Chapter 5
* * *
Josephine stepped into Avery and Julian’s backyard with Viktor beside her, and the first thing she noticed was how quickly everyone noticed them.
Avery stood near the patio table arranging plates, but her hands paused the moment she looked up.
Julian was by the grill with a pair of tongs in one hand, already talking to Viktor before he’d even crossed the yard.
The whole thing should have felt casual.
Nothing about arriving with Viktor ever did.
“You made it,” Avery said, smiling too brightly as she came forward with a serving spoon still in her hand. Her gaze moved from Josephine to Viktor and back, and the look she gave Josephine was almost unbearable. “I was beginning to think you two got lost on the way over.”
Josephine removed her sunglasses and slid them into her purse. “We drove here in separate cars,” she said, flat, because Avery looked delighted enough without encouragement. “Getting lost together would have required more coordination than either of us agreed to.”
Viktor stood close enough that his sleeve brushed hers as he reached to take the covered dish from her hands. “I offered to drive,” he said, calm, handing it to Avery. “Josephine declined.”
Avery accepted the dish, glancing at Josephine with open amusement. “Of course she did. She likes to pretend she’s not being escorted anywhere, even when she absolutely is.”
Josephine followed her toward the patio table, refusing to look at Viktor. “I am standing right here. If you are going to discuss me, at least pretend to be embarrassed.”
Julian looked over from the grill, smiling in the lazy, content way he’d adopted since marrying Avery. “Nobody in this yard is embarrassed. That would ruin the entertainment.”
Avery laughed, moving behind him to grab a platter, and Julian caught her briefly around the waist before letting her go — quick, familiar, so natural that Josephine looked away before she could think too hard about it.
Avery looked happy here, moving through her own backyard with Julian watching her like she was the best part of the day.
The sight warmed Josephine and unsettled her in equal measure.
Viktor noticed her looking away, because he noticed everything.
He didn’t say anything, but stepped closer when she reached for a stack of napkins, his hand brushing the back of the chair beside hers.
Small movement, but Josephine felt it across every inch of skin still too aware after their last date.
“You are quiet,” he said, low enough for Avery and Julian to keep pretending not to listen.
“I am surrounded by people determined to make conclusions.” She smoothed the napkins into a neater pile than necessary. “Quiet seems safer than giving anyone more material.”
His mouth curved slightly. “You think silence makes you safer with me?” He took the napkins from her hand before she could decide whether to move away. “That is optimistic.”
Her breath shifted, and she hated that he probably heard it. “You are not as intimidating as you think.” She lifted her chin, since the alternative was staring at his mouth. “You just have excellent posture and too much confidence.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” He set the napkins near the plates, his gaze holding hers long enough to make the simple words feel less simple. “Unless posture and confidence are enough.”
Avery coughed softly from across the table, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Josephine turned with narrowed eyes. “Do you need water? Or are you choking on your own curiosity?”
“I’m fine,” Avery said, pressing her lips together as Julian walked over with the platter. “Very happy. Very hydrated. Very focused on lunch.”
Julian set the platter down and gave Avery a look that made her grin. “Focused is generous.” He turned to Viktor with the same easy humor. “Can you grab the extra drinks from the cooler for your woman before she starts accusing everyone of gossiping?”
The words landed in the middle of the patio and stopped everything.
Avery went still, her hand on the salad bowl.
Julian’s eyes sharpened, as if he’d heard himself half a second too late.
Josephine felt her face heat before she could stop it, fingers tightening around the chair beside her.
The backyard noise continued — the grill ticking, the trees moving in the warm air — but nobody at the table spoke.
Viktor did not correct him.
He didn’t glance at Julian in warning, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t offer Josephine any easy escape from the phrase.
He simply looked at her, steady and unreadable, as if the words hadn’t surprised him at all.
She waited for something reasonable, something neutral, something to put the moment back where it belonged.
Instead he reached for the cooler lid and opened it.
“Josephine prefers sparkling water,” he said, pulling one from the ice before selecting drinks for the others. Even, almost casual — which somehow made the silence worse. “Avery wants tea, and Julian will pretend he is done with soda after this one.”
