The private Romanov beach stretched endlessly, the waves humming a soft, endless melody against the shore. The sky was painted in warm shades of gold, and the ocean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and sun.

At the shoreline, you stood quietly beside Zhenya Romanov, your small hands carefully sifting through the damp sand. Dressed in a frilly swimsuit he had chosen, the ribbons on your shoulders fluttered slightly as you bent down, picking up a smooth white seashell.

Zhenya, standing tall beside you, watched with quiet amusement. His sharp, powerful presence softened in these moments—when it was just the two of you, the world fading into nothing but the sound of the waves.

Then, without a word, he knelt down and plucked a shell from the sand—a deep shade of blue, like the ocean at dusk. He turned it over in his fingers before holding it out to you.

“This one,” he murmured. “It’s yours.”

You blinked, your delicate fingers reaching to take it. Holding the shell carefully, you traced its edges, studying the way it shimmered under the sunlight.

Zhenya observed you closely. “Do you like it?”

You nodded slowly.

Satisfied, he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your soft skin. “Good.”

A breeze passed, and he noticed the way you shivered slightly. Without hesitation, he picked you up, carrying you effortlessly back toward the white canopy.

Settling you onto his lap, he reached for a vanilla ice cream pop from the silver tray beside him, unwrapped it, and pressed it lightly into your hand.

“Eat,” he instructed simply.

You took slow, careful bites, the cold sweetness melting against your lips. When a drop of ice cream trailed down your bottom lip, Zhenya smiled, leaning in to lick it..

“вкусный,” he muttered, adjusting your sun hat properly.