“I can take her on my jet,” Dougal offers a little too eagerly.
Before my brothers can give him a round of shite, I see Morana’s eyelashes flutter. “Get the feck out.” They slip out the door, closing it behind them.
Her brows draw together before she forces her eyes open, blinking slowly, widening when they land on me.
“Baby…” she’s got a croaky little voice and I put her hand on my cheek.
“The baby’s fine, love. Eight weeks along, the doctor said.”
“Yes,” she whispers, “Dublin.”
I chuckle quietly. “Aye.”
“Girls?” I hear one of the machines that goes ‘ping’ every few minutes start pinging more quickly.
“Shhh, they’re all safe,” I say hastily, “I swear it. Take a couple of deep breaths for me?”
She tries and winces. “Hurts.”
Leaning in, I kiss her forehead, her cheekbones, and her lips. “The doctor’s gonna come in ragin’ in just a second and there’s gonna be a lot of commotion. So let me say this now.Tha gaol agam ort.YA tebya lyublyu.In Gaelic and Russian and every language, I love you.”
Her eyes turn the deepest shade of violet, the color of the tiny flowers in the sun and she is… pure light. “I love you too. So much.”
And then the doctor comes racin’ in and it’s hoaching crowded.
Chapter Thirty-Three
In which Cameron locks down The Husband of the Year Award.
Morana…
Ten days later, long after Dr. Blanchet pronounces me safe to travel, Cameron finally sets me free from the hospital. Most of the staff genuinely looks sad to see us go, which would be sweet except for the fact that I know he hired a full catering staff to feed everyone even remotely connected to my care, twenty-four hours a day. If I were waving goodbye to a limitless supply of caviar,pirozhki, andshashlik, I’d be sad, too.
After carrying me to the car despite my protests, he carefully puts on my seatbelt before climbing in the back with me, and we pull out of the hospital parking lot with two SUVs in front of us and two behind. Very subtle.
Hamish gives me a cheeky wink from the front.
“Looking fine, ma’am.”
“Thank you Hamish, but can’t you call me Morana?”
“Not if I want to keep my eyes,” he says pleasantly.
“Cameron…” I rest my head on his shoulder, “he helped save my life. Don’t you think we could be on a first-name basis?”
He kisses me tenderly on the forehead. “No.”
When we pull up in front of the magnificent Hermitage Museum, I look at him with a little frown. “We have time to sightsee? Not that I am complaining,” I add hastily, “this is my favorite museum in the entire world.”
“I know,” he smiles as he gets out of the car, “you told me once.”
“You remembered that?” I gasp. We’d talked about so many things during our Facetime sessions when he was away, hunting my father and Stepanov. I didn’t realize he’d been paying such close attention.
Lifting me out of the car and into a wheelchair despite my protests, he kisses me gently. “I remember everything you told me.”
This entire section of the massive museum is closed, which makes no sense. This is one of the most legendary art museums in the world, and tourists are always crowding the halls. But I can hear Cameron’s dress shoes click on the marble flooring in the empty space as we enter the Large Italian Skylight Room.
“And this is my favorite section!” I gasp, eagerly looking around me. “SeeThatched Cottages, the one there on the left? That’s a Van Gogh, and there’sThe Woman Holding Fruitby Paul Gaugin…”
