Chapter 67 –
Ivan – POV
Date thirteen.
I'm hiding under the oversized umbrella Zander insisted I bring, legs tucked up on the bench of this little rowboat as he rows us out onto the glassy surface of what may or may not be a lake.
Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be an enchanted pond.
Everything on this island feels like it was pulled from someone's dream and dusted with sunlight.
Zander looks like he belongs here.
He's tan now—annoyingly, effortlessly tan. Probably from all the manual chores he's been doing around town, grinning like some golden island boy from a vacation ad.
Meanwhile, I've clung to sunscreen, long sleeves, floppy hats, and anything that casts shade like my existence depends on it.
Which… to be fair, it kind of does. The one time I thought hey, maybe this body won't burn like my old one, I ended up the color of a tomato. Peeling skin, sun rash, mild existential crisis.
Never again.
I peek out from under the umbrella.
He's rowing with smooth, easy strokes, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to the elbows, forearms flexing as he pulls. The breeze plays with his hair, lifting strands that glint gold in the light. His jaw is tight with focus, lips slightly parted.
It's a lot.
I feel like a Disney princess. Sitting in a flower-laced rowboat, under a giant umbrella, being ferried across a sparkling lake by a devastatingly attractive man.
All that's missing is a woodland animal choir and a dramatic musical number.
This—this moment—is perfect.
It should be the kiss.
The kiss.
Our first… well, not technically first. We've kissed before. Multiple times, actually.
But still—this feels different. This feels like the kiss. A cinematic kiss. A keep-it-in-a-memory-jar kind of kiss.
But I'm probably overthinking it.
My stomach flips. My hands are sweaty. My heart's doing that weird fast-slow-fast thing.
I don't know why I'm reacting like this.
And then I remember something I overheard in town earlier this week—local teens gossiping in line at the café, laughing about rumors:
"You know that hookup boat? You gotta book it fast—it's always in use."
My smile falters.
This is the hookup boat?
My entire romantic fantasy crashes like a glitch in the Matrix. I narrow my eyes at Zander.
Nope. Not thinking about a public hookup boat.
I turn away, scowling at the peaceful water like it personally betrayed me.
We drift in silence until we reach the middle of the lake, and then I hear the oars splash gently as Zander sets them down. The boat begins to drift, spinning in slow, lazy circles. I still don't look at him.
"How many people have you brought here?" I ask sharply, eyes glued to the water.
There's a pause.
"What?"
I glance at him. "I heard things about this place."
Zander frowns slightly. Then, realization clicks.
"Oh. Oh. Don't remind me," he groans, covering his face. "Apparently a good portion of the island's population was conceived on this lake. I try not to think about it."
He visibly shudders.
Wait—what? That's worse.
I eye him warily.
"Zander."
He looks at me, a smile already forming, like he's enjoying this.
The sun lights up his features—skin glowing, wind-mussed hair, shirt rippling just enough to flash a bit of collarbone. His smirk is too confident.
"Is this jealousy I see, my beautiful prince?"
I scoff, turning away, cheeks hot.
"Delusional."
He leans back lazily, stretching his long legs in front of him, causing the boat to rock just enough to make me tense.
"Don't worry," he says.
"I didn't get to participate in the island's rite of passage. I moved in with the Vales when I was fifteen. No lake adventures for me."
My annoyance softens slightly. I glance at him again. "So why here, then?"
He turns back to me, eyes steady. "The ambience. The quiet. The isolation."
Then, with a wink, "And it's far enough that any alpha-omega pheromones won't linger by the time we row back to shore."
Right. That.
I always forget about the pheromone thing until someone brings it up. It feels unreal. Scientific and primal in a way I try not to unpack.
"So you brought me here with ulterior motives."
"You said you wanted to be wooed like a teenager. Voilà." He waves his hand dramatically.
"Trying to get in my pants, Zander?"
"Always. You just haven't given me the signal yet." He raises his brows suggestively.
I laugh, because I can't help it. He's ridiculous. Infuriating. Charming. All of it.
He turns slightly, eyes focused on the water, and I don't know what overtakes me, but I lean forward—nervous, slow—and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Just a whisper of contact.
Then I retreat back to my seat before I can second guess myself.
He turns. His smile is soft this time. Almost surprised. Like I handed him a piece of something precious.
Then he moves toward me. Not fast. Not careless. Just steady, eyes on mine.
His hand comes up, warm and firm against the back of my neck. I stiffen, breath caught, as he leans in, his face so close I can count the tiny freckles on his cheekbone. His gaze flicks to my lips.
I grip the umbrella harder, grounding myself with the familiar plastic handle.
He presses his lips to mine.
And suddenly, the world quiets.
There's no music. No wind. Just us.
His kiss is soft—tentative at first. Testing. Then it deepens, slow and unhurried, like he's savoring every second. My lips part, and he follows, his mouth slanting over mine with more intent. It's not hungry, but it wants. It aches in a low, burning way that makes my toes curl.
I kiss him back, tilting my head, leaning in. One of his hands drifts to my waist, not pulling—just anchoring. His thumb brushes just above my hip. I swear the contact burns through the fabric.
I sigh against him, and he takes that as an invitation, kissing me deeper. The kind of kiss that steals air. The kind that feels like falling slowly into warm water.
I let the umbrella slip from my hand.
Let my skin burn—I don't care.