“You’re doing it again,” she murmurs.
“Doing what?” I ask, moving a strand of her hair out of her face.
“Staring. Like a creep,” she quips.
I roll my eyes affectionately. “I’m not a creep. I’m appreciating my beautiful wife.”
“Mmm.” She stretches carefully, one hand still on her belly. “Your beautiful wife who currently resembles a whale and is trying so hard not to get a charley horse.”
I frown, hating when she talks like that. “You’re not a whale,” I say sternly.
She shrugs, rolling onto her back. “I’m pretty sure I am. A very attractive whale, but still.”
I lean over and kiss her stomach through the thin fabric of her pajamas. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
She laughs. “You have to say that. I’m carrying your baby.”
“Ourbaby,” I correct, letting my lips ghost over her skin. “And I don’thaveto say anything. I’m the terrifying head of the Volkov family. I say what I want.”
She laughs—that bright, genuine sound that I’ll never get tired of hearing. “Oh, is that how it works?”
“Absolutely. It’s in the Mob boss handbook.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Chapter three: Always compliment your pregnant wife, especially when she’s beautiful enough to stop your heart.”
Her expression softens. “God, that’s so corny. You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m ridiculously in love,” I quip.
Thatcauses her to groan loudly. “That’s it. I’m divorcing you.”
I grab her before she can move and kiss her properly then, morning breath and all, and she sighs against my mouth in a way that makes me want to keep her in bed all day.
But unfortunately we can’t because her family is visiting today, and if I know my in-laws they’ll be here precisely at noon with enough food to feed a small army (which will piss Mrs. Kozlov off).
I spend the morning in my office handling business—the legitimate kind, mostly, though there are still some elements of the Volkov empire that will never be entirely legal. But things are better and stronger now. The alliance with the Ashfords opened trade routes we never had access to before, and Vincent’s connections in the political sphere have proven invaluable.
The families are thriving.
More importantly, they’re peaceful.
No more wars or betrayals. No more looking over our shoulders wondering who’s plotting what.
It’s strange, actually. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and for something to go wrong.
But nothing does.
Roman pokes his head into my office around eleven. “The nursery furniture arrived. Where do you want it?”
I put down my pen. “I’ll be right there.”
I’ve been obsessively preparing the nursery for weeks now. Vera thinks I’m overdoing it—we have a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and enough baby clothes to outfit triplets, but I can’t help it.
I want this baby to always know how wanted and loved they are. I want them to know every detail of their arrival was planned with excitement and hope.
The nursery is in the east wing, three doors down from our bedroom. Close enough to hear if the baby cries but far enough to give us some privacy. The walls are a soft cream color andVera picked out this border with little animals that she says is “adorable” and I have to admit is actually pretty cute.
