Chapter 101 – Zander POV
"Let's go," I say to Ivan, already tugging him gently toward the door.
We really should give them some time to themselves. This was never meant to be a whole event. Just a drop-in visit, a little check-in. But of course, Ivan is Ivan.
"I'm proud of you," he says softly, cupping Harry's hands like they're made of glass. "It's all going to be better now, okay?"
And I know we're not leaving until I take matters into my own hands.
I sigh, step forward, and scoop Ivan up over my shoulder like a sack of sugar.
"Zander!!" he shrieks, half-laughing, half-offended.
"Byeee!!! Text me! Call me!! I'll check in later!!!" he yells over my back like a dramatic noblewoman being carried off to sea.
I roll my eyes, give Mason a nod, and finally leave the apartment.
*
The yacht bobs gently in the water, the sunlight glinting off the sea like diamonds scattered across the surface. Ivan lies on the deck in nothing but his black swim shorts, one arm behind his head, sunglasses perched on his nose.
He's sunbathing like he belongs to the sun.
"I can feel you staring," he murmurs.
"I'm allowed to stare at what's mine."
He smirks without turning. "Possessive."
"Always."
I sink down beside him, stealing one of his grapes from the little tray he's been nibbling on.
Today's perfect. The sky is clear. The ocean is calm. The crew's been paid off to stay below deck. The ring is in my back pocket. I even trimmed my beard for the first time in two weeks. I have no excuse.
I'm going to propose today.
No chickening out.
None.
He rolls onto his side to face me. "Why do I feel like you're planning something?"
I freeze, mid-bite. "…Planning?"
He arches a brow.
I chuckle, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm always planning. You're a handful."
He grins, reaching up to tug me down into a kiss. Soft. Sweet. His lips taste like grape juice and sunshine. It takes every fiber of my being not to propose right here, mid-kiss.
We spend the afternoon wrapped up in each other—swimming, teasing, eating snacks, lying tangled on the sun-warmed cushions of the top deck. He talks about a new shoot he turned down, says he wants a break for a few months. Says he's starting to feel… tired of the spotlight.
I listen, really listen, filing every word into the vault of things-I-will-never-forget.
"Maybe I'll do something quieter," he says later, stretched across my chest. "Like a little fashion brand. Something mine. Something soft."
"I'll invest."
"I'll ignore your money."
"Rude."
"I like earning things on my own."
I kiss the top of his head. "Then I'll just buy out your competitors."
He laughs, muffled against my collarbone. "You're the worst."
We fall into a comfortable silence, the sound of the sea brushing up against the hull below. I reach into my pocket slowly, fingers brushing the velvet box. My heart starts racing.
Okay.
Now.
Do it now.
"Ivan?" I say, sitting up slightly, my voice catching in my throat.
He blinks up at me. "Yeah?"
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Swallow.
"I… was thinking we should go on a trip. Somewhere far. Just you and me," I say instead.
He tilts his head. "Yeah?"
He smiles. "That sounds nice."
I blow out a breath. Coward. Absolute coward.
The moment passes, and I let it.
Later, as the sun begins to set, casting a golden hue across his skin, Ivan leans into me, back against my chest, legs stretched out over mine.
"You're quiet today," he murmurs.
"Thinking."
"About?"
"How I ended up with someone like you."
He laughs softly. "Lucky bastard."
I press a kiss to his shoulder. "Yeah. Something like that."
He doesn't push. Doesn't pry. He just holds my hand, our fingers laced together as the yacht floats in the orange-pink glow of dusk.
And I think, maybe next time.
Maybe.