“You ready?” he asks.
I nod.
“For her?” I say quietly. “Always.”
***
The house is full.
My men.
Angelo’s men.
Someof Maksim’s men.
Andherat the center of it all.
Beaming.
Glowing.
Perfect.
She captivates the room, my Vasilisa. Even Sergei, who scowls at everyone, softens when she hands him a glass of wine. Vaska follows her around per my request, carrying trays of appetizers she insists on passing herself despite my protests.
I stand back, watching her work her magic, the ring feeling heavy in my pocket. Every time she wobbles on those damn heels, my heart stops. When she laughs, throwing her head back at something Luna whispers, the sound travels straight to my core.
Pietro approaches me, glass in hand. “She’s happy,” he says simply.
I nod. “She is.”
“You did good with the decorations.” He gestures to the garland, the lights. “Enzo told Sergei and he told us.”
“Gossips, all of you. But she deserves it.” I keep my eyes on Vasilisa as she hands Nico a cookie shaped suspiciously like him. “All of it.”
Pietro follows my gaze. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m watching.”
“Same thing.” He takes a sip of his wine. “But you’re watching more than usual. Is she okay?”
I don’t tell him she’s pregnant. That’s her news to share. Instead, I clench my jaw and say nothing. I still don’t trust that he doesn’t have feelings for my wife. Being her former guard since she was a teenager he’s too close.
“The garden looks good too,” Pietro adds, and I tense.
My eyes land on him.
“You’ve been in my garden?”
He shrugs. “Perimeter check. Maksim’s orders.”
Of course. Even when that bastards not here, he manages to insert himself into my home.
“It’s secure,” I say tersely. “I’ve made sure of it.”
Pietro raises his hand and glass in surrender. “Just doing my job.”
I nod once, dismissing him. My attention returns to Vasilisa, who’s now bending down to adjust something on the coffee table. The dress rides up her thighs, and I move without thinking, crossing the room in four long strides.
