Ivan POV
"I don't know what kind of teenage boy takes someone to the opera," I say with a small smile, watching Zander through the large wall-to-wall mirror of my bedroom as he fastens a diamond earring to my ear.
He's focused, gentle in that intense way of his—like his whole world exists in the clasp of expensive jewelry. I let myself indulge in the reflection. He's immaculate as always: tailored suit, deep navy with subtle embroidery, his dark hair styled back without a single strand out of place. He's the picture of restraint and wealth.
And here I am, his personal dress-up doll.
I'm not complaining.
Zander finishes the earring and meets my eyes in the mirror, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.
"A teenage boy from a rich family, trying to impress," he says, moving around me to attach the second earring.
I let him. This has become something of a ritual—Zander picking out my outfits, accessorizing me like I'm his favorite jewel. And judging by the safe he had installed just for all the jewelry he's gifted me, I probably am.
"Why opera?" I ask as he lifts the choker, a strand of pearls set in white gold.
He fastens it around my neck carefully, his fingers brushing the skin there. The chill of the metal, the warmth of his touch—it sends a flutter up my spine.
"You'll love it," he says simply.
I turn slightly to give him a look. "I don't know... I think I might fall asleep."
He shrugs, adjusting the choker until it's centered.
"Then it's not for you."
His tone is teasing, but there's something gleaming in his eyes. He steps back, admiring his handiwork—or maybe admiring me—and the hunger in his gaze makes my heart skip.
"Now," he murmurs, letting his fingers trail from my collarbone down to the exposed part of my chest, just above the deep cut of my crimson cropped suit top, "let's leave before I tear this off you."
My breath hitches.
He smirks.
"Behave," I mutter, straightening the hem of my sleeves as I stand. I catch my reflection again and have to admit—I look good. Better than good.
Zander offers his arm. I take it.
The car ride is quiet. A comfortable sort of silence, the kind that only forms when you know someone well enough not to fill the air with unnecessary words. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand. I glance sideways at him and he's already looking at me.
***
Zander – POV
Wouldn't like it? Yeah, right.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, amused, as he discreetly wipes at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. He's trying not to let me see it, but I see everything.
So much for falling asleep.
He's been absolutely entranced—leaning forward, eyes wide, the soft curve of his lips parted slightly as the soprano on stage breaks into her final aria. He's glowing in the warm light of the private box, every emotion painted across his face.
I don't even bother watching the performance anymore. I've got the better view.
He shifts slightly in his seat, the pearls at his throat catching the light, and I resist the urge to reach over and brush a finger along them. Maybe later.
He sniffles again, and I finally lean closer.
"Didn't like it, huh?" I murmur.
He stiffens, caught. Glares at me through suspiciously wet lashes.
"Shut up."
I smirk and lean back in my chair, smug as hell.