IAN'S POV

"Now I'll put on the bandage, okay?" I say as I begin to peel away the old dressing from Masimo's wound. His skin feels hot under my touch, and though I try to focus, I can’t ignore the weight of his gaze. It’s heavy, unwavering, as if he’s trying to read my every thought. He hasn’t blinked in minutes, and I feel as though he’s burning a hole through my face.

I pretend not to notice at first, keeping my eyes trained on his wound. But eventually, curiosity gets the better of me, and I look up. Our eyes meet. For a moment, I forget everything, where I am, what I’m doing, even who I am. I’m lost in the depths of Masimo’s dark, intense eyes. There’s something about them that pulls me in, something that I can’t escape. It’s like they’re made to trap me, holding me in place, and all I can think about is how addictive those eyes have been from the very first time I saw him.

Before I know it, my body reacts on its own. My lips part slightly, and I find myself leaning toward him. He moves closer too, the space between us shrinking until it feels like there’s nothing left but the possibility of our lips meeting. My mind shuts down, surrendering to the pull of the moment. It’s as if time has stopped, and all I can see is him.

Just as our lips are about to touch, a knock on the door snaps me back to reality. I jerk away, heart racing, my face flushing with embarrassment. What was I thinking? I leap up, muttering something about needing to clean up the first aid kit, and retreat to the bathroom. Inside, I stare at myself in the mirror, my face flushed, my lips tingling with the phantom sensation of almost kissing Masimo.

By the time I collect myself and return, Masimo is already gone. "We’ll have dinner together," he’d said casually as he kissed my cheek on his way out. And now, I’m left standing in the middle of the room like an idiot, cheeks burning as the memory of his kiss lingers.

I collapse onto my bed, trying to calm my nerves. How did I let myself get so caught up in the moment? My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, my nape tingles, and don’t even get me started on the growing heat in my body. I’ve never been this flustered over a single look, let alone a near kiss. But it wasn’t just any look—it was his look, and I almost kissed him.

If kissing were this easy, I would’ve had my first kiss long before ninth grade, I think with a mixture of frustration and amusement. But it wasn’t easy, it was him. There’s something about Masimo that makes everything feel ten times more intense.

After what feels like forever, I finally pull myself together and start getting ready for dinner. My heart is still racing, but I try to push those feelings aside. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. I know it’s him before I even open it. His knock is distinct, commanding, unlike anyone else’s.

When I open the door, Masimo’s eyes sweep over me, lingering just a little too long. I’ve dressed in something casual but nice, unsure of whether we’re dining in or going out. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve made the wrong choice. But then he calls his guards to prepare the car, and I realize we’re going out.

"Shall we?" he asks, extending his hand slightly. I nod and follow him out.

As we settle into the car, Masimo turns to me, his voice softer than usual. "So, what kind of lunch do you want?"

It’s a small thing, him asking my opinion, but it feels... significant. He’s never asked me what I wanted before. I think back to all those romance novels I’ve been reading lately, how I’ve always daydreamed about going to a nice, aesthetic café by the seaside.

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"Somewhere nice," I reply, keeping it vague because, well, I’m still a little too shy to admit my café dreams out loud.

He smirks, reading me like an open book. "Everywhere is nice when I’m with you," he says smoothly, "but I’m specifically asking you to choose."

His words send a rush of heat to my face, and I can feel my cheeks and nape flush once again. But it’s more than just his flirting, there’s something thoughtful in the way he’s giving me a choice, making sure I don’t feel like I’m just being dragged along in his world.

"Well, a seaside café doesn’t sound too bad," I manage to say.

Masimo grins knowingly. "I know just the place."

The drive is mostly quiet, the tension between us lingering. I fiddle with the radio, trying to distract myself from the thoughts swirling in my head, but after about fifteen minutes, Masimo breaks the silence with a question that throws me off guard.

"So... have you ever dated anyone before?" His eyes stay focused on the road, but there’s a hint of something in his voice, curiosity, maybe even hesitation.

I hesitate, not sure how to answer at first. "Yeah, I’ve dated before," I admit. "Mostly guys. But there was a girl... Olivia. I liked her before this whole marriage thing, but I’ve moved on. I’m loyal, even if this marriage was forced. I wouldn’t cheat, not even if I had feelings for someone else before."

Masimo sighs softly, and for a moment, I wonder if he feels guilty. But the awkward silence quickly returns, and neither of us speaks for the rest of the drive.

When we finally arrive, I’m surprised by the place Masimo has chosen. It’s perfect. The café is small, charming, and right by the ocean. The waves crash softly in the distance, and the entire place feels peaceful, like a retreat from the world.

"Do you like it?" he asks, watching me closely.

"Yesssss," I reply enthusiastically. "It’s beautiful!"

I’m about to take out my phone to capture the aesthetic, but then I remember, I don’t have my phone. I feel my excitement deflate slightly, and Masimo notices immediately.

"For today, you can use mine," he says, handing me his iPhone. "It’s got plenty of storage."

I hesitated at first but accepted his offer. We sit at a beach-facing table, and I immediately start snapping pictures of the view. Photography has always been one of my hobbies, capturing little moments, cute puppies, beautiful sunsets. It helps me hold onto the things that make life a little more bearable.

As I’m scrolling through the photos, Masimo taps the table to get my attention. "Aren’t you going to take my picture?" he asks, his tone teasing but with a hint of sincerity.

I look at him, surprised. "I didn’t know you liked having your picture taken."

"I don’t," he replies, snatching the phone from my hand. "But I’ll take yours. You capture beautiful things, but I don’t think I qualify."

"No, that’s not what I meant—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Smile," he orders. "One... two... three."

Click. Click. Click.

He hands me back the phone, and I can’t help but laugh. Just as he’s turning to face the ocean, I snap a picture of him. His head whips around, eyes narrowing. "Delete it. I don’t look good."

"Nope. You look great," I say, refusing to back down.

He huffs. "I was just kidding. I don’t take pictures."

"Well, one picture won’t hurt your tough-guy image," I tease. "Relax."

To my surprise, he softens. "Then let’s take one together. I’d like that more."

I blink at him, taken aback. "But you hate pictures."

"I hate pictures," he repeats, "but I wouldn’t mind taking one with you."

My heart skips a beat. I quickly flag down a waiter and ask him to take a photo of us. We stand together by the sunset, the light casting a warm glow on our faces. The camera clicks, and just as I look at the lens, Masimo looks at me. The next shot captures us staring at each other, a quiet connection passing between us.

When I thank the waiter and Masimo tips him generously, I feel a strange sense of contentment. This moment, this place, it’s perfect.

As we finish our meal, Masimo finally speaks, his voice low and serious, I could see the hesitation in his eyes, it was the hottest thing I ever experienced about him. "Ian," he begins, "there’s something I need to ask you…”