Dimitri raises his head to look at me with love filled eyes before he rolls slightly to the side to take his weight off me but keeps me pressed against his chest, one leg hooked over mine, his arm wrapped tight around my waist.
His other hand finds my slightly rounded stomach where the baby is growing. His palm spreads wide across my skin, warm and possessive and tender all at once.
“Our baby,” he says softly, his voice full of wonder. “Our family.”
I cover his hand with mine, threading our fingers together over where our child is growing. “Our family,” I echo.
“We’re free,” he says quietly. His palm is warm against my skin. “For the first time since this started, we’re actually free.”
“We are,” I agree, kissing the damp skin of his collarbone, right over one of many scars. “No more threats. No more conspiracies. Just us.”
“So what do we do with that freedom?” His voice is wondering like he can’t quite believe it’s real.
“You can teach me how to shoot,” I joke and from the way Dimitri’s chest suddenly rumbles, he also finds that funny.
“Oh, that was happening one way or another,” he promises me, smoothing my hair and dropping a kiss to my head. “First thing tomorrow we’re going to the shooting range and we aren’t leaving until I’m assured you won’t accidentally kill me whenever you hold a gun.”
“Jackass,” I mutter affectionately, but I’m still thinking about his question. What do we do with all that freedom? I mull it over for what feels like forever before I finally come up with an answer.
“We live,” I say finally.
“Hmm?” Dimitri asks sleepily.
“Your question. What do we do with that freedom? We build something good. We raise this baby in peace instead of war. We prove that something beautiful came from all this darkness.”
That seems to wake Dimitri up and he shifts to look at me, propping himself up on his elbow. His hand moves from my stomach to my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“We can be happy,” he says softly. “If that’s allowed.”
“It’s allowed,” I whisper, turning my head to kiss his palm. “It’s more than allowed. It’s what we deserve and after everything we’ve been through, we deserve to be happy.”
28
DIMITRI
I wake up the same way I have every morning for the past three months—with a split second of panic where I think Konstantin is alive and Alexei will come back. That everything we’ve built is about to crumble.
Then I see Vera.
She’s still asleep beside me, lying on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek and the other resting on the swell of her belly. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, she’s all curves and soft skin and this glow that everyone keeps mentioning but that I swear has been there since the day I met her.
The morning sun catches in her dark hair, painting it with hints of gold and copper. Her face is peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted, and I find myself just watching her breathe.
She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
I reach out carefully, not wanting to wake her, and rest my hand over hers on her stomach. Our baby (still a mystery because Vera agreed with me that there aren’t many real surprises left inlife and we should savor this one) kicks immediately against my palm.
Strong. Healthy.Ours.
Though if I’m being honest, I have a secret hope, a wish I haven’t told anyone, not even Vera.
I want a daughter.
A little girl with Vera’s eyes and fierce spirit. Someone I can protect and spoil and teach to be strong. Someone who’ll never doubt she’s loved and will never question her worth.
But a son would be just as loved and wanted. He would be just as perfect.
Vera stirs, her brown eyes fluttering open. When she sees me watching her, a sleepy smile curves her lips.
