Chapter 1
“Mmm,” the sound trickles from the back of my throat to my lips.
This is my favorite time of day. The noise of work and life drift away as my body melts into the wooden slats. The heat envelopes me, washing away the tension. I take a few deep breaths, letting the sauna guide me into a relaxed state.
Six months ago, I found this little slice of heaven.
I’m one of those people who despises the gym—because who doesn’t—but I know that health and wellness aren’t just tied to my diet but exercise. I tried all of the traditional gyms like LA Fitness, I tried boutique gyms and boxes, but nothing fit. So, the search continued.
Six months ago, my sister bought me a day pass to an Eastern European spa, something about my “overwhelming stress creating a black cloud during our lunch dates.” And while the act had a touch of selfishness intertwined with the thoughtful gesture, I decided to take advantage after checking reviews on Bing.
Apparently, a few mothers from my nieces Montessori school attend in the mornings after dropping their kids off to “relax and unwind” from their hectic lives. I completely understand—and do not negate—the amount of work managing a home and kids can be, but sometimes I wish someone else went to work and paid all of my bills. From an outsider’s perspective, being a brunch wife seemingly has a lot of perks.
I, however, can’t attend at ten a.m. during weekdays. My life is consumed by a nine to five. In this instance works in my favor, not only do I get to avoid the gossip crew from the Montessori but apparently the majority of the patrons attend while I am at work.
The first few times I came to Svitava Crystal Waters Spa I enjoyed the traditional bathe house rituals—rotations between the hot pool, the cool pool and the sauna—and because I come later in the day, I occasionally had the space to myself. Each time I came, the Olympic sized lap pool caught my attention but it had been years since I swam. One evening I decided to put the swim lessons my sister and I received when we were six to use, with very few prying eyes to feel self-conscious around.
Soon Svitava became my nightly ritual. I exercised in the lap pool for thirty minutes, sat in the jacuzzi for ten, a quick dip in the cold pool and finished my evening with twenty minutes in the sauna.
I’m honestly thrilled with my new routine. The work-out and detox mean I get better sleep, take in some self-care and seemingly navigate the anxieties of life more effectively.
I sigh again, feeling the heat coursing through me and my worries temporarily melting away.
My meditative trance fractures as the sauna door groans, swinging inward with a purposeful slowness. I peel my eyes open, curious about who disturbs my peace.
Ivan stands before me, towel slung low and confidence high, pausing just inside the threshold as if to announce himself to anyone who might be watching. His body carries the glistening sheen of a recent swim—water collecting along the ridges of muscle, droplets drawing silver lines down his carved abdomen to the deep V where terrycloth just barely hides what’s beneath. He isn’t a man who seems uncomfortable in his own skin, instead he wears it like a Roman gladiator, moving with the studied nonchalance of someone who knows exactly how he looks in motion.
My body tightens in contrast as I stare up at him from my position laying on the bench. I become acutely aware of my wild damp hair clinging to my neck and the way my vagina is currently consuming my swimsuit bottoms. I draw my knees closer together, my feet gliding over the smooth surface as my heels meet my ass, hoping to hide the slight camel toe.
Ivan slides onto the cedar bench opposite me, his legs part with casual arrogance. His gaze locks on mine for an unblinking second—his eyes cool and appraising, the color of a glacier—before a smirk plays on his lips.
He gives me an indifferent nod, the one he offers in greeting to nearly everyone in the spa, then wipes his brow with the edge of his towel and lets out a low, satisfied grunt. “Long day Mary?” he asks, his accent flattening the vowels.
I shrug, attempting to muster the same breezy indifference he so easily projects. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” my eyes drifting to the taut line of his quads as he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.
He nods again, but this time remains silent, as if weighing whether to pursue a deeper conversation or let the steam do the talking. For a moment, the only sounds are the rhythmic hiss of the heater and our deep breaths. Ivan’s presence fills the small chamber—not just physically but atmospherically—crowding my thoughts, which are now consumed by the finely etched, muscular marble statue before me.
Eventually, he breaks the silence the way he always does—by reverting to the same script. “My mother made stuffed peppers tonight,” he announces. “Good, but too much garlic. I think I still smell like her kitchen.” He shoots me a smile that’s more boyish than seductive, ruining the images running through my mind.
“How about you?” the question more reflexive than curious. “Anything interesting for dinner?”
The repetitiveness of our discussion fits like a well-worn shoe. Most evenings that Ivan joins me for a sweat room session seem to play out exactly the same. I drool over his imposing, masculine figure—daydreaming about how he could throw me around the sauna, filling me expertly as he plows into me—but am quickly reminded why I am simultaneously not interested in perusing him further. Our drab, surface conversations about the weather or his father’s construction company leave me unfulfilled and his mommy issues would cloud any hope of a relationship. A quickie might be nice though.
Clearly lost to my musings, and ironically not being the best conversationalist, Ivan clears his throat, “Mary? You look like you’re in another world.” My eyes roam over the sweat beading on his chiseled chest.
I throw a polite smile on my face, “fine, just thinking.”
