Chapter 16
668 Words
Angelica POV
Alexander leaves Ivan in charge without hesitation.
“One week,” he says, already pulling on his coat. “Nothing burns unless it deserves it.”
Ivan just smirks. “Try not to start a war in the snow.”
We don’t tell anyone where we’re going.
That feels important.
The cabin is deep in the woods, surrounded by endless white. Snow blankets the trees so thickly the world feels muted, like someone turned the volume down on everything loud and dangerous.
For the first time since I married him, Alexander is just… Alex.
No meetings.
No phone constantly vibrating.
No guards hovering close enough to breathe down our necks.
Just us.
The first morning, I wake up wrapped so tightly in his arms that I can barely move. He’s warm, solid, his breath steady against my neck. Outside, snow falls softly, tapping against the windows like a secret.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.
“I like watching you sleep,” I admit.
He opens one eye, smirking. “That’s dangerous information.”
I laugh quietly and tuck myself closer.
We spend the days slow.
We cook together—badly. He burns eggs. I tease him mercilessly. He retaliates by lifting me onto the counter and reminding me why I should behave.
We go outside wrapped in heavy coats, boots crunching through the snow. He teaches me how to make terrible snowmen. I throw snow at him until he chases me, laughing, tackling me into the powder.
Cold cheeks. Warm hands.
At night, the cabin glows with firelight. We sit on the rug in front of the fireplace, wrapped in blankets, bodies pressed together. His fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, my back, my thigh—never rushed, never demanding.
Just present.
We talk.
About things we never had time for before.
“Do you ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t… you?” I ask one night, my head resting on his chest.
He considers it. “I’d build something quiet. Somewhere no one would look for me.”
I smile. “You’re terrible at not being noticed.”
“I know,” he says softly. “That’s why I need you.”
Sometimes the talks turn playful.
“You like being bossy,” I tease, tilting my head up to look at him.
He arches a brow. “You like when I’m bossy.”
I grin. “Maybe.”
His hand tightens just slightly at my waist, voice dropping. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
I don’t.
That’s the difference.
Nights blur into warmth, whispered words, shared breaths, the comfort of knowing there’s nowhere else we need to be. We fall asleep tangled together, wake up the same way, like the world outside doesn’t exist.
And maybe—for this week—it doesn’t.
On the last night, snowstorms rage outside, wind howling through the trees. Inside, the fire crackles. Alexander holds me close, chin resting on my head.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m thinking,” I admit.
“Dangerous again.”
I smile faintly. “I was scared once that loving you would mean losing myself.”
He stiffens just a little.
“And now?” he asks carefully.
“Now I know loving you means choosing you,” I say. “Not because I have to. Because I want to.”
He exhales, slow and steady, and tightens his arms around me like he’s afraid to let go.
“I don’t need to own you,” he says quietly. “I just need you here.”
I tilt my head up and kiss his jaw. “Then stay.”
He does.
Outside, the snow keeps falling.
Inside, wrapped in warmth and firelight, I realize something simple and terrifying:
This—this quiet, this choosing each other without fear—
This is what home feels like.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to stay.
- Writer
