13. Sophia
THIRTEEN
SOPHIA
T his hotel is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stayed in. Our bungalow sits at the very end of a long wooden bridge, secluded and quiet. A soft chuckle escapes me. Maxim really did want us to be alone.
It’s insane—completely absurd—that he rented out an entire hotel just to ensure no one would bother me. The sheer extravagance of it makes my stomach twist, and I roll my eyes at the thought. He throws money around like it’s meaningless, like it’s the solution to every problem. Maybe to him, it is. Spend a million dollars? Another million is probably sitting in his account like loose change, waiting to be spent without a second thought.
But no amount of money can erase the memory of being trapped, helpless. No one barged in to save me then. No locked doors or rented spaces could keep them out. The safety he’s trying to buy feels flimsy, like a fragile illusion that could shatter with one wrong move.
I shake my head, trying to push away the creeping unease. Forget about that now, Sophia. You’re here. You’re safe. But the thought doesn’t stick, and a small voice in the back of my mind whispers: Safe for now.
As much as I don’t approve of how much he spent, I can’t deny the gesture itself was thoughtful. I’ve seen a side of Maxim over the past few days I wasn’t sure he was capable of—a gentler, more patient version of him. He has given me the space I asked for. He hasn’t pushed me or overstepped. Somehow, he has managed to help me start clawing my way out of the darkness that’s always right there, waiting to swallow me whole.
It’s strange, this change in him. A breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.
I was so afraid of seeing him again, of being overwhelmed by his strong, forceful presence, afraid he wouldn’t understand me or the weight I carry. But something in him is different now—calmer, softer.
I let out a sigh and tilt my head toward the sky. The memory of the night we first met flashes through my mind. I remember the butterflies he gave me, the way my heart raced like it would burst out of my chest. It feels like that night happened years ago, not months. Looking back now, it’s as though I’m staring through fog at a distant dream. It doesn’t feel real.
No, that version of me doesn’t feel real anymore.
She was a woman who smiled brightly, who loved intensely. A woman who believed in happy endings. But that woman feels like she no longer exists. She’s gone, buried under the weight of everything I’ve endured.
Sometimes, the longing to reach out and grab that memory—to make it real again—is so strong, it nearly breaks me. But reality always bites back, cruel and unrelenting, reminding me I can’t be her. I’ll never be her again.
I stand on the balcony, my arms resting on the wooden ledge as I stare at the endless ocean stretched before me. The wind blows hard, carrying the briny scent of saltwater, and the waves crash loudly against the bridge’s wooden beams.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the sound of distant seagulls wash over me. For the first time in what feels like forever, a calm I thought I’d lost starts to settle in my chest. Slowly, a soft smile pulls at my lips, the tension in my body easing bit by bit.
This moment feels…right, as if it was always meant to be, a small reprieve written into the story of my life.
Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me out of my thoughts. My body straightens instinctively, but when he rests his chin gently on top of my head, I relax into him.
“This is such a beautiful view,” he whispers, his voice low and soft, as though afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.
I hum in agreement, my gaze still on the water.
“But not as beautiful as you, moya lyubov.” His words are a caress, and I feel my smile widen despite myself.
The longing to see his face becomes overwhelming, so I turn in his arms, lifting my head to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes steals my breath. Hunger swirls in those dark irises, raw and unguarded, sending heat coursing through my body, pooling low in my belly.
I close my eyes for just a moment, letting myself feel it—the desire that still lingers between us, fierce and alive, a desire I thought had been snuffed out for good.
“How very romantic of you,” I say, trying to inject a hint of teasing into my tone. But it comes out softer, flirtier than I intended.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, his hand comes up, his thumb brushing gently along my jawline. The simple touch sends a shiver skittering down my spine. His lips descend, capturing mine in a kiss that’s soft but deep, igniting something I’ve tried so hard to bury.
My heart thunders in my chest and heat flares between my legs, a dull ache begging to be soothed.
My heart wants to give in, to let go of everything else and simply get lost in him.
But my mind isn’t done fighting.
This isn’t just attraction—it’s my body clouding my judgment, my heart trying to convince me of something I’m not ready to believe.
