Chapter 5
Aleksandr
The little shit had pushed back this morning. We hadn’t had one of those episodes in a while. Not since she first moved in and tested every boundary to be sure it was real—to be sure we were real. But this morning?
Yeah, she’d drawn a line in the sand and dared me to cross it. She should have known better. I smirked because, truthfully, she did. And everything played out perfectly.
A little correction never hurt, and when it came to my little kitten, a proper spanking wasn’t about punishment—it was about centering her. She unraveled when she felt unseen, when her efforts were overlooked, and we’d been blind the past few weeks. All of us.
That was on me. So I approached my brothers, and we voted on it. Unanimously. It had worked too. From her responses—heard over the phone, it had the desired effect I knew it would. Course correction at its finest, followed by some tender aftercare and then pampering.
The beautiful thing about it was it would absolutely plop her into the proper headspace. And I fucking needed that today. Because the burning need to make things right had been festering all week while we were gone.
Marcus was en route now, ready to drop her off for a full spa treatment day. The works—hair, mani-pedi, a new outfit. I’d scheduled everything with very explicit instructions. While she was being pampered and coddled, the guys and I would be tearing through the family cottage like men on a mission.
The plan was airtight, the day mapped out down to the damn minute. And still, I couldn’t shake the weight in my chest. That gnawing sense that I’d already let her down so badly, this might not be enough.
But it had to be. Because she was my entire world.
“Everything all good?” Ivan asked, flicking open a storage bin with the toe of his boot.
“Yup, we’re on track. We’ve got about two hours before Marcus picks her back up from the salon.” I checked the time again, even though I already knew it down to the minute.
Nik arrived a few seconds later, arms full of tangled lights and a smug grin. Right behind him was our mother and Martina, Bash’s mother. They were bundled in coats, scarves knotted neatly at their throats, cheeks flushed with anticipation. Their excitement hit the air.
“Look at this place,” Martina breathed, her eyes already dancing as she stepped into the cottage. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen it dressed for anything other than storage.”
Mother followed behind her, taking it in with a slow, approving sweep of her gaze. “This is going to be magic,” she said with quiet certainty, then turned to me. “We’re proud of you, boys.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling ten years old under that smile.
The cottage had belonged to Sebastian’s family for generations. A place passed down, worn soft by time. Updated with the right touch of money, but still rustic around the edges. It had wood-beamed ceilings, a stone fireplace, and a few creaky floorboards that groaned like they were telling stories.
And today, it was about to become a secret hideaway.
The idea…the gift, if you will, hadn’t been mine. It had been all Bash. The bastard could be infuriatingly smug when he wanted to be, but he was also absolutely brilliant.
He might not have a woman of his own, but he loved ours. Loved the little shit to pieces. In a complicated, protective and possessive way that only made sense if you lived inside our strange little world.
At heart, he was a romantic. A brutal one, yes—but still. The kind of man who remembered anniversaries no one else did. The kind of man who memorized the sound of a woman’s laugh, even if that woman wasn’t his. I swallowed hard, feeling a surge of guilt, like I always did when it came down to it.
My jaw tightened, the air shifting as that familiar grief crept in. I shoved it aside. There wasn’t room for it. Not today. Today was for Kinsley.
“Hand me that box, son,” Mother said, nudging my leg. Her voice cut through the fog, grounding me.
I passed her the crate of ornaments. Some were half-glass, half-handmade, all probably older than I was.
She smiled, soft and knowing. “She’s changed you boys.”
I didn’t answer because, yeah. She had.
We got to work. It was organized chaos at first—boxes being cracked open, pine needles flying, Nik swearing every five minutes about glitter being the devil’s confetti. But not a one of us complained.
Ivan had dragged a huge ass tree inside and was now on ladder duty, stringing lights with the precision of a sniper.
He was muttering under his breath about how “this strand better not be half-dead or I’m calling bloody sabotage”, which only made Nik laugh harder as he tried to detangle ribbon with our mum.
“Honestly, Mum, you wrapped this like it’s Fort Knox,” he grumbled.
She smacked his hand lightly with a candy cane. “Maybe if you boys didn’t store it like a pack of feral wolves, we wouldn’t be here untangling twenty or so years’ worth of laziness. These are from the last time the three of you dared to help me decorate.”
“Jesus, that was so long ago,” he muttered.
