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The first thing Alina notices when she opens the front door of her house is the car.
It is ridiculous.
Shiny, polished to a mirror finish, and far too expensive for a high school parking lot, let alone the quiet suburban street in front of her modest house. Sunlight bounces off the sleek black hood like it has been freshly waxed that very morning—which, knowing Nikolai, it absolutely has.
And leaning casually against the driver’s door, like he has stepped straight out of a teen romance film, stands Nikolai Lantsov.
Senior. Student council president. Debate team captain. Golden boy of Ravka High. And the son of Os Alta’s mayor, this adventurous boy who has grown up navigating every corner of this city—its winding back roads, hidden overlooks, and quiet spots the rest of them only discover by accident. He knows the place like the back of his hand, and he uses that knowledge shamelessly whenever he wants to steal her away.
He is also, somehow, her boyfriend.
Alina’s lips curve into a smile before she can stop them. She steps outside, letting the door click shut behind her, and his hazel eyes are warm the moment they land on her. His blond hair is slightly disarranged by the morning breeze, and he looks unfairly handsome in a simple white shirt and dark jeans that fit him perfectly. He straightens up, showing her that trademark crooked grin across his face.
“You’re staring, Starkov,” he calls lightly, voice carrying across the short distance between them.
“You’re blocking my driveway,” she shoots back, but her tone is soft, already helplessly fond.
“Worth it,” he replies without hesitation.
Her cheeks are warm, but she walks toward him anyway, her sneakers quiet against the pavement. The second she is close enough, he reaches for her. Not dramatically, not for show, just naturally. His hand slides around her waist, pulling her gently closer as his lips press a soft kiss to her temple.
“Hi,” he murmurs against her skin, close enough that she can feel his warm breath.
Her shoulders relax instantly. “Hi.”
She rests her hand lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. He leans down a little more, voice dropping. “I missed you.”
Alina rolls her eyes, though she is smiling. “You saw me yesterday at school.”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “And yet I still miss you. Twelve hours is far too long.”
Her lips twitch. They stand like that for a moment longer, wrapped in their little bubble, before the front door opens behind them.
“Alina?”
They step apart slightly knowing who it is, though Nikolai’s hand lingers at the small of her back.
Alina’s mother stands in the doorway, arms crossed but with a faint, reluctant smile. She has long since learned to tolerate—perhaps even begrudgingly approve of—the mayor’s charismatic son.
“Good morning, Nikolai.”
“Good morning, ma’am,” he says politely, shifting seamlessly into that charming, respectful mode that somehow makes even her strict mother soften. “You’re looking remarkable today. New scarf?”
Alina fights the urge to roll her eyes. He is so good at this.
Her mother deliberately ignores his attempt to charm her and steps down from the porch. “You’re picking her up for a study session?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nikolai answers smoothly, all earnest politeness.
This time, Alina does roll her eyes, albeit secretly. Study session, my arse.
“And you’ll bring her back?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Her mother fixes him with a pointed look that can kill a lesser boy. “Seven sharp. On time. No excuses.”
Nikolai nods seriously, putting a hand over his heart. “Absolutely, ma’am. You have my word.”
Alina narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but he only winks at her when her mother is not looking for a split second.
Her mother then turns to her. “Seven, Alina. And text me if you’re going anywhere far.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And behave.”
She groans. “Yes, Mama.”
Once her mother sighs in her usual exasperation, Nikolai opens the passenger door of his car for Alina with his usual flourish. “Ready, sunshine?”
Alina climbs in, already grinning. After that, Nikolai goes to the driver’s seat. The moment the door shuts and they are out of her mother’s sight, he leans across the console. She does not even pretend to resist.
Their lips meet softly—warm, familiar, and unhurried. Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt as he kisses her gently, slowly, like he truly has all the time in the world. When he finally pulls back, she exhales a soft contented breath.
“You’re terrible,” she murmurs, though there is no heat in it.
“You like it,” he counters.
She does. More than she will ever admit out loud.
Then he starts the engine with a satisfied smirk. The car purrs to life, smooth and powerful.
The day unfolds like something out of a perfect dream, every moment stolen and golden.
They drive with the windows down, music playing softly from the speakers as warm sunlight floods the car. Nikolai takes her first to a small café by the river, where they claim a table on the outdoor patio overlooking the water. They share stacks of fluffy blueberry pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, laughing over nothing in particular. He listens attentively as she rambles about her latest art project in freshman art class, teases her mercilessly about her notoriously messy handwriting in her notes, and keeps stealing bites from her plate until she shoves his shoulder lightly.
