“Being in love doesn’t make me soft,” I murmur without taking my eyes off her. “It makes me even more dangerous.”
Dmitri snorts. “Sure it does.”
“I mean it,” I say, turning my head slightly toward him. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. Nothing. You’ll understand when it happens to you.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Dmitri says, folding his arms. “I’ve seen what Yuri did to the ones he claimed to love. He's got me all messed up in the head.”
A flicker of heat crawls up my spine–not anger, exactly. More like old sadness.
Our father’s ghost still walks among us, whispering through the cracks he left behind. Even after death, he’s still somehow managed to maintain some level of control.
Cruel old bastard.
I shift forward in my seat, my eyes trained on Anya as she reaches the final crescendo, her voice soaring high enough to shake heaven itself. My wife. My redemption. The proof that the Balshov name can mean something other than blood and power.
When the last note fades, the silence stretches for a beat before the audience erupts into applause. People rise to their feet, clapping, cheering, even whistling.
I don’t move. I just sit there, soaking her in.
Anya bows, smiling through her tears. She’s glowing…alive, free. Unbelievably beautiful
And in that moment, I make myself a promise…no matter what it takes, no matter what ghosts try to crawl out of the dark, I’ll do anything to protect that gorgeous smile.
Dmitri was definitely wrong. Love doesn’t make me weaker. It makes me invincible.
***
Anya
The after-party is filled with close family and friends. I walk around, greeting familiar faces and some not so familiar ones. Everyone's smiling at me, and my cheeks actually hurt from smiling so hard all evening.
I'm beyond happy and blessed.
I can't believe I finally did my first performance with the Metropolitan Opera. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of—and more.
I move through the room, glittering in the dress Alexei insisted I wear—a silvery thing that catches the light every time I turn. He said it makes me look like a star. I believe him.
I spot Katya across the room, sitting stiffly on the couch beside a woman with bright red lips, who’s chatting animatedly. Katya’s pretending to listen, but her eyes keep darting toward the food table like something over there might attack her.
I pluck two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and weave through the crowd until I reach her. “You look like you could use this,” I tease, offering her one.
She shakes her head a little too quickly. “No thanks. I… uh, I’m not drinking tonight.”
That’s strange. Katya loves champagne. “Why? Are you sick?”
She hesitates, biting her lip, and then I see it. The faint flush on her cheeks, the way her hand rests on her stomach. My mouth falls open. “Katya. Oh my God. You’re—”
“Don’t,” she warns softly, eyes wide. “Not here.”
I lower my voice. “You’re pregnant?”
She lets out a defeated exhale, then nods once. “I didn’t want to say anything yet. Tonight’s about you.”
Before I can press her further, a server passes with a tray of sushi, and the moment the scent hits, Katya pales. “Excuse me,” she mutters and rushes toward the bathroom.
I’m still staring after her when Alexei appears beside me, tall and impossibly composed. His hand slides around me, settling on the small of my back. “Is Katya all right?”
“She will be,” I say, turning toward him with a smile. The sight of him in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and the faint shadow of stubble still steals my breath.My husband.I may never get used to the title, but I'll forever love it.
