There’s a gentle knock on my cabin door. It’s soft, but it slices right through the hush of first class, through my messy thoughts and the noise in my chest.
I freeze, breath caught, pulse hammering between my legs and behind my ribs. I don’t need to look—I know exactly who’s on the other side. No flight attendant would knock like that. It’s him. Aleksander.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the door. My body is still humming from him, my mind aching with regret and want and fear. I shouldn’t open it. I shouldn’t let him back in. I don’t trustmyself, not after what happened in that cramped bathroom, not with all the secrets I’m carrying.
But I can’t help it. I want to see him, to read his face, to find out if he’s as wrecked and uncertain as I am. Maybe I want an apology. Maybe I want him to touch me again. Maybe I just want answers.
My hand trembles as I reach for the latch, hesitating. I glance at my daughter—still asleep, blissfully unaware—and whisper a silent prayer that this door will keep all my worlds from colliding, at least for a little longer.
Another knock. A little firmer this time. “Bella?” His voice is low, barely audible, but it sends a shiver through me.
I bite my lip, torn, knowing that opening the door could change everything. But not opening it…I’m not sure I can stand that either.
With my heart in my throat, I unlock the door and pull it open, just a crack. Aleksander stands there, his hair mussed, his eyes dark and uncertain, lips parted like he’s got a thousand things he wants to say.
He enters the suite and sits down beside me, his movements quiet but confident, the seat shifting under his weight. He glances over at my daughter, asleep and blissfully unaware, then turns his attention back to me. There’s a different intensity in his gaze now—a searching, unspoken question that makes my stomach flutter with nerves.
He nods toward her, his voice low. “She looks just like you, you know.” There’s a gentle curiosity there, something more behind the words, but he doesn’t push.
I manage a tight smile, keeping my answer as vague as always. “Yeah. She’s got my stubbornness too.” My fingers fidget with the hem of the blanket, desperate for something to anchor me.
He seems to study me for a moment, searching my face, but I keep my eyes down, focusing on the slow rise and fall of my daughter’s chest, the curl of her small hand around her stuffed animal.
A silence settles between us, thick with all the things I can’t say.
My mind slips back to the very first time we met—before secrets, before everything became so complicated.
It was a bright, noisy afternoon outside the hotel. I was running late, arms full, trying to wrestle my car seat into place and get everything ready before the valet took over. I barely glanced in the mirror as I reversed, nerves jangling, when I felt the unmistakable bump—a gentle jolt, but enough to make me freeze.
I jumped out, cheeks flaming, stammering apologies before I even saw what—or who—I’d hit. Then I looked up and there he was: Aleksander, standing beside his car, one eyebrow arched, a smirk already tugging at his lips.
He wasn’t angry. If anything, he looked amused, dark eyes glinting as he took in my flustered expression.
I remember how mortified I felt, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. “I’m so sorry, I swear I never do this, I just?—”
He held up a hand, a slight, almost teasing smile softening his features. “Relax. Barely a scratch. Happens to the best of us.” His gaze lingered on me for a heartbeat too long, as if he already knew I’d remember this moment.
I managed a laugh, still pink with embarrassment. “I must look like a disaster.”
He grinned wider. “Just a little. But the cute kind.”
Now, sitting next to him again, his eyes on mine, I feel that old nervous energy flicker through me. I focus on my daughter, on the steady thrum of the plane beneath my feet, anything but Aleksander’s knowing gaze.
He lets the silence stretch, but I can feel him watching, waiting—like he knows there’s still so much I’m not telling him.
He’s looking at me like he wants to strip away every layer, to get at the secrets I’m so desperate to keep hidden. The way a wolf watches the dark woods for a flash of red, patient but hungry.
After that awkward fender bender, I’d expected him to brush me off, maybe ask for my insurance and move on. But Aleksander lingered, holding the door for me as the valet finished parking our cars. He offered to help carry my bags, and something about the way he took control—effortless, commanding, never asking for permission—sent a jolt of anticipation through me.
I caught him watching me, his eyes roaming over me, cataloguing every detail. Not in a leering way—more like he was reading a map, trying to memorize the route.
“You travel alone often?” he asked, that accent curling around the words, making them sound like a dare.
“Not really,” I said, a little breathless. “Just…when I have to.”
He stepped closer, his body blocking out the sun for a moment, making me feel smaller, almost prey. I should’ve felt intimidated, but I didn’t. I felt seen. Desired. It was unsettling,how quickly I wanted to trust him, how much I wanted to know what he’d do if I let my guard down.
His hand brushed mine as he passed over the last of my luggage. A spark shot through me, warm and electric. I looked up, met his gaze—and the world shrank down to just the two of us, city noise and strangers fading to nothing.