“Get your own!” she protests, laughing as he dodges her fork.
“But yours taste better,” he says innocently, leaning in to press a quick, syrup-sweet kiss to her cheek. “Everything does when it’s yours.”
She furrows her brows and pouts her lips because of the stickiness on her cheek, but Nikolai only utilises the moment to kiss her lips so that her lips won’t be jealous of her sticky cheek. Unbelievable.
After breakfast, they wander into the cosy independent bookstore a few streets away. Alina ends up sitting cross-legged on the worn wooden floor in the romance section, completely absorbed in a novel about a charming rogue privateer and his sun-blessed wife. Nikolai leans casually against the shelf above her, reading aloud in an exaggerated, dramatic voice from the same book, complete with theatrical pauses and over-the-top accents.
“Sunshine,’” he intones, one hand pressed to his chest, “I shall obey you in all things—’”
“You’re insufferable,” Alina mutters, but she is smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.
“And yet you’re still here, completely enchanted by me,” he replies, eyes sparkling with mischief. He buys the book for her before she can protest, sliding his credit card across the counter with that easy confidence that comes from being the mayor’s son.
They drive again after that. This time, he sets the top down, and it makes the wind blow through their hair. They go to the sprawling park in the centre of Os Alta, where they walk hand in hand along the winding paths lined with blooming cherry trees. Then to the quiet lake in the same park, where they skip stones across the water and he teaches her a ridiculous technique he claims is “scientifically proven” to get more bounces. She leans her head against his shoulder while he drives, fingers tracing absent, lazy patterns on his arm as the city’s familiar streets blurring past in a haze of contentment.
As the afternoon deepens into late golden light, Nikolai takes them to the secluded quarry overlook he knows so well. It is a hidden spot high above the city, surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers, far from prying eyes. He spreads a thick blanket from the boot of the car, and they sit close together, shoulders brushing. The world feels miles away now that there are only the two of them.
He kisses her for what feels like the umpteenth time today.
Then again.
It is soft at first, then it goes deeper, lazier, and familiar in the best way. His hands skim her waist, pulling her gently into his lap as the kisses grow heated. Clothes are shed slowly under the warm sun, reverent and unhurried. Nikolai is always so attentive with her. He asks if what he does is okay to her and if she likes it, then he murmurs sweet breathless praises against her skin and watch her face like she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. They move together in the open air, bodies fitting perfectly to each other like puzzles, and the only sounds are their shared breaths and the distant rustle of leaves. Time slips away quietly in that private, sunlit bubble, with just the two of them and the vast star-glittered sky above.
Afterward, they lie tangled on the blanket. She places her head on his chest and his fingers instinctively combs gently through her dark hair. He presses lazy kisses to her forehead, whispering how much he loves her and how every day with her feels like an adventure he never wants to end.
The sun is already dipping lower when Alina finally glances at the dashboard clock after they have packed up and started driving again.
Her stomach drops. “Kolya.”
He hums softly, one hand resting possessively on her thigh as he navigates the quiet road with effortless ease. “Hmm?”
“It’s seven forty-five,” she says, voice rising with sudden panic. Not only does she forget the time, she also forgets to answer any of her mother’s messages and calls.
“Mm.”
Her eyes widen in dread. “Seven forty-five, Kolya!”
“Yes, Alya. I heard you,” he replies calmly, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
He turns down an even quieter back road he clearly knows by heart, the car slowing as the engine’s purr softens.
She stares at him. “You told my mum you'd bring me home on time.”
“Yes, I did promise,” he agrees mildly.
“You promised her—”
“That you’d be home by nine,” he finishes smoothly, hazel eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief as he pulls into a quiet overlook above the lake. The view is stunning—water reflecting the deepening colours of the sky—but Alina is too focused on the time to fully appreciate it.
Before she can protest further, he leans over the console and kisses her again. Slow. Warm. Utterly distracting.
She melts despite herself, fingers threading into his golden hair as the kiss lingers.
When he finally pulls back, she blinks, slightly dazed. When she can finally find her footing again, she scrunches her nose, narrowing her eyes at him even as warmth blooms in her chest. “I think she said seven.”
