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Eden Gardens was supposed to be neutral ground.
That was what Anya liked about it—the benches worn smooth by time, the carefully trimmed hedges, the way the fountains murmured softly enough that conversations could stay private without feeling secretive. Damian liked it because she liked it.
Because it was where she went when she wanted to think, or complain, or dream out loud without someone immediately shutting her down.
He hadn’t planned on listening.
He was a few steps away, leaning against the wrought-iron fence near the rose maze, scrolling aimlessly on his phone while waiting for her to finish talking with Becky. He knew better than to interrupt those moments.
Becky was Anya’s anchor—the one person who had known her before everything got complicated, before titles and expectations and the weight of being a Desmond-adjacent girlfriend settled onto her shoulders.
Then he heard his name drift faintly through the air.
Not spoken—just implied.
“I don’t know,” Anya said, voice thoughtful, quieter than usual. “I just want to leave for a bit. Somewhere cold.”
Damian stilled.
Becky hummed beside her. “You’ve wanted that since we were kids.”
“I know,” Anya replied, a soft laugh following.
“But Frigis specifically. Have you seen the snow there? It looks unreal. Like the world pauses.”
There was a pause long enough for Damian to look up, eyes narrowing slightly.
“My parents said it’s too expensive,” Anya added. “They said vacations like that are… indulgent.”
The word tasted bitter even from a distance.
Damian’s jaw tightened.
He remembered being seventeen, sitting beside her on her bedroom floor while she folded laundry that wasn’t hers, talking about places she wanted to see like they were fairytales she wasn’t meant to believe in.
He remembered how easily people told her no. How often she learned to nod and swallow disappointment with a smile.
Becky sighed. “You never ask for anything.”
“That’s because asking never works,” Anya said lightly.
Damian didn’t hear the rest.
He was already planning.
The Desmond private jet gleamed like something out of a magazine.
Anya stood at the foot of the steps, arms crossed, squinting at Damian like he had personally lost his mind.
“You’re being suspicious,” she said. “Why are we at a private terminal.”
Damian smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Because I don’t like crowds.”
“That is a lie.”
He took her hand anyway, thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that grounded her despite her confusion.
The jet door opened smoothly, warm air spilling out, rich leather and soft lighting visible inside.
Anya froze.
“Damian,” she said slowly. “Why is this your jet.”
“Our jet,” he corrected.
She let him guide her up the steps, still stunned, her eyes flicking everywhere—the wide seats, the polished wood accents, the quiet hum of power beneath it all.
He waited until she sat before placing a sleek folder in her lap.
“What’s this,” she asked.
“Open it.”
She did.
Her breath caught so sharply it hurt.
Frigis.
Printed neatly on the itinerary. Flight times. Lodging. Dates.
Her hands trembled.
“No,” she whispered. “This isn’t funny.”
Damian crouched in front of her, resting his forearms on her knees. “I heard you. At Eden Gardens.”
Her eyes filled instantly. “You weren’t supposed to.”
“I’m glad I did.”
She laughed weakly, shaking her head. “My parents—”
“I know,” he said gently. “I persuaded them, told them I’d take care of you and everything.”
Tears spilled over before she could stop them. Damian stood, pulling her into his chest, arms wrapping around her as if he’d been waiting years for this exact moment.
“You don’t get told no today,” he murmured into her hair. “Not anymore.”
She clung to him, fingers fisting in his jacket. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to for a long time.”
The jet lifted smoothly, Frigis already blinking onto the screen beside them as their destination.
Anya curled against Damian on the wide seat, legs tucked beneath her, her head resting on his shoulder. Outside, the clouds stretched endlessly, soft and pale.
“You remember when we were fourteen,” she said suddenly, “and I said I wanted to see snow like in the movies?”
Damian smiled. “You said you’d build a snowman taller than me.”
“You said that was impossible.”
“It still is.”
She laughed, tilting her head to look at him, eyes shining. “You always believed me. Even when no one else did.”
He leaned down, kissing her slowly—warm, lingering, full of everything they’d survived together.
His hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing bare skin where her sweater rode up. The kiss deepened, unhurried, familiar but electric in a way that never faded.
She shifted closer, knees pressing into his thigh, breath hitching softly.
“This is dangerously romantic,” she murmured.
“You deserve dangerous,” he said, brushing his lips along her jaw.
She smiled, resting her forehead against his. “I’ve never been anywhere just for me.”
Damian’s expression softened. “You’re not just going somewhere. You’re going with me.”
The jet hummed steadily around them, carrying them forward—toward snow and light and a future Anya had once been told was too expensive to dream about.
Damian held her tighter.
And for the first time, she believed she was allowed to want more—and have it.