I’m not in the right headspace to have sex with Maxim. As much as I love him—and I do, despite everything that has happened—it isn’t what I need right now. What I’m battling isn’t something sex can fix. No matter how badly I want to give in, it would only be a temporary patch, like placing tape over a crack.
My hands press against his chest, gently pushing him back. Relief floods through me when he steps away without resistance, understanding my unspoken boundary.
I exhale slowly. “I haven’t entirely forgiven you,” I admit, my voice soft but firm. “Taking this to the next level…it means so much more than just the act itself. If—or when—that happens, it’ll be because I’ve forgiven you.”
His gaze is steady as he forces me to meet his eyes. “I’m not leaving, Sophia. And I’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” His tone is low, deliberate. “You want to take it slow? Then we’ll go as slow as a turtle.”
A chuckle bubbles out of me unbidden. His expression shifts, amusement quirking his brow.
“Slow?” I ask, my brows knitting together in disbelief. “Maxim Volkov doesn’t know the meaning of slow. You’re more like the rabbit in that tortoise and hare story.”
He smirks, leaning closer. “Turtle slow,” he enunciates, dragging out the words with a deliberate challenge glinting in his eyes.
The playfulness in his tone should ease the knot in my stomach, but instead, doubt claws its way to the surface. Is this really what I want? To take things slow? This is what you wanted, Sophia. Isn’t it?
“Yes,” I tell myself silently. It is what I want.
But the faint tug of unease remains. Why does it feel like we’re making a mistake?
Maxim steps back, breaking the tension. “Let’s go to dinner,” he says, heading into the bungalow to grab his phone and wallet.
“Wait,” I call after him. “I thought we were eating in tonight?”
He doesn’t stop, disappearing toward the bridge. My stomach twists, dread pooling in its depths as tears prick my eyes. This is a mistake. I should’ve followed my instincts and kept him at a distance. He’s going to see how broken I am—how much work it’ll take to fix me—and he’ll walk away without a second thought.
But just as my mind spirals further, he halts abruptly. His shoulders sag as he turns, devastation etched into his face. The apology in his eyes disarms me completely.
“No, beautiful,” he says, stepping closer and taking my hand. “Tomorrow, we’ll dine here.” One corner of his lips lifts in a faint smile. “But tonight, I made reservations at one of the best restaurants on this tiny island.”
I remind myself he’s trying. I’m not giving up on him, and he’s not giving up on me either, even if it’s hard for him—especially for someone like Maxim Volkov, whose default settings are controlling, possessive, and demanding. Kindness, patience, understanding…those don’t come naturally to him. They never did. He wasn’t raised to be a patient man; he was groomed to be a heartless monster.
I force myself to let go of the tension still clinging to me. With a small smile, I tug him forward, hoping to break the awkwardness lingering between us. “This place better be amazing if you’re dragging me out of that gorgeous room.”
If it were up to me, I’d never leave. The bungalow is simple—just a king-sized bed, a couch, and a TV like any other hotel room—but it’s the details that captivate me. The glass floor panels that give a perfect view of the ocean below. The spacious terrace with its infinity pool. The steps leading straight down into the water.
And the view… God, the view. When the doors open, it’s nothing but endless blue meeting the horizon. I can’t wait for tonight to see the stars scatter across the sky like diamonds. It’s going to be magical.
We arrive at the restaurant, and Maxim opens the door for me. “Are you sure we can’t just go back to the room?” I ask, half-teasing.
He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. “You’re going to love the food. Trust me.”
Before I can argue further, his phone buzzes in his pocket. His body goes rigid as he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. “It’s my brother,” he mutters, his jaw tightening. “I need to take this.”
Pointing to a hostess by the entrance, he adds, “The reservation’s under my name. Check us in and wait for me at the bar. Get a drink.” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before stepping back outside.
A drink. That sounds…good. Maybe a little alcohol will quiet the storm of thoughts raging in my mind.
I walk to the bar and slide onto a stool, nodding at the bartender. “A Jack on the rocks with a splash of water and a glass of Merlot, please.”