When she’s like this.
Here.
Safe. With me.
“You came to bed early tonight,” she murmurs.
A small chuckle slips out of me.
“Yeah.” My arm tightens slightly around her waist. “We’re going somewhere tomorrow.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at me. “Where?”
“I have a private beach house,” I say. “I want you to come with me. We need a few days to breathe.”
Her expression softens a little.
Then she nods.
“Okay.”
That simple word settles something in my chest I didn’t realize was tense.
I lean down and press a kiss into her hair.
And for a while, we just stay like that.
Wrapped together.
Until we fall asleep.
Early the next morning, Valeria and I are in my car heading out of the city.
No one knows except Lukyan and Misha.
Misha, only because I needed everything ready before we arrived—food, staff cleared, security rotated, and a small surprise for the evening. Not a disturbance in sight. Just space.
Valeria sleeps most of the ride. I woke her early to pack, and she barely protested before drifting off again against the seat.
I let her.
There’s no urgency in me that needs to wake her up.
When we finally arrive, I gently touch her shoulder.
“Valeria.”
Her eyes flutter open.
She blinks a few times, disoriented at first, then looks out the window. And something in her posture shifts immediately. The tension leaves her shoulders slowly.
We’ve pulled up to the beach house.
It’s a private Rusnak property we’ve kept in the family for years. It sits slightly elevated on a stretch of private coastline, hidden away from anything resembling the city. Modern but warm in design—clean glass walls framed with natural wood, blending into the pale sand and endless blue beyond it. The ocean stretches out directly in front of it, uninterrupted, like the world ends here on purpose.
A long walkway leads from the driveway to the main structure, where open terraces wrap around the building on both levels. Everything is minimal but intentional. Nothing feels crowded. Nothing feels watched.
Even the air feels different here.