Julian accepted the can with a quiet breath that might have been relief. “Accurate,” he said, attention cutting briefly to Josephine before he looked back at the table. “Unfortunately, my wife has made me predictable.”
Avery recovered faster, eyes bright as she took the tea from Viktor. “Predictable has worked out well for me.” She leaned against Julian for a second, then turned back to the food. “Everybody sit before this gets cold.”
Josephine sat because standing there felt too exposed.
Viktor took the chair beside her without asking, close enough that his knee nearly brushed hers under the table.
She adjusted her napkin and reached for the sparkling water, trying not to think about the words your woman, or the fact that Viktor had let them stand between them without correction.
Conversation resumed after a few careful seconds.
Avery asked about the studio, Julian talked about the food, Viktor answered when spoken to with the same composed certainty he always carried.
Josephine contributed when necessary, but her attention kept circling back to that one careless phrase.
Julian had said it by accident. Viktor had accepted it like a fact too obvious to debate.
He leaned closer to pass her a dish, his hand steady near hers. “You have not eaten,” he said, low enough not to interrupt the others. “You are busy thinking.”
She took the serving spoon, refusing to look at him directly. “That happens sometimes. You should try it before speaking occasionally.”
His gaze stayed on her face, and she felt the corner of his mouth move before she saw it. “I thought carefully before not correcting Julian,” he said, quiet and controlled beside her. “Since you were wondering.”
Her hand paused around the spoon. Across the table, Avery kept her eyes on her plate, the small smile at her mouth saying she’d heard enough.
Josephine set the spoon down and finally looked at Viktor.
His attention was already waiting — focused, certain — and the words she’d planned to say scattered before she could arrange them into anything safe.
* * *
Josephine stepped out of the elevator and into Viktor’s penthouse, dance bag over one shoulder, the lingering fatigue from teaching still in her muscles.
City lights stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow across the open space.
The scent of food reached her immediately, warm and unexpected.
“You cooked?” she asked as the doors closed behind her.
Viktor took the bag from her shoulder before she could stop him. “You sound surprised.” He set it down carefully near the entry. “I didn’t ask one of my chefs to make dinner.”
“I am surprised,” she admitted, following him into the kitchen, her gaze landing on the place settings already waiting on the island. “You own enough restaurants to avoid cooking forever.”
“I prefer doing some things myself.” He pulled out a stool for her. “Especially when you’re involved.”
She sat and shook her head. “You really don’t know how to be casual, do you? Not even a little.”
“No.” Without hesitation. “I’ve never seen the point.”
Dinner should have eased some of the tension that had followed them through weeks of dates, conversations, lingering looks, near touches. Instead every minute seemed to make it worse. The more time she spent alone with him, the harder it got to pretend she wasn’t affected.
He listened when she talked about the master class, remembering details she’d forgotten mentioning — a student struggling with combinations, a teacher she’d admired years ago. All of it filed away.
“You do that constantly,” she said, setting down her fork. “You remember everything.”
He looked up immediately. “You’re worth remembering. Why would I forget?”
The words settled heavily between them. She looked down at her glass, then lifted her eyes again. She’d heard compliments before, but Viktor never sounded like he was offering one.
“You say things like that very casually.”
“No.” He leaned back slightly. “I don’t.”
The room felt smaller suddenly. She shifted on the stool, folding her hands together. The awareness between them grew every time the conversation slowed.
“You’ve been very patient.”
“Yes.”
“That can’t be easy.”
Something shifted in his expression — not dramatic, but enough to notice. He held her gaze for several seconds before answering.
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”
The honesty caught her off guard. For months he’d been controlled, steady, present — accepting every excuse she offered, every attempt she made to create distance.
He stood and carried the dishes to the sink. When he came back, he stopped directly in front of her stool. Every instinct told her to stand, create space. She stayed where she was.
“You make this look easy,” she said softly.
His eyes held hers. “What?”
“This.” She lifted one hand vaguely between them. “Whatever this is.”