————-
The cabin sat high in the Frigis mountains, carved into snow and silence like it belonged there long before them.
Anya stepped out of the car and just… stopped.
The air was sharp and clean, her breath turning visible instantly.
Snow blanketed the ground in untouched layers, the mountains rising around them like sentinels.
The cabin itself glowed warmly—dark wood, wide windows, soft light spilling onto the snow.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimney.
Damian watched her reaction instead of the view.
She looked small in her oversized coat, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and awe.
This was the version of her he loved most—the one who forgot to guard her emotions.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered.
He stepped up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chin resting lightly on her shoulder. “You’re standing in it. That usually means it is.”
She leaned back into him automatically, as if her body trusted him more than her mind ever could.
Inside, the cabin was warm and intimate—
low ceilings, thick rugs, the scent of pine and firewood. A massive window overlooked the mountains, snow drifting slowly beyond the glass like the world was breathing.
And then Anya saw the deck.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Outside, steam rose from a sunken jacuzzi carved into the wood, water bubbling invitingly as snowflakes melted on contact.
Her head snapped toward Damian. “Is that—”
“Yes.”
Her smile turned wicked immediately. “You planned this.”
“I plan everything,” he said calmly. “You just happen to be my favorite variable.”
Anya disappeared into the bedroom suspiciously fast.
Damian gave her time—he always did. He poured himself a drink, shrugged out of his jacket, and stepped outside, the cold biting at his skin.
Steam curled thickly around the water, heat radiating against the chill air.
When the door slid open behind him, he felt it before he saw her.
Anya stepped onto the deck barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a thin robe that barely hid the silhouette beneath.
She let it slip from her shoulders.
The bikini was… deliberate.
Dark, minimal, cut in a way that made Damian’s breath stall in his chest. It clung to her curves like it had been designed with intention, straps framing her shoulders, fabric daringly scarce without being careless.
Snow kissed her bare skin and melted instantly.
She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “What?” she said through clattering teeth from the cold.
Damian laughed quietly, low and disbelieving. “You’re trouble.”
She smiled sweetly. “You brought me to a private cabin in the mountains with a jacuzzi. I’m just adapting to my environment.”
She stepped into the water first, hissing softly at the heat before sinking down with a sigh, steam curling around her shoulders. The water beaded on her skin, light catching in a way that made her glow.
Damian joined her slowly, the heat enveloping him, muscles loosening. He sat across from her at first, arms resting along the edge, watching her like a man who knew exactly what he had and was still stunned by it.
Snow fell steadily around them.
“You remember,” Anya said softly, “when we used to sneak onto your roof at night?”
He smiled. “You were terrified of falling.”
“You held my hand the whole time,” she said.
“Like I’d disappear if you didn’t.”
She shifted closer now, water sloshing gently. Her knee brushed his thigh—just barely.
“I think you’ve always liked saving me,” she added.
Damian shook his head. “No. I like choosing you.”
Her breath caught at that.
She moved again, this time straddling the space between his legs, not touching him fully—yet.
Steam fogged the air between them, their faces close enough that he could feel her breath.
“You make it very hard not to want more,” she murmured.
His hands settled on her waist instinctively, thumbs pressing lightly into warm skin. “I never stop wanting more.”
They kissed slowly, deeply, mouths fitting together like muscle memory. The kind of kiss built on years—on shared glances in classrooms, stolen moments behind doors, whispered promises under blankets.
Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply against her lips.
The heat, the snow, the isolation—it all blurred together.
She kissed along his jaw, down his neck, lingering where she knew he was sensitive. Damian’s grip tightened slightly, not to stop her, but to anchor himself.
“Anya,” he said quietly.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I know.”
They stayed there, foreheads pressed together, breaths uneven, the tension thick and electric. The world beyond the mountains didn’t exist. There were no parents, no expectations, no price tags attached to desire.
Just them.
She rested her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms. “I used to think wanting things made me selfish.”
He kissed her again—slower, deeper, reverent.
“Wanting doesn’t make you selfish,” he said. “Denying yourself does.”
Snow fell heavier around them, steam rising like a veil.
Anya smiled, lips brushing his ear. “Then don’t let me deny myself tonight.”
Damian pulled her closer, water rippling around them, heat swallowing cold, restraint thinning with every breath.
And the mountains kept their secrets.
————
The morning air bit sharply at Anya’s cheeks the moment they stepped out of the lodge, the mountains stretching endlessly ahead of them, white and blinding under a pale winter sun. She stood there in borrowed confidence and brand-new ski gear, helmet a little crooked, goggles pushed up into her hair.
She looked at the slope.
Then at Damian.
Then back at the slope.
