[EVE]
The next morning, I made my way to Sinclair's house, juggling a basket full of carefully chosen gifts from Germany.
The brisk winter air nipped at my cheeks as I climbed the familiar steps to his grand, imposing door. Even though the man lived alone—well, alone except for Sebastian, his hundreds of guards, and Victor—you'd think he was running a high-end embassy.
As expected, Sinclair answered the door himself, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit and a silk tie, as if he had a eting with the president.
For soone who could afford the most lavish lifestyle, his morning routine baffled . Who wears cufflinks at ho?
"Eve," he greeted, his gravelly voice managing to sound both welcoming and begrudging at the sa ti. "Punctual, as usual. Co in before you freeze and ruin my floor with your chattering teeth."
Ah, Sinclair. Always the charr.
"Good morning to you too, Sinclair," I replied, stepping inside the pristine foyer. The scent of polished wood and faint cigar smoke enveloped , and Sebastian trotted up to , tail wagging enthusiastically. "And hello to you, Mr. Sebastian!"
I crouched down to rub behind his ears, earning a contented huff from the golden retriever. I pulled out a little gift-wrapped box from my basket, shaking it lightly. "Guess what I brought you?"
Sebastian barked, his tail wagging at warp speed.
Sinclair grunted. "You didn't have to bring him anything," he said, but his gaze softened when he saw the dog's excitent.
"I couldn't forget my favorite furry friend," I said, handing Sebastian the box. Inside was a fancy leather collar I'd picked up in Berlin. He sniffed at it before nuzzling it like he understood its quality.
Sinclair motioned for to follow him into the study, where a crackling fire awaited. Despite his grumpy exterior, Sinclair's hospitality showed in subtle ways—like how he'd had tea and biscuits set out.
"So," he began as we settled in, "how was Germany?"
"It was amazing," I said, pouring myself a cup of tea. "I spent most of my ti exploring markets, tasting every kind of pretzel known to man, and shopping for these." I motioned to the basket. "I even brought you a little sothing."
I didn't ntion about my family because it was a dead end there. I didn't want to ruin the mood and make him worry.
Sinclair raised an eyebrow as I handed him a sleek box containing a vintage pocket watch. He opened it and examined the intricate engravings, his expression unreadable.
"Thought it might suit your old-world charm," I said with a grin.
"Hmph." He snapped the box shut but placed it carefully on the desk, a telltale sign he liked it. "Thoughtful of you."
I took that as a victory.
The conversation andered toward Germany's culture and food, with Sinclair occasionally tossing in so gruff remark about the "overrated" notion of travel. Then, predictably, he veered toward Cole.
"So," Sinclair said, leaning back in his chair, "how are things with your . . . bodyguard?"
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The way he said "bodyguard" made it sound like I'd adopted a stray cat instead of dating Cole.
"Things are good," I said, keeping my tone casual. "He's . . . intense, but in a good way."
Sinclair's sharp eyes assessed . "Hmph. Just make sure he treats you well. If he doesn't, I'll handle him myself."
The image of Sinclair squaring off against Cole was both terrifying and hilarious. "I appreciate the sentint, but I think I can handle this on my own."
Sinclair grumbled sothing about "young people these days" and moved on. After a bit more small talk, I decided it was ti to find Victor. He'd been noticeably avoiding since I got back, which was odd considering he usually jumped at the chance to hang out.
"Thanks for the tea, Sinclair. I'll leave you and Sebastian to your . . . formal lounging."
He grunted, which I took as a goodbye.
Victor was a tough one to pin down, but I was determined. After scouring Sinclair's place—checking the study, the library, and even the kitchen—I finally found him sulking in the garden. He was leaning against a tree, arms crossed, looking like a brooding model from so avant-garde magazine.
"Victor!" I called, jogging over to him. "There you are! I've been looking for you."
He straightened up but avoided my gaze. "Oh, hey. Didn't realize you were back."
"Really? Because you've been dodging like I'm carrying the plague."
He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I've just been busy."
"Busy avoiding ?" I pressed, crossing my arms. "Victor, what's going on? Did I do sothing?"
His cheeks flushed, and he finally t my eyes, though his expression was guarded. "No, it's not you. It's ."
I blinked. "Are you seriously pulling the 'it's not you, it's ' line? That's reserved for bad breakups and cheesy rom-coms."
He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's complicated, okay?"
"Oh, no. You don't get to pull the 'it's complicated' card. You've been dodging since I got back, and I demand an explanation!" I planted my hands on my hips, ready to out-stubborn him.
Victor shifted uncomfortably. "Fine. You want the truth?"
"Yes, please. Preferably before Sinclair calls back inside for more lectures on the importance of punctuality."
He hesitated, then blurted out, "I'm jealous, okay?"
I blinked, taken aback. "Jealous? Of what?"
Victor groaned, his ears turning a suspicious shade of red. "Of . . . your situation."
"My situation?" I tilted my head, trying to piece it together. "What situation? Oh! Wait—are you jealous because I went to Germany without you?"
"What? No!"
"Then . . . oh my god, you're jealous because I have Cole, aren't you?" I gasped dramatically. "Victor, do you want a boyfriend too?!"
His face went through about five stages of disbelief in two seconds. "What? No! That's not—"
"Because it's totally okay if you do! I won't judge." I barreled on, misinterpreting his flustered expression. "I an, look at you! You're tall, you've got that whole mysterious charm thing going on, and you're great with dogs. Honestly, I don't know why you're still single!"
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