I catch her as her knees buckle, lower us both to the studio floor.
"Inside me," she gasps. "Now. Please."
I strip fast—jacket, shirt, pants, everything discarded without care. When I'm naked, I position myself over her on the sprung floor.
"Look," I say, turning her head toward the mirrors.
She sees us reflected—her body beneath mine, her legs spreading to accommodate me, the tiny bump of pregnancy visible between us.
"Watch me love you," I murmur, and slide inside her.
She's wet, ready, gripping me perfectly. I move slowly despite the urgency pounding through my veins, watching our reflection, watching her watch us.
"In this dress, carrying my child, you're every dream and ghost made real," I tell her, thrusting deeper. "Elena's dress. My baby. Our future."
"Don't stop," she whispers. "Please don't stop."
I won't. I can't.
She comes again, clenching around me, crying out. I follow seconds later, spilling inside my wife, marking her as mine in every way that matters.
After, we lie tangled on the studio floor, breathing hard, both watching our reflection in the mirrors.
"Married," she whispers.
"Finally." I trace the tiny bump again. "Mrs. Petrova."
"And mother-to-be."
"And the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
We make love twice more before dawn—once against the barre, her flexibility allowing positions that showcase the pregnancy, and once in bed properly, slow and tender, Russian vows whispered between kisses.
By the time we fall asleep at 6:00 AM, tangled together, I've claimed my wife thoroughly and completely.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I fall asleep without tracing Elena's name obsessively.
I trace Sonya's instead.
My wife. My future. My choice.
Elena would approve, I think. Would want this for me. Would want her dress to see love again instead of being locked away.
But as dawn breaks through the bedroom windows, reality intrudes.
Anton is still out there. Quiet for two weeks—too quiet. The federal task force is frustrated, finding no trace despite the manhunt. A wounded man doesn't disappear like this completely unless he has resources, planning, and a next move prepared.
The silence is ominous.
But today, I don't let that shadow consume everything.
Today, I'm married. Sonya is pregnant and healing. We have family staying in the guest rooms, a foundation to announce, a future to build.
Anton will surface eventually. And when he does, we'll be ready.
But for now, for this morning, I hold my sleeping wife and let myself believe in happiness.
Just for a little while.