Martina stood to the side, taking a mini-break and sipping what was probably spiked cider from a thermos. She hummed along to Bing Crosby, her eyes soft as she watched the three of us stumble over each other.
There was something in the air. And it wasn’t nostalgia. It was the quiet joy of doing something together. Not that we didn’t do shit together all the time because we certainly did. But this was different in every way.
I took a step back, wiping my hands on my jeans, and watched everything unfold. Little bells hung from the exposed beams, and it looked magical. Nik had moved on to some decorations above the mantle.
Ivan was kneeling on the ground helping mother. Martina joined in to help them position the tree. Light arguments erupted over angle and light placement.
“Bit to the left,” Martina said.
Ivan groaned. “If I move it anymore, I’m going to fall into the bloody fireplace.”
Mother rolled her eyes. “Oh hush. You bench press cars. Move the bloody tree to the left so I can fix these lights.”
I chuckled and kept my distance, soaking it all in. The plan had come together better than I’d hoped. Each of us had something special in mind to spoil her. One day and one night alone at the cottage. No phones. No distractions. She and I alone. The way it should be.
There wasn’t any worry that any of us would choose the same thing. We were different in every way when it came to pleasing her. In my heart, I knew my brothers would plan equal parts cottage time and an actual outing. I had other plans. Keeping things simple. We were staying in.
I wanted her completely to myself. I didn’t want to share her with a single soul. I wanted time to talk to her, to hold her, uninterrupted. That was my gift. I stood in the doorway, hands on my hips, watching the way the lights played against the walls and garland-wrapped beams.
It didn’t feel like a cottage anymore. It felt like home. We’d help Kinsley create new memories. If she liked our cottage getaway well enough, we’d make it a yearly thing. She deserved the world, and if I could give it to her, I would.
“Looks good,” Nik said, grabbing the lid of one of the storage containers. “Think she’ll cry?”
“Bet you money she does,” Ivan said, chucking an ornament hook into the bin. “Extra if she cries and yells.”
“Oh, she’ll yell. You can bet your asses she will. Loudly,” I said, puffing my chest.
“Yeah, well, don’t wear her completely out.
Make sure she drinks plenty of water and uses the bathroom.
Bathe her, and for the love of God, don’t forget the Patchouli.
I swear, you and the big lug are forever chafing my baby girl’s inner thighs,” Nik grumbled as if I had zero idea how to take care of her.
“Fuck off. I know her better than you.”
“Boys…” Mum exclaimed. “No fighting.”
With hugs and kisses from her and Martina, the fuckers finally fucked off. Checking my watch, I realized I had just enough time to get ready. I showered, changed, and let the music play low in the background. Bing had given way to Ella Fitzgerald now. Something soft, velvet-smooth.
Then I waited. And when the hinge creaked, and the door pushed open—my heart kicked.
“Hello,” she called out nervously.
“In here,” I answered.
She looked like a fucking dream. A short cream satin robe hugged her curves, barely skimming the tops of her thighs. Slippers on her feet, legs bare and toned, and the tie cinched tight like a bow begging to be undone.
Her hair was twisted up, with a few loose strands framing her face—but her neck. Damn. Her neck was exposed, delicate and pale, exactly the way I liked it. Exactly the way I needed it. I leaned against the doorframe and let myself take her in like a man starved.
She didn’t see me at first. Her wide eyes flicked around the cottage—darting from the glowing tree to the garlands strung with fairy lights, to all the little touches. Candles. Velvet ribbons. The flicker of firelight warmed the space. It was soft and, hopefully, screamed romantic.
Her lips parted on a breath. A hand lifted to her chest. That breathless look—it energized me. The awe on her face. The kind of wonder she probably hadn’t let herself believe in these past few days. It made me want to punch the air in victory.
She hadn’t seen this coming. I knew that immediately. And I knew without question I’d done it right. The tension in her shoulders melted, and I could almost see the weight falling off her back in invisible layers.
This was what I wanted.
To give her something unmistakable. Unapologetically hers. To remind her that even though we were slow to the game, we hadn’t forgotten her.
Her eyes finally found me, and when they did, her whole face lit up. Lips curving, eyes shining. That megawatt smile hit me like a punch straight to the stomach.
“For me?” she asked, voice small and shaking with disbelief.
I nodded, slow and deliberate. My throat thick, words caught somewhere behind my pride.