Anya
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We were in Chester on the Connecticut River at the exclusive restaurant while watching old-school car ferries travel across the river.
The restaurant buzzed softly around us—glasses clinking, soft music, quiet conversations blending with the scent of grilled herbs, butter, and fresh bread.
I still couldn’t believe he was able to get us a table.
The waitlist tended to be as long as airport lines on a holiday and took planning a year in advance.
Across the table, Jetmir smiled every time our eyes met, and I couldn’t stop smiling back.
“I’ve never heard a woman scream so loud,” Jetmir remarked, referring to our earlier jump. “I’m pretty sure it damaged my hearing a bit.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you make women scream all the time.”
“Usually in the bedroom.”
“TMI, Thorne.” I rolled my eyes, feeling a blush creep up my neck. I had no doubt women fell all over themselves to get into bed with him. “Anyway, listening to people scream is probably in your job description.”
My muscles still hummed from the skydive, and every now and then I could almost feel the phantom rush of wind against my face again.
“I have a confession to make, Anya.” I raised my eyebrow, waiting. “Skydiving is my passion, but usually I do it alone.”
My brows furrowed. “You do?”
“Yes. You’re my first partner.”
“Oh, how come?”
He shrugged. “I guess I was a virgin waiting for the right person.”
It was impossible to smother a smile on my face. “Damn, Thorne. You’re a smooth talker.”
“Only with you.”
I waved my hand, not willing to entertain him further with his flirtatiousness. “What I meant is how come you were there as an instructor?”
“Helping out just for today,” he answered vaguely. Before I could question him further, he added, “Was skydiving your birthday wish? Is that why you did it?”
I chuckled. “Heck no. It was a… scene recreation.”
He shot me a puzzled look. “Scene recreation?”
I waved my hand. “From a book I read.”
“Hmmm.” He scratched his chin pensively. “And what kind of book was that?”
My cheeks heated. “A romance book.”
“Do you recreate all the scenes from those romance books?” he asked, his voice turning husky.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling very hot while images of the more explicit scenes flashed through my mind, making the man sitting across from me the main star. Jesus, I bet sex with him would be out of this world.
“No, not all.” I cleared my voice while resisting the urge to fan myself because suddenly, it felt like a hundred degrees in here. “Just some. And certainly those scenes wouldn’t be part of any birthday wish list.”
“No?”
“No.” I shook my head, tracing the rim of my glass with my fingertip. I had never been so glad to successfully pivot a conversation.
“So what’s on the list?” he asked, leaning in like he wanted to hear every word. Spoken and unspoken.
“A Frenchie.”
His expression darkened. “You want a Frenchman?”
I laughed softly and shook my head. “No, I want a French bulldog.” The tension in his shoulders eased and he flashed me a charming smile.
“Well, that’s doable. So you’re a dog lover?”
“Yeah. I love all dogs, but I just want a Frenchie.” I let out a wistful sigh, remembering the amazing dog that’d once been part of our family. “I had one growing up. His name was Bruno. He used to follow me everywhere.”
For a moment, the restaurant and my handsome date faded away.
I could smell fresh-cut grass from our old backyard instead of rosemary and garlic.
I remembered throwing a worn tennis ball that he never actually brought back, choosing instead to flop onto the lawn with it proudly between his paws.
I remembered burying my face against the soft wrinkles on his neck and breathing in that familiar, comforting dog smell that somehow always meant home.
“After he passed away, I cried for months,” I admitted shyly. “But two years later when I asked for another one, my parents said no. They didn’t want me to go through that pain again, but I really miss having one.”
Thorne listened without interrupting, his expression attentive.
After everything I’d experienced that day—jumping out of a plane, trusting the sky and this man to catch me—it felt strangely grounding to share this dinner and my thoughts with him.
I woke to the sound of the Atlantic rolling against the shore below the cliffs. My dreams faded, but that memory remained.
I glanced down to my sleeping Frenchie at the foot on my bed and shook my head. Nobody could know that Jetmir sent the puppy. My papa would have turned him away.
It wasn’t the poor dog’s fault that my ex had the best gift ideas. And best kisses. And best hugs… Damn it, I didn’t want to think about him.
My hand came to my chest and I tapped on it, hoping this anguish, pain, and hopeless love for my ex-husband would just vanish. After last night’s brief encounter with him, I felt even more restlessness building underneath my skin.
