Chapter 171 Chapter 171 The Villa
The villa still takes my breath away, even after living here for two years. It never loses its impact. The view alone is enough to ground me, to remind me why my grandmother chose this place. The walls surrounding it are three feet thick and nearly twelve feet high, painted white but barely visible beneath the layers of creeping vines that have claimed them over time. The tops are lined with deep red tiles, the same shade as the villa itself.
The front door is massive—solid carved wood, detailed with roses from top to bottom, intricate and heavy like something out of another time.
Atanas parks the car, and the second Constantine’s feet hit the cobblestone, he’s off—wide awake, full of energy, sprinting toward the door like he’s been gone for years instead of weeks. We’re the last house at the top of the hill. After us, it’s nothing but forest.
He tries to push the door open himself, grunting as he struggles against the weight of it.
“I got you, little man,” Atanas says, rushing forward to help, pulling it open just enough.
The second there’s space, Constantine squeezes through and disappears.
Of course—his chickens.
I grab the bags and step inside. The property opens up immediately. A long stone-paved walkway stretches from the gate to the house, lined on both sides with fruit trees—rows and rows of them, at least ten deep on each side. The villa rises behind them, proud and bright, white walls with deep red shutters that match the roof tiles perfectly. Vines climb halfway up the structure, reaching toward the second story like they belong there.
Along the inside of the perimeter walls, blackberry and raspberry bushes run the entire length of the property, thick and overgrown, bursting with fruit in season.
Ivan lingers behind me for a moment. I can feel it without turning—him taking it all in, processing, measuring. Then he follows.
I drop the bags just inside the front door, not in any rush to unpack. The layout is simple but expansive. The front and back doors align, creating a long, open foyer that feels more like a corridor. To the right, it opens into the living room—wide, warm, centered around a large fireplace. To the left is the kitchen and dining area, just as open.
The staircase starts near the living room and curves upward, leading to four bedrooms. Two masters, each with their own bathrooms. The other two share a Jack and Jill. Every room has a fireplace—necessary for the winters up here. When it snows, it doesn’t hold back. The basement is always stocked with food, just in case we get snowed in and can’t make it down the mountain.
I head straight through the house and out the back.
The patio is shaded by thick grapevines, twisted and strong, heavy clusters of fruit hanging down like nature’s own ceiling. Beyond that is the garden—rows and rows of planters, organized but full. Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, carrots, three kinds of lettuce, potatoes, watermelon, strawberries—everything we need.
I settle into the porch swing, letting it sway gently beneath me.
In the distance, Constantine is talking to his chickens like they understand every word. After greeting each one like an old friend, he makes his way straight to the strawberry patch.
Ivan sits down on the opposite end of the swing, leaving space between us.
“Did you wash your hands?” I call out before Constantine can grab anything.
He turns, flashing me that mischievous smile—the one that always gives him away. His dimples pop as he glances down, caught. That amazing smile, the one he shares with his father.
Then he takes off toward the spring water sink, washing his hands properly this time, soap and all.
A few minutes later, he rinses a handful of strawberries and runs straight toward us.
Toward his dad.
That hits me harder than I expect.
I did it.
Even if only in my head—I called him his dad, his father.
The word settles heavy in my chest.
Constantine opens his small hands, offering Ivan a strawberry. Ivan hesitates, then looks at me.
I nod, giving him a small smile.
He takes one, biting into it, juice instantly running down his chin.
Without thinking, I reach over, wiping it away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. My hand lingers longer than it should, the back of my fingers brushing against his skin.
For a second, everything stills.
He looks at me like he’s about to lean in—like he’s about to kiss me. I swear I see him do it, something in his eyes stirrs me.
“You have a guest.”
Maria’s voice cuts through the moment, snapping it in half.
“Constantine, your dad is here,” she adds with a warm smile.
He grunts like he is not excited, the little strawberry gesture doesn't mean he likes him. “This is Ivan.” he says sounding unbothered.
Maria leaves us, taking Constantine with her. She’s preparing jars for canning—we have more fruit than we can eat, so most of it will be preserved for the winter. Her voice fades as she walks off, already talking to him about helping, about being careful.
That leaves Ivan and me alone.
We sit in silence, the kind that isn’t peaceful but isn’t entirely tense either. Just… heavy. The sound of birds carries through the air, soft and constant, while the wind moves through the trees at the edge of the property, leaves rustling in slow waves.
“A brief walk past the tree line will take you to the springs,” I say finally, my voice quieter than I expect. “The water runs straight down from the mountain. If you keep going, another twenty minutes or so, there’s a river. Constantine loves to fish there.” I pause, watching him, trying to read something—anything—in his expression. “The water’s always warm.”
He doesn’t react much.
God, he looks like I dragged him here against his will. Like he doesn’t want to be here at all. The thought cuts deeper than it should, sharper than I’m ready for.
“You didn’t have to come,” I add, unable to stop myself. “Not if you didn’t want to.”
Silence stretches between us again.
Then he shifts slightly, turning just enough that I can see more of his face.
“I want to be here,” he says, low, almost under his breath.
It’s simple.
But it lands heavier than anything else he could’ve said.