Chapter 8
* * *
Josephine unlocked the studio door while the street outside was still quiet and gray with early morning light.
The building held the cool stillness she liked before the first students arrived, before music filled the room, before the day began asking things from her.
She stepped inside with her tote on one shoulder and her keys still in hand, then stopped when she saw Viktor standing near the front desk with two coffees and his coat folded over one arm.
“You are in my studio before me,” she said, closing the door behind her. Dry voice, but the smile was already pulling at her mouth. “That feels like something I should be concerned about.”
Viktor slipped his phone into his coat pocket and lifted one of the coffees toward her. “You gave me a key. Concern would have been more useful before that decision.”
She crossed the lobby and took the cup. “I gave you a key for emergencies.” She inhaled before sipping. “Coffee is not an emergency, even if this is exactly right.”
“It is exactly right because I listen.” His gaze moved over her face, lingering just long enough to stir warmth beneath her skin. “And seeing you before my meeting was necessary.”
She paused with the cup halfway lowered. “Necessary? That is a very dramatic word for a man holding breakfast coffee.”
“I chose the correct word.” He reached for the tote on her shoulder, and she let him take it — arguing about bags with Viktor had become a waste of everyone’s time. “You have class in an hour. I have a meeting in ninety minutes. This was the only quiet part of the morning.”
Josephine watched him carry her tote to the bench near the door.
It shouldn’t have affected her, the ease of it, the familiar way he moved through her space without making it feel invaded.
A few months ago, having Viktor here before sunrise would have made her tense and defensive.
Now it felt normal enough that she had to stand there a second and absorb the simple fact of it.
“You planned your morning around mine again,” she said, following him in. The wooden floor gleamed under the soft overhead lights, the mirrored wall catching both of them as they crossed the room. “Some people would call that excessive.”
“Some people are not involved in this relationship.” He set her tote near the piano. “Their opinions are irrelevant.”
She laughed into her coffee. “That is exactly the kind of answer that makes people think you are impossible.” She walked to the stereo, set her cup on top, and checked the playlist she’d prepared the night before. “Unfortunately, you say it like you’re being reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable.” He moved behind her, close enough that she felt him before his hand settled lightly at her waist. “I had time before the meeting. I wanted to spend it with you. So I came here.”
The touch was casual now, and that was what unsettled her in the gentlest way — not because she disliked it, but because she liked it so much.
His hand at her waist, his coffee on her stereo, his presence in her studio before the students arrived — all of it had begun to fit into her day like it belonged there.
She caught his reflection in the mirror, already watching her there. “You look very pleased with yourself. Did you come here to bring coffee or to stare at me in mirrors?”
“Yes,” he said, and his hand tightened once at her waist.
She rolled her eyes, smile widening. “That was not a multiple-choice question. You are supposed to pick one.”
“I have never liked unnecessary limits.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Especially with you.”
Her breath shifted, and there was no point pretending he missed it.
He never missed anything. The studio felt too quiet now, the ordinary morning light through the windows only making the moment feel stranger because nothing dramatic was happening.
He’d brought coffee. She’d opened the studio.
They stood in a room where she taught children pliés and posture, and somehow her heart was beating like he’d backed her against a wall.
“You have a meeting,” she reminded him, placing a hand against his chest — meaning to create distance, her fingers curling against the fabric instead. “Important men with important schedules are probably waiting somewhere.”
“They can wait another five minutes. You have not kissed me good morning.”
Her brows lifted. “I was supposed to know that was required?”
“Yes.” Calm voice, eyes anything but. “You learn quickly.”
She laughed, the sound filling the empty studio bright and unguarded.
Viktor’s expression shifted in that small way it did when she surprised him, as if her happiness still gave him more satisfaction than he knew what to do with.
That look pulled at something low in her chest — steady, warm, no longer frightening the way it once had been.
Josephine rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Meant to be quick, since students would arrive soon and Viktor had a meeting, but quick never seemed to work with him anymore.
His hand moved from her waist to the small of her back, holding her close enough that her coffee-cooled fingers pressed more firmly against his chest. When she eased back, his gaze stayed fixed on her mouth a second longer.
“Good morning,” she said softly.
“Better.”
She shook her head and stepped away before she forgot she had a class to prepare for. “You are ridiculous. Completely unreasonable, deeply overconfident, and too satisfied with yourself before eight in the morning.”
He picked up her coffee and followed her across the room. “You forgot useful.”
“Useful is still under review.” She sipped, looking around — clean floors, morning light, an empty room waiting to fill with music and students. “Although the coffee helps your case.”
He watched her instead of the room. “You are happy here.”
It wasn’t really a question, which made answering easier. “I am,” she said, resting a hand on the barre. “I like coming in early. I like knowing the room will be mine for the day. I like that the students are starting to settle into their own routines.”
His expression softened by a fraction. “And you like that I bring coffee.”
“I tolerate that part.” She tried to hold the serious expression and failed almost immediately. “Fine. I like that part too.”
His mouth curved, and she felt an answering smile rise before he even spoke. “Good,” he said, glancing once at the clock near the office door. “I need to leave in ten minutes.”
She nodded, but the thought of him leaving didn’t make the morning feel emptier — it simply became part of the rhythm they were building, one involving work, meetings, classes, coffee, kisses, and meeting again later because they both wanted to.
The ordinariness of it should have bothered her.
Instead it felt like something she’d been moving toward without admitting it.
Viktor read enough in her face to step closer again. “What are you thinking?”
“That I like this,” she said, before she could overthink it. “You showing up before your meeting. Me opening the studio. This being normal.”
His attention sharpened. “Normal with me?”
“Yes.” The word didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like something she’d chosen. “Normal with you.”
His satisfaction was immediate and unmistakable. He didn’t smile widely, but the look in his eyes changed, his hand lifting to touch her chin with quiet possession. “I like that too.”
A car passed outside, the faint sound bringing the morning back into motion.
She heard it but didn’t look away from him.
The thought of forever moved through her again — not as a threat, not a trap, not a door closing behind her.
This time it looked like Viktor standing in her studio with coffee, already part of her day before it had even begun.
* * *
Viktor stepped out of the car and looked across the lakeside property with the same attention he gave every acquisition.
The land sat outside the city, quiet and private, with a long driveway, mature trees, and a wide stretch of water beyond the slope of the lawn.
One of his companies had acquired it weeks ago, and this inspection should have taken no more than an hour.
He’d come prepared to assess structure, access, privacy, maintenance costs, development potential.
The house itself was solid, understated, larger than the initial reports had suggested.
Viktor walked through the front entry, noting the natural light, the quality of the floors, the width of the hallways, the distance between public rooms and private spaces.
His mind automatically sorted what would need updating and what should stay untouched.
Normally that information settled into categories of cost, value, and return.
That didn’t happen today. He stood in the kitchen and found himself imagining Josephine at the island, barefoot, amused, pretending not to be impressed by the space.
He could hear exactly how she’d question the number of cabinets and accuse him of buying a house large enough to hide from his own thoughts.
The image was so immediate that he stood still for several seconds, one hand resting against the counter.
He moved into the living room and crossed toward the windows facing the lake.
The view opened wide, the back lawn stretching toward a wooden dock.
He should have been thinking about landscaping, drainage, whether the dock needed repairs.
Instead he pictured Josephine walking across the grass in the late afternoon, hair loose, full of opinions she’d share whether he asked or not.
The thought pleased him. He didn’t smile widely, but satisfaction settled into his chest as he opened the back door and stepped outside.
The air carried the clean scent of water and cut grass, the quiet different from the quiet in his penthouse.
This place had space. Privacy. Room for the life he intended to build.