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“You are very beautiful,”
“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“You came anyway,”
Hollander had bought them a fucking building.
Rozanov covered that hand with his own,
“Yes, sweetheart,”
They were light and sort of...adoring.
“Yeah. I do.”
St. Louis.”
ST LOUIS MENTION RAHHHHHHH
No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.
“Ilya,”
Shane’s heart lurched.
“I wish you were here now.”
“Me too.”
“and on top of everything, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?”
“Not her.
“You are very beautiful,”
“The first time I met you. Those freckles...”
“It is. And your eyes. I love your eyes.”
“I’ve never...had anything. Like this. With anyone else.”
“You. He wasn’t you.”
But you...god, Ilya.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
“No. Not since.
“You wanna kiss me on television?” “Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.”
“Years?” Ilya wrapped long fingers around Shane’s jaw, and tilted his head up to meet his gaze. “Yes.”
He had seen the initial confusion in Ilya’s expression before it softened into a shy smile.
“Don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane blurted out. Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Just...don’t. I know it wouldn’t be...for love or whatever. But don’t. I couldn’t—we can figure something else out, okay?”
“I love you.”
“This is real, yes?” Ilya asked. He just had to make sure. “It’s real,” Shane said. His voice was low and adorably scratchy. “I feel like... I am dreaming?” “You’re not. I love you.”
“Maybe I don’t think about how it is unfair because...” He paused a moment, trying to choose his English words carefully. “I feel lucky. This is more than I have ever
