Ivan and you were at an upscale restaurant, the kind where luxury was woven into every detail. You wore a modest, elegant dress that perfectly complemented the atmosphere.

When the waitress arrived, Ivan spoke first, his tone stern and serious. “I’ll have the sterlet caviar with blini and a side of pickled mushrooms,” he said effortlessly. When it was your turn, you confidently ordered the king crab salad, thinking it was your favorite.

Ivan shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “That’s not your favorite. It’s kulebyaka with sturgeon and quail eggs,” he corrected.

You hesitated, replaying his words, and then nodded in quiet agreement. Of course, he was right.

It was always amusing how Ivan seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.