112 – Ivan POV
"It's okay," I say softly, running my fingers through Zander's hair. He's lying with his head on my lap, looking tense as hell. The man is actually freaked out about me going to dinner with his family.
Which, honestly? Kinda cute.
"You don't know…" he mutters, exhaling heavily. His brow furrows.
"Those people are—" Another sigh. He doesn't even finish the sentence, just shakes his head.
I smile down at him, thumb brushing over his temple. "And I love you, okay? Nothing is going to make me run screaming for the hills." I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.
"You're stuck with me. It's too late now."
He huffs out a breath, turning his face into my stomach to hide.
God, he's so cute like this.
I stroke his hair again, slow and soothing. "Breathe. It's just dinner."
"It's not just dinner," he mumbles into my shirt. "It's the Vales."
I bite back a laugh. "Oh no. The scary Vales in their scary suits. Whatever shall I do."
He pulls back enough to glare up at me, which only makes me grin.
"Ivan, I'm serious."
"So am I. I'm going to try my best to charm them," I say with a shrug, running my fingers lazily through his hair again.
"And if it doesn't work out… well, they can go fuck themselves."
That finally earns me a real smile. His first one all night.
"Thank you. Honestly, they're the most pretentious, obnoxious sons of bitches you'll ever meet," he says, a little laugh slipping out with the words, though it's tired.
I grin and stroke his hair again. "Perfect. I'm very good at handling that type."
"I just don't want them to hurt you... and their actions are not reflective of me," he says, voice small.
"I know, my sweet." I lean down and kiss his nose, soft. "I know exactly who you are."
***
Zander POV
I swear—if any of them so much as breathe wrong, or do anything shady or condescending toward him... I don't know how I'll react.
I squeeze Ivan's hand tighter in mine, unable to stop the restless energy building inside me.
He just smiles a little and squeezes back.
He'd insisted on bringing a gift—an expensive vintage wine, of all things—because in his words, "I can't show up empty-handed."
He didn't need to. Not for these people.
I glance sideways at him now in the back seat, watching as he scrolls through his phone with that calm, unbothered look he wears so well. The contrast between his serene expression and the nerves clawing through my chest makes me almost laugh—if I wasn't so tightly wound.
Maksim is driving us through the winding road up toward the Vale estate. The familiar towering walls, the heavy wrought iron gates—it all feels suffocating already.
And now... I'm willingly walking back in. With him.
I exhale slowly and glance down again at our joined hands.
I don't know how I got so lucky. But I'll be damned if I let anyone—not even them—ruin this.