“Did she?” Nikolai’s grin widens, utterly shameless and all faux innocence. “Funny, I heard nine. Crystal clear. Must have been the way the words carried on the breeze—very nine-ish.”
“Kolya…” She drags his pet name out, half warning, half fond exasperation, crossing her arms but failing to hide the twitch of her lips.
“Seven sounds an awful lot like nine,” he continues, leaning closer across the console. “Don’t you think? Practically twins. Easy mix-up for anyone.”
“Nikolai…”
“Actually,” he adds, eyes dancing with playful delight, “it sounds even more like eleven! Seven and eleven. She could have said eleven. We could stay and watch the stars come out properly. I’ve got extra blankets in the boot. Snacks. And you, which is the best part.”
“Nikolai!” She bursts out laughing fully now, swatting at his shoulder as he catches her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles one by one with exaggerated tenderness.
He laughs softly too, leaning his cheeks on her palms. “You’re adorable when you worry, you know that?”
“My mum is going to kill me,” she groans, though she is still smiling, still letting her palms warm his cheeks.
“I’ll take all the blame. Charm her with compliments about her cooking or her impeccable taste in scarves. Bake her apology cookies. I’m very persuasive.”
“She’ll still kill me first.”
He brushes his thumb gently along her cheek, hazel eyes softening with genuine affection. “We still have time. A little more. Just us.”
Alina looks at him, her expression melting despite the lingering panic. The day has been perfect, the kind of closeness that makes her heart feel too full. “You’re terrible,” she whispers.
“And yet you love me,” he murmurs back, voice warm and certain.
She sighs softly, leaning in to kiss him again—slower this time, savouring the moment as the sky turns deeper gold and then indigo around them. Because it is true. She loves him. She really does. And whenever she is with him, the world feels quiet and warm and entirely theirs.
Eventually, Nikolai starts the engine once more, but he drives deliberately slowly on the way back. The windows are still down, and her hand is laced with his the entire time. When they finally pull up to her house at a little past eight, the porch light blazes like an accusatory beacon, and her mother is already waiting on the steps. Her arms are crossed and the expression in her face shows a mix of worry and disapproval.
Nikolai kills the engine and turns to the already nervous Alina with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, sunshine. We’ve got this.”
He climbs out first, then walks around to open her door, offering his hand like a proper gentleman. Together they walk up the path to the porch, his fingers still intertwined with hers. Alina’s heart beats a little faster, but Nikolai looks completely at ease.
“Mrs. Starkov,” he begins warmly, flashing that disarming Nikolai smile. “I apologise for the delay in bringing Alina home. I’m afraid this is entirely my fault. I lost track of time showing her some of the beautiful spots around Os Alta—places even my father doesn’t always remember. Alina reminded me several times about the curfew, but I kept convincing her we had just a little more daylight left. Please don’t be cross with her. If anyone deserves a lecture, it’s me.”
Her mother’s stern expression wavers, lips twitching despite herself. “Nikolai Lantsov, you are far too charming for your own good. But seven o’clock was very clear.”
“I know, ma’am, and I apologise sincerely,” he continues, voice sincere yet still light. “It won’t happen again. Well… not without proper permission next time. And as penance, I’ll bring round those lemon cookies you liked last month. Fresh from the bakery my mother’s assistant recommends. Extra batch for you.”
Alina bites her lip to keep from laughing as her mother tries—and fails—to maintain her strict face.
“You two are going to be the death of me,” her mother sighs, but the corners of her mouth lift. She pulls Alina into a lingering hug, then gives Nikolai a pointed but fond look. “Next time, seven means seven. Not more. Now get home safely, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nikolai says, all respectful nods and boyish charm. He squeezes Alina’s hand one last time, leaning in to press a quick, soft kiss to her knuckles right there in front of her mother. “Goodnight, Alya. Text me when you’re inside.”
Alina smiles. “Good night, Kolya. Drive safe.”
She watches him walk back to the car, heart still racing from the day, from him, from the effortless way he smooths everything over. As the car pulls away into the night, her mother shakes her head with a reluctant chuckle.
“That menace…” she mutters.
Alina just smiles, cheeks warm. “Yeah. My menace.”
She steps inside, already counting the hours until tomorrow. Because with Nikolai, every stolen moment feels like forever. And she really does like herself better when she's with him—every charming, rule-bending, golden-hearted second of it.