"If it doesn't work out," he says slowly, making sure each word lands, "we'd still be there for you. Until you find the right pack that truly supports all your needs." He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "At the end of the day, your wellbeing is the most important thing, Rosemarie. More important than contracts or arrangements or whatever the fuck we're calling this thing between us. No matter if we fall out or not, our pack aren't truly assholes who would leave someone we care about hanging. That's not who we are. That's not who any of us will ever be."
Someone we care about. Not someone we're contractually obligated to protect. Not someone useful to our professional situation. Someone we care about. The distinction matters more than I can put into words.
The relief that washes through me is almost overwhelming—a tidal wave of emotion that makes my eyes sting and my throat tighten. I've been carrying this fear for weeks, maybe longer. The terror of what happens after Valentine's Day if everything falls apart. The thought of being alone again, vulnerable, without anyone to help if a heat catches me unprepared. The knowledge that my body could betray me at any moment, and there would be no one?—
But he's telling me that even in the worst-case scenario, I wouldn't be abandoned. That these men, these Alphas who've turned my temporary escape into something that feels dangerously close to home—they wouldn't just disappear from my life the moment our arrangement expires. They wouldn't leave me to face the darkness alone.
Elias leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss so soft it's barely there. A whisper of contact, a promise sealed in the lightest possible touch. His scent surrounds me—campfire and pine and warmth—and I let myself sink into it.
"But I'm gonna work damn hard to make this work," he murmurs against my mouth. "So don't push me out on the side of the road just yet. I'm not ready to be roadkill."
I giggle—actually giggle, like some lovestruck teenager instead of a grown woman who's supposed to have her life figured out. "Hmm. I'll see. You're on probation."
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Fair enough. I'll earn my keep."
Safiya arrives with two small cups of Turkish coffee, the dark liquid crowned with a perfect layer of foam. The aroma is incredible—rich and complex, with hints of cardamom and something almost chocolatey underneath. She sets them on our table with a knowing smile.
"Take your time with it," she advises. "Good coffee, like good love, shouldn't be rushed."
She disappears back to her station, leaving us in the warm glow of fairy lights with the ice stretching out before us like a blank canvas waiting to be filled.
We sip our coffee in comfortable silence, the rich flavors coating my tongue with warmth. It's perfect—traditional and grounding, a reminder that some things have been done the same way for centuries because they work. Because some traditions are worth keeping.
When our cups are empty, Elias stands and offers me his hand. "Maybe we should work up a sweat before we have more hot drinks. What do you say—ready to hit the ice?"
I look at the rink—empty except for us, thousands of lights reflected in the smooth surface, the music system starting to play something soft and romantic in the background. It's likestepping into a dream. A dream someone created specifically for me.
"I should warn you," I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. "I'm not exactly graceful on skates."
"Good thing I'm here to catch you, then."
We grab skates from the rental station—which has been fully stocked for us despite the private booking—and lace them up on a bench near the ice. Elias finishes first, having clearly done this a thousand times, and waits patiently while I struggle with my laces.
"Here." He kneels in front of me, gently taking over. "Let me."
There's something unbearably intimate about watching him tie my skates. His big hands careful with the laces, his head bent in concentration, the way he looks up at me when he's done to make sure they're comfortable. It's such a small thing. Such an ordinary thing. And yet it makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
"Perfect," he declares, standing and offering his hand again. "Let's go."
The first step onto the ice is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. The surface is perfectly smooth, the cold radiating up through my blades, and for a moment I wobble dangerously. But Elias is right there, steady and solid, his arm coming around my waist to anchor me.
"I've got you," he promises. "Just relax. Let the ice guide you."
We start slowly, his movements confident while mine are hesitant and jerky. But he doesn't rush me, doesn't push for speed or grace. He just holds me close and lets me find my rhythm, adjusting his pace to match mine instead of expecting me to keep up with his.
The music shifts—something slow and romantic, strings and piano weaving together in a melody that makes my heart ache in the best possible way. Under the fairy lights, with the ice glittering beneath us and no one else in the world existing outside this moment, it feels like we've slipped into some alternate reality where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
"I've never really done this," I admit as we glide around the curve of the rink. "Slow romantic skating. It always seemed like something from movies—something that happens to other people."
"And now?"
I look up at him—at his face illuminated by thousands of tiny lights, at the warmth in his eyes, at the way he's holding me like I'm something precious. "Now I'm wondering why I waited so long to try."
He spins us gently, a move that should make me stumble but somehow doesn't because he's supporting all my weight, making it look effortless. "We'll make it a habit," he says. "You and me. Regular skating dates. Maybe the others too, if Julian can be convinced to do anything that might mess up his hair."
I laugh at the image of Julian on ice skates, trying to maintain his perfect composure while wobbling like a newborn deer. "I'd pay good money to see that."
"Tank would probably be fine," Elias muses. "Military training includes all sorts of weird skills. I once saw him do a backflip off a helicopter, so I'm pretty sure ice skating would be a cakewalk."
