"I'm sorry," I gasped between sobs. "I don't know why I can't stop—"
"Don't apologize." His hand stroked my hair, steady and sure. "You're grieving. It's allowed."
"I didn't think it would hit me this hard. I thought I was past—"
"You don't have to be past anything." He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his thumbs wiping tears from my cheeks. "You can miss your old life and still build a new one. The two aren't mutually exclusive."
"Is that what we're doing? Building a new life?"
"Yes." The word was simple, certain. "Together. All three of us."
I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. He held me until the sobs subsided, until my breathing steadied, until the grief loosened its grip enough for me to think clearly again.
Lisa knew I was alive. Lisa knew I was married, pregnant, somewhere in Europe with a man I couldn't fully explain. She didn't understand, might never understand, but she was still there. Still my friend.
It wasn't closure, exactly. But it was something.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For letting me have this."
"You don't need to thank me for things you should never have had to ask for." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Come. You need rest. And food. And probably more ginger tea."
I laughed despite myself—a watery, exhausted sound. "You're going to be insufferable about this pregnancy, aren't you?"
"Absolutely." He helped me to my feet, his arm steady around my waist. "I plan to be the most insufferable expectant father in history."
"I believe you."
"Good. Now let me take care of you."
I let him lead me from the study, his warmth solid at my side. Through the windows, the Mediterranean sparkled in the afternoon light—beautiful, remote, a world away from everything I'd known.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe building a new life meant letting go of the old one, piece by piece, until what remained was strong enough to stand on its own.
I wasn't there yet. Might not be for a long time.
But I was trying.
Chapter 18 - Vasily
Three days of peace.
That's what we had—three days of something that felt almost like a normal life. Breakfasts on the terrace, her hand resting on her stomach as she sipped ginger tea. Long afternoons in the library, where she pored over financial reports while I pretended to work and watched her instead. Evenings in my bed, her body curved against mine, my palm pressed to the place where our child was growing.
Three days of learning what it meant to have something precious. Something fragile. Something that could be taken away.
I became insufferable, just as she'd predicted. I tracked her movements through the house, appeared at her elbow whenever she ventured outside, questioned Yelena about every meal to ensure nothing could upset her stomach or harm the baby. Gaby tolerated it with a patience I didn't deserve, only occasionally rolling her eyes when I suggested she rest instead of work.
"I'm pregnant, not dying," she said on the second morning, when I'd tried to convince her to stay in bed past nine.
"You're growing a human being. That requires energy."
"It requires me not to lose my mind from boredom." She'd kissed my cheek and slipped past me, heading for the library with a determination I knew better than to fight.
I let her go. But I checked the security feeds every hour, made sure a guard was always within earshot, and had Yelena report any signs of fatigue or discomfort. The staff probably thought I'd lost my mind.
Maybe I had.
But for those three days, she was safe. The baby was safe. And I allowed myself to believe, however briefly, that I could keep them that way forever.
