Chapter 51: Burns, Breakfast, and Belonging

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Burns, Breakfast, and Belonging "I love you, Zayn." I looked at him and smiled, my chest still heaving from everything we’d just shared. We rested for a while, then went to shower together, warm water sliding over our skin as our fingers occasionally brushed. Afterward, we slipped into bed. He pulled me close, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Baby, can you swim with me tomorrow?" he asked. I looked at him. "I’m not good at swimming. And you only asked for my morning, you never said I should take the whole day off work." He gave me that charming little smirk. "You don’t have to know how to swim. Besides, I haven’t even touched the private pool in my suite for months. But since you’re here, it would be perfect to swim together." His voice softened, almost shy. "So, Mr. Smith... can you please take the whole day off tomorrow? I’d love to spend the entire day with you." I stared at him, all cute and gentle with his request, and sighed. "How could I refuse you when you ask me like that? Request accepted, Mr. Draeven." He grinned and pulled me tighter against his chest. I told him we should sleep now, but he shook his head. "You go ahead," he murmured. "I want to watch you fall asleep." With his arms wrapped around me, I let my eyes drift shut, feeling his gaze on me until I slipped into dreams. Evric’s POV The next morning, I woke up next to the man who completed me. Zayn. I didn’t know how to put these feelings into words, how something as simple as watching him breathe could make my chest ache in the best way. This was the first time I had ever wanted to wake up and do something for someone... something I’d never done before. He was still sleeping, his face calm, lips slightly parted, hair falling over his forehead like he had nothing in this world to worry about. I carefully slid my arm from under his head and lingered for a moment, just to look at him. God, he was beautiful. I leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to his forehead, resisting the urge to wake him up, then quietly left the room. Downstairs, Nuala was already sitting in the living room, sipping her tea. "How’s your man?" Nuala asked, her tone laced with curiosity. "Zayn’s still sleeping," I said, taking a seat across from her. She glanced up at me, then narrowed her eyes. "Why do you look like you’re about to confess to a crime?" I smiled faintly, then got serious before she could start teasing. "I... want to make him breakfast in bed." Nuala raised her brows. "Oh, that’s sweet. Just tell the maid to..." "No," I cut her off. "I want to do it myself." She blinked. "You... want to cook?" And then she burst out laughing. "Please don’t poison your man out of love, Evric. Spare him." I shot her a look. "I’m serious." "Fine, but at least ask the maid for—" "No." The refusal came out sharper than I intended, but I meant it. This wasn’t about the food; it was about... doing something real for him with my own hands. So, I ignored her and went straight to the kitchen. The place felt unfamiliar, like walking into enemy territory without a map. I searched YouTube for "easy breakfast recipes" and found one that looked simple enough. The first problem came when I tried chopping onions. They slipped around the cutting board like they were mocking me. By the time I managed to cut them, my eyes were stinging, and my fingers were suspiciously close to the knife blade. The second problem came when I cracked an egg. I’d seen it done in videos, it looked so easy. But my egg exploded like a grenade, dripping over the counter and my hand. The third problem... was the heat. I put the pan on the stove, turned it up too high, and before I knew it, the oil was popping. One drop hit my wrist, and I hissed through my teeth. "Shit—!" Nuala peeked in from the doorway. "Need help?" "No," I said, hiding my burnt hand behind my back. Somehow, after too much trial and error (and maybe a little cursing under my breath), I ended up with something resembling breakfast. Sure, the eggs were slightly overcooked, the toast was more on the charcoal side, and the coffee tasted like it was brewed out of stubbornness instead of beans... but it was mine. And it was for Zayn. He was still lying in bed when I walked in, his hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep. When he saw the tray in my hands, his lips curved into that soft smile that always made my chest ache. "It’s for you," I said softly. His gaze moved to the plate, and I saw the exact moment he realized it wasn’t the maid’s polished work. "You... cooked?" he asked, sitting up. I nodded, setting the tray in front of him like I’d just unveiled a masterpiece. "Your breakfast, sir." He looked at the food, then at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You really made this?" "Every bite," I replied, puffing my chest out in mock pride. He took a forkful, chewed slowly, and, well didn’t spit it out. I decided that counted as a win. "It’s... nice," he said with a faint smile. I narrowed my eyes. "Be sincere." That made him chuckle. "It’s nice... but maybe you added a little too much salt," he said gently, as if trying not to hurt my feelings. I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "So it’s terrible." "It’s yours," he said simply, reaching over to tug my wrists away so he could see my face. "And that makes it perfect." I rolled my eyes, but warmth bloomed in my chest. "You’re just being nice." "No," he murmured, leaning in, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "I’m being honest. Though... if you ever cook again, maybe hide the salt." I swatted his arm, and he laughed, the sound spilling into the morning air like sunlight. When he reached for his juice, he noticed my hand, the redness along the skin. His smile faded instantly. "Let me see your hand." "It’s nothing," I said quickly. "Evric." His tone left no room for argument. His tone had shifted, low and worried. "Come here. Stretch out your hand." Reluctantly, I stretched my hand toward him. The burn mark was obvious, and his brows pulled together in concern. "You hurt yourself making this?" I shrugged, glancing away. "It’s fine." He didn’t buy it. Instead, he leaned in and brushed his lips against the sore spot, slow and careful. "Idiot," he whispered. "Why didn’t you let the maid do it?" "Because I wanted to be the one to feed you this morning," I said honestly. His expression softened, and he smiled at me. "You’re impossible." "And you’re mine," I replied without hesitation. That made him laugh softly. "Come here." He pulled me closer and kissed me, lingering just long enough for me to taste the faint mix of salt and sweetness still on his lips. "Thank you," he said quietly. "But next time, no burns. Promise me?" I sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only if you promise to eat whatever disaster I make." "Deal." He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his quiet laugh against my chest. Burnt breakfast, salty eggs, and the man I loved more than anything, I wouldn’t trade this morning for the world. After a while, I leaned toward him and said, "We should go swimming now." He studied me for a moment before answering, "Okay... but we should let Nuala come along. I want her to take pictures for me." "I can take them," I replied quickly. He shook his head with a faint smile. "Let’s just invite Nuala to watch." That made me smirk. Zayn was smart, too smart. He knew exactly why I wanted to swim. A small laugh slipped from my lips. "The swimming," I said slowly, "is just me and you." He raised a brow. "Is the pool private or... more open?" "It’s private," I assured him, grinning. "Whatever happens there stays there." His lips curved into a teasing smile. "Then maybe I should skip it. I’ll swim with you next time, you can go alone today." I laughed, shaking my head. "I know what you’re thinking, Zayn. And there’s no way you’d be naked in that pool and I wouldn’t touch you." He chuckled, leaning back. "Exactly. That’s why I’m not swimming." "I won’t do anything. Trust me," I promised, keeping my voice light. He hesitated for a moment, then finally sighed. "Fine." But deep in my heart, I already knew, Zayn wasn’t escaping what I had planned for that pool.