Chapter 7
* * *
Josephine had been dating Viktor for months.
That fact still felt strange sometimes — not because she questioned the relationship, but because of how natural everything had become.
For years she’d guarded pieces of herself without even realizing it, kept relationships carefully separated from the rest of her life, given people enough to know her without ever giving them enough to stay.
That wasn’t happening anymore. Somewhere along the way she’d stopped monitoring every word before she spoke, stopped worrying about appearing perfectly composed, stopped holding parts of herself back.
Now she laughed when something was funny, argued when she disagreed, teased Viktor relentlessly — and somehow he seemed to like her more because of it. Which was deeply suspicious.
“You cheated.”
Viktor looked up from the Scrabble board between them. “I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
His expression stayed calm. “You challenged the word.”
“Because it shouldn’t exist.”
“It does.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes.” The answer came entirely too fast.
She pointed at him. “See? That’s exactly the problem.”
Viktor reached for his coffee. “The problem is that you’re losing.”
“The problem is that you’re a secret Scrabble shark.” His mouth twitched — months ago she might have missed the reaction, but now she knew exactly what it meant. “You are.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
He sat back in his chair. “I play occasionally.”
She laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her coffee. “Occasionally? Viktor, you just used a seven-letter word I’ve never heard in my life.”
“You challenged it.”
“Because it sounded made up.”
“It wasn’t.”
She shook her head. The game had started as a casual rainy Saturday activity; it had quickly become obvious that Viktor approached Scrabble with the same focus he brought to everything else, which explained a lot.
It also explained why the gift she’d hidden in her closet for the last week suddenly felt perfect.
Three days later she arrived at his penthouse carrying a large box. Viktor stood the moment she entered, his eyes moving to the package, then her face, then back.
“What is that?”
“A gift.”
“You already bought me something for my birthday.”
“This isn’t for your birthday.” His suspicion visibly deepened, and she laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told. Sit down.”
He obeyed — the fact that he only listened when he wanted to made the gesture oddly amusing. She set the box on the dining table. “Open it.”
His attention moved from her to the package, then back. “You’re excited.”
“Yes.”
“That concerns me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just open it.”
Several minutes later he removed the final layer of packaging, and silence followed. Josephine watched his expression carefully. The custom Scrabble board sat inside — dark walnut wood, gold lettering, a rotating center, storage compartments, a small brass plate engraved with their names.
For several seconds he said absolutely nothing, and her confidence began to evaporate. “You hate it.”
“No.”
“You do.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “No.” She waited; he looked back at the board, then her, then the board again. “You remembered.”
The quiet words surprised her. “Of course I remembered.”
His hand brushed over the engraved wood, and Josephine realized she’d never seen him look speechless before. “You like it?”
He stood, crossed the room, and pulled her directly against him — so immediate she laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes.”
She smiled against his chest. “Good.”
“You had this custom made.”
“Yes.”
“You designed it.”
“Yes.” He looked down at her, the expression on his face making her stomach flutter. “You remembered.”
She laughed. “You’ve said that three times.”
“Because it matters.”
Months ago, that level of intensity would have unsettled her. Now it simply made her feel cherished.
The following weeks passed in a blur of dates — not extravagant, not carefully planned, just life.
Coffee before her morning classes. Lunches between meetings.
Walks downtown, Saturday farmer’s markets, small restaurants, bookstores, local festivals.
Sometimes they spent hours doing nothing more exciting than arguing over which movie to watch.
Josephine discovered Viktor had surprisingly strong opinions about documentaries; Viktor discovered she became extremely competitive during trivia games.
Both discoveries led to several lengthy arguments. Neither complained.
One Saturday they wandered through an outdoor art market downtown. Josephine stopped repeatedly to examine paintings while Viktor carried every purchase she made.
“You know I can carry things.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you carrying everything?”
“Because I want to.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is.”
She laughed, and he simply shifted the bags higher on his arm.
A few booths later she stopped beside a jewelry display.
The vendor smiled immediately. “You two are adorable.” Josephine opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Viktor reached for her hand — effortless, natural, completely automatic.
“Thank you,” he said.
She looked up at him. He looked entirely unbothered. The vendor smiled wider, and Josephine found herself smiling too. That would have terrified her once. Now it didn’t.
A few days later they met Avery and Julian for dinner. The second Josephine walked in, Avery’s gaze dropped straight to where Josephine’s hand rested in Viktor’s, and then she smiled. A lot.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Julian laughed. “Avery’s been trying not to say anything for months.”
“She failed immediately,” Josephine said.
“True.” Avery didn’t even deny it.
Dinner passed in a haze of laughter and teasing.
At some point Josephine noticed Viktor’s hand resting against the back of her chair.
Later it was at her lower back. Then she realized he’d been finding reasons to touch her all evening — not possessively, not because he thought about it, but because it had become instinct.
The realization warmed something deep inside her.
After dinner they walked outside together. Avery and Julian headed toward their car, and Viktor’s hand settled naturally into hers. She looked down at their joined fingers, then up at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.” A small smile appeared. “You’re staring.”
She laughed. “Maybe.”
He pulled her closer as they walked — easy, familiar, comfortable.
Months ago she’d worried she wouldn’t know how to stay.
Now she found herself looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.
For once she wasn’t searching for the next destination. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
* * *
Viktor sat at the head of the conference table while his executive team worked through the final agenda item — travel schedules, quarterly reviews, several upcoming acquisitions.
Normally he’d have challenged half the recommendations before approving anything.
Today he listened quietly and made decisions faster than usual.
“We can move the quarterly review to virtual,” one executive said, reviewing the projected calendar. “The regional directors can handle the presentations themselves.”
Viktor looked over the schedule. Three months ago he’d have attended personally. Now he saw no reason to waste a day when the people beneath him were fully capable.
“Do it.”
A brief silence. One of the executives looked up. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He closed the file. “The directors know what they’re doing. Let them handle it.”
The executive nodded and made a note. The meeting wrapped up twenty minutes later.
When the room emptied, Viktor stayed seated a moment, looking at the revised schedule on the screen.
The changes weren’t dramatic — most people wouldn’t even notice them.
A conference removed here, a dinner delegated there, several trips shortened, more authority shifted to managers he trusted.
Individually insignificant. Together, they created something valuable.
Time.
He stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection staring back from the glass.
For years his life had revolved around growth, expansion, acquisitions, profit — every hour allocated toward building something larger.
He wasn’t abandoning any of that. He was changing priorities.
The companies no longer required his presence in every room; he’d spent years building leadership teams capable of functioning without constant supervision, and it was finally time to let them.
His phone vibrated. A smile appeared before he even looked.
Josephine. Teaching ran late. Miss me?
The smile widened. His response came immediately: Yes.
Three dots, then nothing, then: Obsessive.
His expression stayed entirely unapologetic. Possibly.
A moment later: See you tonight.
The simple sentence improved an already excellent afternoon. He pocketed the phone and returned to his desk, where several contracts waited for his signature. He worked through them efficiently, but his attention drifted — toward Josephine, as it often did.
The difference now was that she no longer fought it.
Months ago every step forward had been followed by hesitation, every moment of closeness balanced by uncertainty, every date carrying the possibility she might pull away.
That wasn’t happening anymore. Now she called him first, texted him first, showed up at his penthouse without warning, demanded his attention whenever she felt like it.
The thought produced a deep sense of satisfaction — Josephine would probably be horrified if she knew how much he enjoyed it.