reason to stop hiding. I finally close my eyes, and I feel chosen.
And for a man like me, that is the most dangerous thing of all.
NINE
CAIDEN
I wake up slowly with a solid, warm weight behind me and an arm looped over my waist with careless certainty. Ari’s breath brushes the back of my neck; it’s steady, deep, the kind of sleep that comes after exhaustion, release, and something like peace. I lie there for a few minutes without moving, counting sensations like I might need to memorise them later.
The faint ache in my muscles, the warmth along my spine, the low crackle of the fire, and the pale light seeping through the cabin window.
I shift, just a fraction, testing whether the illusion holds, as I’ve had this very dream countless times. His nose presses into my hair, his arm tightens immediately around me, holding me close. It’s possessive in a way that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. “Where are you going?” he murmurs, his Russian accent thick with sleep.
“Nowhere,” I whisper. “Just checking you didn’t disappear.” There’s a pause, then his lips brush my shoulder.
“Still here,” he mutters, and I smile into the pillow before he can see it. Ari shifts behind me, draping himself more fully along my back, his chin hooking over my shoulder, and his body fitting comfortably against mine.
“Mm.” His hand slides down my chest, his palm finally resting against my stomach. I turn my head enough to lookat him and see he’s watching me through half-lidded eyes.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. He considers that, his eyes flicking down my body slowly in an entirely deliberate way.
“For food?” he asks.
“Yes.”