It was almost like a warning that something was coming. Or maybe it was a result of Jetmir’s words… After all, he didn’t sound like a man who was saying goodbye.
Shoving the paranoia away and burying all my feelings into a deep dark corner, I focused on the silence that enveloped the estate. Shortly, my parents’ estate would come alive with staff opening shutters, gardeners tending the grounds, boats humming across the bay.
I rolled to my side, taking in the breathtaking view from my bedroom window. I slid out of the bed and my bare feet hit the floor. Golden light spilled across the floor, warming the white oak as I crossed to the balcony.
The humidity wrapped around me, carrying saltwater, jasmine from where it climbed the stone walls, and dewy grass from the lawns below. Palm trees swayed lazily and the infinity pool mirrored the pale sky so perfectly it seemed to dissolve into the ocean beyond.
Home.
This place had always been home, but something felt off these past few years. I didn’t dare admit to the reason behind it.
Soft fur brushed against me and I lowered my gaze to my French bulldog.
“Hey, buddy.” I lowered to my knees and rubbed his belly. He yawned in greeting and I chuckled. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”
His low bark turned into a lazy yawn and he flopped down onto his belly, then closed his eyes.
“Guess a quick walk this morning is out, huh?” He didn’t even bother to open his eyes. I shook my head and splayed my legs out, resting my back against the sliding doors and soaking in the early morning rays.
An hour later, I slipped into a buttery-yellow sundress that skimmed my knees and gathered my hair into a high ponytail, letting a few loose strands frame my face. I paused in front of the mirror, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the fabric before forcing myself to leave my room.
The familiar scent of fresh baked Colombian bread drifted down the hallway, guiding my path. My sandals clicked softly against the polished marble floors, the sound piercing the quiet.
The moment I stepped through the doorway to the breakfast room, my parents looked up from the beautifully set table.
“Happy birthday, baby,” Mama and Papa said in unison, their smiles radiant.
I couldn’t help but smile back, even if it didn’t quite mirror my heart.
“Thanks, Mama. Thanks, Papa.”
Mama immediately crossed the room to wrap me in one of her warm embraces, her floral perfume cocooning me. Papa followed with a kiss against my temple and a gentle squeeze of my shoulder, his affection quieter but no less heartfelt.
For a fleeting moment, everything felt almost… normal.
The golden light from the crystal chandelier danced across the fine china that Mama insisted on using for birthdays, no matter how small the celebration.
Ours was a house built to hold generations, yet these days it felt far too large for the three of us who remained.
Gabriel and Amara lived in their penthouse downtown, preferring the freedom of a place that belonged solely to them.
Papa had made sure the estate remained heavily guarded, layers of security hidden behind elegant gates and manicured hedges.
To the outside world, it was simply another luxurious family home.
To us, it was a carefully protected sanctuary.
Still, Papa valued privacy above displays of power. He’d never wanted our home to feel like a fortress—even if the illusion grew thinner with each passing year.
I slid into my chair, my fingers brushing against the crisp linen napkin as I took in the room I’d celebrated every birthday for as long as I could remember.
Twenty-two.
The number settled uneasily in my chest.
Not because it was a big number, but because I managed to wreak enough havoc to last a lifetime when I married Jetmir Volkov. Of course, I hadn’t known then that my Thorne was actually Jetmir, Amara’s half brother.
I shook my head, not wanting that darkness to encroach on whatever morsel of peace I could hope for today.
Twenty-two didn’t feel like the beginning of my happy ending.
It felt like standing in the middle of a story whose ending I still couldn’t decipher.
Life hadn’t followed the neat chapters or satisfying endings I’d once believed were waiting for me. There had been detours, heartbreak, impossible choices, and dreams quietly folded away before they’d ever had the chance to bloom.
A snort broke through the dining room and all three of us looked toward the doorway in time to see Dozer barreling inside, his stocky little body bouncing with every determined step. His stubby legs moved so quickly they were almost a blur, his oversized ears the only thing you could see clearly.
He skidded slightly on the polished floor before catching himself, planting his paws wide. Then he looked up at us and let out a single, growling bark.
Silence hung for exactly one heartbeat before the three of us burst into laughter.
“You are the least intimidating creature I’ve ever met,” I managed between laughs. “You know that?”