He gives a soft, almost silent sigh, clearly defeated. His shoulders loosen just a bit as if he knows arguing with her is pointless.
Then he turns to me.
Our eyes meet, and everything around us blurs for a second. The quiet buzz of the café, the faint rustle of wind, and even the stiffness I’d been holding in my spine. It all fades when he looks at me like that—steady, searching, like I’m the only thing in his line of vision.
And just like that, butterflies take flight in my belly. I feel my fingers twitch, wanting to reach for his. Wanting to ask him if he really has to go. But I don’t move. I only give him a small shy smile. Then Davika gently threads her arm through mine, breaking the moment.
“Come, darling,” she says, her voice light but with that same confidence that tells you she’s used to being followed. “We have a whole day ahead.”
I blink and nod, letting her guide me. The male bodyguard moves ahead, pulling open the door to the Car parked at the curb.
I glance back at Alex one more time.
He’s still watching.
And I don’t know why, but it gives me courage. I slide into the plush backseat beside his mother, heart thudding, nerves tingling, but strangely… safe.
***
I thought spending a whole afternoon alone with Davika Petrov would be terrifying. I mean, she’s Alex’s mom.
But walking here beside her in a giant botanical garden, watching her take an exaggerated bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry like it’s a sacred ritual, I realize she’s not what I expected.
“Listen,” she says with a playful glint in her eyes, holding up her strawberry dramatically. “Whoever decided to open a café inside a flower garden and serve chocolate strawberries was either a genius… or heartbreakingly single.”
She pops the strawberry into her mouth like it’s the most luxurious thing she’s ever tasted. “Either way, I’d marry them.”
I let out a chuckle, biting into my strawberry. There’s something calming about walking beside her. Maybe it’s the way she moves, with elegance and quiet confidence, or the way she smiles at the world like she’s already figured it out and decided to love it anyway.
Being with her is nothing like I thought it would be. I was nervous, but now… I feel peaceful strolling side by side with little paper cups of chocolate strawberries in our hands. Thesweetness of it clings to my mouth, melts slowly on my tongue while the sun filters through the high trees above us.
The garden is massive, like its own quiet world tucked away from everything else. Petals brush gently against the breeze. Some are so bright they look unreal. Butterflies flutter between stalks. We pass under archways of blooming vines, soft music playing from a speaker somewhere we can’t see. It smells like fresh leaves and sugar.
“You’ve got that look,” she says suddenly, squinting at me like she’s trying to read my thoughts. “Like you weren’t expecting me to be this delightful, I noticed it since the dinner party.”
I give her a shy nod, and that makes her smile.
She slows beside a bed of vivid, curling petals—bold reds edged in yellow flame—and gestures toward them with the same graceful ease she carries in everything she does.
“That’s the Gloriosa lily,” she says, her voice smooth, almost reverent. “One of Africa’s most breathtaking flowers. It’s a symbol of life’s endless cycles—fertility, rebirth, continuity.”
She turns to look at me then, her gaze softening.
“But do you know what it means to me?” she asks gently. “It’s more than just beauty or growth. To me, it means triumph against all odds. Surging forward, even when the world does everything to hold you back. It rises from the dirt as if it were never meant to bloom, and still, it does. Fragile. Beautiful. Defiant.”
Her words land like a slow ache in my chest.
I stare at the flower, the elegant twist of its petals reaching skyward like it’s fighting gravity. Something sharp catches in my throat—something that isn’t pain exactly, but close. That kind of emotional echo that comes from recognizing yourself in something unexpected.
There’s something about what she said that grabs hold of the worn, bruised part of me I try not to show anyone. The part that’s been stepped on, scarred, told it wouldn’t amount to anything. The part that wants to believe I can still bloom.
She must see it on my face. That crack of vulnerability. Because when I finally glance at her, she’s watching me with the kind of gaze that feels like safety. Quiet, kind, knowing.
“I see that in you, Lucas,” she says softly, stepping close and cupping my face in one hand. Her palm is warm and maternal in a way I don’t know how to lean into. “You’re one special boy. And I like you just as you are.”
My lips part, but no words come out.
I clutch the small notebook in my hand a little tighter, like maybe it could hold everything I’m too overwhelmed to write. I can’t even nod. I just let her words settle over me, folding themselves into the quiet places of my chest that I usually keep locked up.
