Chapter 3 #2
Julian leaned back, deciding whether to laugh or curse. “You’ve taken her to dinner exactly zero times. Unless Avery left that out, which she wouldn’t have — she’d have called me immediately.”
“We have not had an official dinner. That will be corrected.”
“Corrected.” Julian shook his head. “You make asking out my sister-in-law sound like fixing a contract clause.”
“I prefer direct terms. Josephine understands direct terms, even when she pretends not to.”
Some of the humor drained from Julian’s face. “She also runs when she feels cornered. You know that, right?”
“I know how she moves. I know she likes exits. I also know she notices when I block one without touching the door.”
Julian gave a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You understand how insane that sounds.”
“Yes. I also understand it’s accurate.”
Julian picked his glass back up, then thought better of drinking from it. “Avery is going to have opinions about this. A lot of opinions.”
“Avery already has opinions. She’s less subtle than she thinks.”
That got a laugh out of Julian despite himself. “Not wrong.” He leaned forward, elbows near the table’s edge. “Josephine is not going to make this easy.”
“I didn’t expect easy. If I wanted easy, I’d have chosen someone else.”
Julian studied him for some sign of uncertainty. Viktor gave him none — there was none to give. Josephine challenged him, resisted him, watched him like she wished she could dismiss him, then reacted every time he came too close. He’d built entire negotiations on less than that.
“You say it like it’s already done,” Julian said, quieter now. “Not like you hope it happens.”
“It will happen. The timing is the only part still open.”
Julian sat back, the sharpness easing out of him. “I should probably tell you to slow down. Give you some kind of warning.”
“You can. It won’t change anything.”
“Figured.” Julian reached for his glass again, this time drinking without choking. “At least ask her to dinner before announcing the wedding in your head.”
Viktor took out his phone and opened Josephine’s contact, thumb hovering without hesitation. Julian went still, apparently realizing Viktor meant to handle this immediately.
The call connected after several rings. Josephine answered with a cautious edge, enough background quiet for him to know she was alone. “Viktor,” she said. “Is there a reason you’re calling me tonight?”
“Yes.” He watched Julian’s face as he said it. “Have dinner with me.”
A pause on the other end, a faint shift — maybe the phone moving against her ear — and the silence pleased him more than an instant answer would have. “You’re very sure I won’t hang up,” she said finally. “That confidence has to be exhausting.”
“It isn’t. Dinner, Josephine.”
Julian stared at him in open disbelief. Josephine exhaled softly, and Viktor could almost see the look she wore when irritated and tempted in the same breath. “Fine,” she said. “Dinner.”
He confirmed the time, ended the call, and set the phone facedown on the table. Julian looked at the phone, then at him, drink still halfway to his mouth. Viktor lifted his glass and took a measured sip. “Corrected,” he said, and Julian nearly choked again.
* * *
Josephine followed the hostess through the private restaurant and immediately understood why Viktor had chosen it.
The room was quiet without being empty, tables spaced far enough apart that no conversation carried unless someone worked for it.
Soft light reflected off polished glass and dark wood, intimate without trying too hard.
Viktor was already standing when she arrived. He pulled out her chair before she reached the table, attention fixed entirely on her. “You made it,” he said, waiting until she sat before taking his own seat — the same calm confidence that always seemed to walk into a room with him.
Josephine set her purse beside her chair and looked around once more. “I was curious,” she admitted, settling in and folding her napkin across her lap. “Besides, I wanted to see if this dinner was actually real, or if you planned to spend the evening interrogating me.”
The corner of his mouth moved. “I can do both.” He glanced at the menu without really reading it. “I’m efficient.”
She laughed despite herself, reaching for her water. “That answer should concern me more than it does. Most men try to be charming on a first date.”
“Most men are not me.” He set the menu aside and looked at her again, the steady attention making it hard to focus on anything else.
“No,” she agreed, watching him over the rim of her glass. “You’ve made that very clear.” She expected a smile, some polished response. Instead he just kept looking at her.
A server arrived for drink orders, a brief interruption. Once they were alone again, Josephine expected easier ground — questions about the studio, the house, the move. Instead Viktor leaned back and studied her for a moment.
“Are you happy?”
She blinked. “That’s your opening question? You skipped several steps. You’re supposed to ask about hobbies first.”
“I already know your hobbies. I asked something I don’t know.”
The answer settled between them. She looked at the table, then back up. “Right. I forgot who I was talking to.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“No.” She folded her hands, glanced at the candle, then back at him. “I didn’t.”
The server returned with drinks, and neither spoke until he left — Josephine grateful for the interruption more than she wanted to admit. Viktor waited without pushing, attention never leaving her face.
“I think I’m trying to be happy,” she said finally.
His gaze stayed steady.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
She adjusted the edge of her napkin. “I spent so many years moving that standing still feels strange.” She regretted it the instant it left her mouth, watching something shift in his expression she couldn’t quite name. “There. Probably more honesty than a first date requires.”
“Not for this one.”
The silence afterward wasn’t uncomfortable — if anything it sharpened her awareness of him, the way it always did when he walked into a room, looked at her, sat across an entire table and still felt close.
“You really don’t do surface-level conversation, do you?”
“No.”
“You could pretend.”
“I don’t want to.”
Neither of them looked away for several seconds. Josephine broke it first, reaching for her drink. “Fine. Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“You asked a deep question. Now you answer one.” She pointed her glass at him. “Are you happy?”
His expression barely changed. “Yes.”
The speed of it surprised her. “That was fast.”
“It was a simple question.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That cannot possibly be the whole answer. You ask difficult questions and answer yours in one word.”
A faint amusement crossed his eyes. “You asked if I was happy.”
“And?”
“I am.”
She groaned and sat back. “That’s frustrating.”
“You say that often, talking to me.”
“Because you are frustrating.”
The server arrived with appetizers before he could respond. Plates settled between them, and Josephine focused on the food for a moment, gathering herself, aware of his gaze even without meeting it.
She’d expected charm. Compliments. The version of Viktor everyone else got. Instead he seemed determined to cut through every layer she put up.
“You know,” she said after a moment, “I thought tonight would be easier.”
He picked up his glass. “Why?”
“Because you’re usually so controlled.” She wished immediately for different words. “I assumed dinner would be polite.”
“It is polite.”
“You know what I mean.”
His gaze held hers. “Yes.”
The simple answer tightened something in her stomach. She looked away, focused on the candle, then back. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
He set his glass down. “Like what?”
She opened her mouth, then stopped — she couldn’t explain it without sounding ridiculous. “Never mind.”
“No.” Calm, but carrying enough authority that she looked back at him immediately.
He leaned forward, forearm resting on the table. “Finish the sentence.”
Her pulse kicked harder. Neither of them moved. The restaurant carried on around them — glasses, servers, low conversation — none of it close enough to matter.
“You pay too much attention,” she said quietly.
Something shifted in his face. Not surprise. Not confusion. Recognition.
“I know.”
The honesty hit harder than denial would have. She looked down at her hands and laughed softly. “That should probably scare me.”
“Does it?”
She lifted her eyes. He was still watching her with the same unwavering focus he’d carried all evening, completely at ease while she struggled to remember what she’d meant to say next.
“No,” she admitted.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes — a second, no more, but enough to tighten her grip on the glass. He stayed perfectly composed, which somehow made it worse.
Neither spoke for several seconds. She felt every small detail now: the weight of his attention, the warmth climbing her face, the fact that he still hadn’t looked away.
For the first time all evening, his expression softened. “Good.”
She looked down at her glass, because holding his gaze any longer felt dangerous. The conversation went on around them, but neither one seemed particularly interested in anything happening beyond the table.