Zander – POV
I swim toward the stupid floating umbrella because apparently, my beloved prince is allergic to the sun.
It's drifting gently near the reeds where Ivan, in his dramatic glory, tossed it into the lake the moment we kissed—something about "ruining the visuals" and "needing the sunlight to catch my cheekbones."
I dunk my head under and resurface with the umbrella handle in hand, muttering as I drag it back to the boat like it personally offended me.
When I finally climb back in—soaked, shirt clinging to me, and hair a mess—I find Ivan lounging back on the blanket like he's posing for a perfume ad.
"You're ridiculous." I say, breathless.
"And yet, here you are. Still rowing my boat, Mr. Vale," he says without looking up from his compact mirror, checking his lips.
"Oh. My lipstick's smudged. I wonder whose fault that is?"
He's teasing me.
He's glowing.
And I'm completely gone for him.
I toss the umbrella beside him with a splash. He squeals dramatically and scrambles to pull his shirt higher like it's going to shield him from the entire sun.
"You're the worst," he huffs, tugging the umbrella back up and settling under it again like a spoiled forest nymph.
I lean over him, dripping onto his knees.
"And yet…" I murmur, smirking as I reach for his chin, "you kissed me first."
His lips curve, and he meets my eyes.
"Don't let it go to your head."
*
The sun's lower by the time we row back to the dock. Ivan keeps brushing imaginary specks off his shirt and fixing his hair like we're stepping onto a red carpet, not an old wooden pier.
I love him.
The house is quiet after dinner. Dad retired early, muttering something about needing to "prepare emotionally" for grandparenthood.
Again.
Ivan's sitting on the window bench in my room, knees tucked under his - my -oversized hoodie, staring out at the stars.
I sit beside him without a word.
He leans into me. Quietly. Naturally. Like he's been doing it forever.
And then—another kiss.
Soft. Barely there.
Just a brush of lips, really.
But it feels like the world paused for it.
How wonderful.
I guess… we're on the kissing stage now.
No declarations. No fireworks. Just the stillness of a moment that feels real.
"I had a great time today," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and something else—something softer, weightier.
His green eyes glint under the dim orange cast of the evening light, darker than usual. Warmer too.
I smile.
"Me too."
...Really, Zander?
Me too?
That's all you could come up with?
I want to say more. I want to say I'll remember this day for the rest of my life, or I'm falling even deeper in love with you and I don't even know how to stop it, or maybe just thank you—for existing.
But instead, I let him rest his head on my shoulder, and I hold still like I don't want to scare the moment away.
Because I don't.
I glance around the quiet garden, the trees swaying gently, the warm porch light flickering inside the house.
And I feel it settle in my chest—that complicated ache.
We're leaving soon.
Maybe two days. Three, at most.
And I'm sad.
Sad to leave the soft routine we somehow made for ourselves here.
Sad to think about the world creeping back in—the one that's loud, brutal, expectant.
But at the same time… I'm glad I brought him here.
It was impulsive.
Possibly reckless.
Definitely a move my grandfather would call "frivolous" and "compromising."
But bringing him here…
Was my way of saying: You matter. You're real. I'm serious.
I mean—I've always been serious about him.
But this place?
This island?
This is where I'm Zander. Not Zander Vale.
And letting him into that…
Letting him see this part of me?
It's the boldest confession I've ever made.