“I’m going to die,” she announced calmly.
Damian snorted, adjusting his gloves. “You say that every time you try something new.”
“This is different,” she said. “This involves gravity actively working against me.”
He skied closer, tapping the front of her skis lightly with his own. “I won’t let you die. Mild humiliation at worst.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy watching you pretend you’re not scared,” he corrected.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
They moved to the beginner slope, Damian positioning himself behind her, hands lightly resting on her hips to guide her stance.
The contact made her pause.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she accused.
“Doing what?”
“Standing too close.”
His voice dropped, amused. “I need to catch you when you fall.”
“When I fall,” she echoed darkly.
He leaned in, mouth near her ear. “Bend your knees. Relax your shoulders. Trust the skis.”
“And trust you?”
He smiled. “That part should be easy by now.”
She pushed off.
Immediately panicked.
“Damian—DAMIAN—”
He skied smoothly alongside her, one hand gripping her arm to steady her as she wobbled dangerously.
She shrieked, half laughing, half terrified, before collapsing dramatically into the snow.
She lay there staring up at the sky, breath fogging. “I hate you.”
Damian laughed openly, dropping beside her. “You lasted longer than I expected.”
She turned her head to glare at him. “I will push you down this mountain.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he said, reaching out to pull her up.
As he helped her to her feet, he frowned. “Where are your goggles?”
Anya blinked. “Oh. I think I left them near the bench.”
“Stay here,” he said immediately. “Don’t move.”
She saluted lazily. “Yes, sir.”
By the time Damian returned, goggles in hand, he spotted her instantly.
Which was unfortunate.
Because she wasn’t alone.
A man—taller than Damian, annoyingly athletic—stood a little too close to her, gesturing animatedly at her skis.
Anya laughed politely, nodding, clearly uncomfortable but too kind to shut him down outright.
Damian slowed.
His jaw tightened.
He skied straight toward them, stopping sharply beside Anya, snow spraying slightly.
“Hey,” he said, voice cool. “Everything okay?”
Anya looked relieved immediately. “Oh—yeah. He was just offering to help.”
The guy smiled, clearly unfazed. “She looked new. Thought I’d give her a few tips.”
Damian’s arm slid around Anya’s waist without thinking, possessive but calm. “I’ve got it covered. I’m her boyfriend.”
The emphasis was unmistakable.
The man’s smile faltered. “Oh. Didn’t realise.”
“That’s okay,” Damian said pleasantly.
“Easy mistake.”
The guy nodded awkwardly and skied off without another word.
Anya stared up at Damian, eyes sparkling.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Were you jealous?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You literally puffed up.”
“I did not puff up.”
She grinned wickedly. “You marked your territory.”
“I stated a fact.”
She laughed, bumping her helmet gently against his chest. “You’re cute when you’re threatened.”
“I’m never threatened,” he said dryly. “I’m irritated.”
She leaned closer. “By a man who thought I needed saving?”
“By a man who stood too close.”
Her smile softened. “You always stand close.”
He paused, then smirked. “Exactly.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in bursts of laughter and near-disasters.
Anya fell. A lot.
Once, she face-planted so dramatically Damian had to ski past her just to laugh before helping her up.
Another time, she somehow managed to ski sideways, arms flailing wildly as she screamed, “WHY AM I TURNING.”
“You’re leaning!” Damian called.
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.”
Despite it all, something clicked.
She began to glide instead of panic. To turn without screaming. To trust the motion
instead of fighting it.
Damian watched her carefully, pride settling warm and steady in his chest as she skied toward him, laughing breathlessly.
“Did you see that?” she said. “I didn’t fall.”
“You’re learning,” he said.
She beamed. “You’re a good teacher.”
“I know.”
She squinted. “Humble, too.”
They skied until their legs ached and their laughter echoed off the slopes. By the time they headed back, the sky had darkened, the cold deepening, the world tinted blue and violet.
Halfway to the cabin, Anya stopped suddenly.
“Damian.”
He turned.
The northern lights spilled across the sky—green and gold, rippling like silk, stretching endlessly above the mountains.
Anya’s breath caught.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Damian moved behind her, arms wrapping around her, chin resting on her shoulder as they watched in silence.
“I used to think,” she said softly, “that things like this were just… for other people.”
He tightened his hold. “They’re for you.”
She leaned into him, fingers threading with his. “Thank you for teaching me how to ski.”
He kissed her temple. “Thank you for falling spectacularly.”
She laughed quietly, eyes never leaving the sky.
Together, they stood beneath the lights, snow crunching softly beneath their boots, the cabin glowing warmly in the distance—home waiting, memories already settling deep.
And for once, Anya didn’t feel like she was catching up to life.
She felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.