Page 107

Idon’t know how long it’s been since I laughed this hard, I think, as I dodge his reach and throw more snow at his incredibly handsome face. Maybe never. It’s definitely a new feeling, the ability to just let go, I decide, giggling as he lunges at me.

This time, he catches me by the waist, lifts me, and throws me over his broad shoulders.

“Put me down!” I laugh so hard my belly hurts as Daniil Reznik carries me effortlessly and I squirm.

“You’re going to freeze,” he says with a laugh, taking the stairs to the door. I turn and watch as he punches in the code.

“Three-two-six-two-nine-nine.” I squirm. “You better sleep light, Reznik, because I will sneak up here in the middle of the night and pour a bucket of melted snow over your head while you sleep if you don’t.”

I stop when he steps inside and sets me on my feet.

For a moment, I forget what I was going to say.

The house is beautiful.

Not in the polished, impersonal way of the hotels my parents prefer, where everything is expensive and nothing feels as though anyone has ever actually lived there. This place feels connected to the landscape outside it, as though someone considered the mountains, the forest, the snow, and the way the light moves across the valley before deciding what the house should be.

Dark timber frames pale stone, the natural textures warming the space against the winter light pouring through the tall windows. Beyond them, the mountains rise in layers, their peaks white beneath the gray sky and their slopes thick with evergreens. Snow clings to the branches, weighing them down, and the valley stretches below us in a sweep of white and shadow.

I step farther inside, turning slowly as I take it all in. Wide planks of warm wood run beneath my boots, and the walls combine timber and pale stone. There are deep sofas with soft throws tossed over their backs, wool rugs beneath our feet, and a fireplace built into the stone. Nothing looks too precious to touch. It’s luxurious but not ostentatious, the sort of place where you can curl up with a book and a glass of wine without worrying about ruining something that costs more than the average first car.

Even the windows seem deliberate, framing the view instead of shutting it out. Beyond the glass, I can see the covered terrace, its railing edged with snow, and the forest falling away toward the valley.

“Rez,” I say quietly, still looking around. “This is incredible.”

He comes up beside me, his hands settling at my hips. “You like it?”

“Like it? Are you kidding? It’s like someone built a house inside a postcard.”

His mouth tips at one corner. “A little dramatic, fancy.”

“You carried me over your shoulder through the snow. I think I'm allowed to be dramatic if you are.”

He laughs under his breath, and I turn back toward the windows, drawn to the view again. There’s something about the place that settles me: the natural materials, the quiet, the mountains holding the rest of the world at a distance. It feels luxurious without being excessive, beautiful without trying too hard. I can imagine waking up here and watching the light move over the snow. I can imagine summer, too, the valley green beneath the windows, the terrace open to the air, the scent of pine drifting in through the doors.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed somewhere that felt like this. It’s the same feeling I had at his lake house: quiet enough to hear myself think above the noise of other people’s expectations.

“Come on,” Rez says, kicking off his boots before kneeling to take mine off.

“Why thank you,” I say, allowing it.

He stands and holds out his hand. “Let's explore.”

I slip my fingers through his, and he draws me toward the kitchen. We haven’t been inside five minutes, and already I’m having trouble concentrating on the house when he’s this close. His hand is warm around mine, his thumb moving absently over my knuckles as we walk, so I focus on staying present.

The kitchen is beautiful, all pale stone counters and warm wood cabinetry, with wide windows looking out toward the trees. I wander ahead of him and open a cupboard to find plates and glasses neatly arranged inside.

“Look at that. You can eat.”

“Was that in doubt?”

“I have no idea what your plans are, so yes,” I say, forcing a light laugh.

He comes up behind me, close enough that his chest brushes my back when I turn. “I was hoping you’d have some suggestions for me. This is your world. If you have any spare time while I’m here, join me and show me some of the places you love, like the restaurant we just stopped at.”

I look over my shoulder. His expression is innocent enough, but his eyes aren't. I could die in their warmth and wanting.

“I’ll see what I can manage,” I say with a smirk.