He shook his head. “No, my father wasn’t with her. She was with her sister and they were coming home from their grandfather’s funeral…”

“Ethan and Hannah’s mother was your mum’s sister?” What a sad, sad connection for Ivan and his cousins to share. It was understandable though. Their relationship, the closeness, the family loyalty—they were all deeply bonded over the same tragic loss.

He nodded in the affirmative, the expression on his face showing me it was still a painful memory for him. I wanted to comfort him but had no idea what I could possibly say that wouldn’t sound dismissive.

“That’s incredibly tragic, Ivan. I’m so sorry about your mum, but I am glad you still had your dad,” I offered lamely, before instantly regretting it. Ivan’s whole body stiffened, and his jaw hardened in what could only be interpreted as anger. I’d said the wrong thing apparently, and I felt badly for bringing up sad memories for him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, wishing for an un-ring button on that bell, and maybe an accompanying mute button for my big mouth. Ivan’s father was definitely off the list of acceptable conversation topics.

“Let’s change subjects, shall we? There has to be something more pleasant for us to talk about.” He smoothly shifted focus to the landscape beyond us and took a sip of his wine. When he moved his eyes back to me, the sexy, sophisticated, confident Ivan had returned. Just that fast. He had learned how to turn it on and off at will. I was struck with the urge to hug him, but I just sat in my chair sipping my wine and looked out at the beautiful green landscape of his beloved Donadea instead. I could feel his eyes on me. Staring. What did he see in me?

“So, you were born in London but raised in California?”

I nodded and turned my eyes back to him, glad that our awkward moment had passed.

“Well, that certainly explains the accent. I remember being surprised you weren’t a native that night I picked you up on the road. Turns out, you really are a native. Just another perfect example of how things are not always as they appear on the surface.” He picked up my hand from the table and stroked over my knuckles with his thumb. “I want you to remember that as you learn more about me.” That last bit from him sounded sincere and struck me as a significant point for him. Was Ivan scarred from a painful past like me? Something to do with his father perhaps? He appeared so confident, but I would never forget how paranoid he’d behaved when I surprised him here that horrible night in the rain. He was a man who guarded his privacy fiercely, so I imagined he probably had his reasons, and I respected him for it because I was basically the same way. I totally got it.

“You already are so very different from what I thought at first anyway,” I told him. “And in a good way, Ivan.”