“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, eyes drifting closed as his warmth lulls me under. “I’m right here.”
74
Bella
Two days later
Iwake to golden light filtering through gauzy curtains, painting warmth across the bed. For a moment, I’m disoriented—this isn’t the medical wing with its sterile whites and machinery. This is… my bedroom. Our bedroom.
Konstantin sleeps beside me, one arm draped protectively across my middle, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never is in waking. The perpetual tension between his brows has smoothed out, making him look younger, almost vulnerable. His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his breathing deep and even.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, I shift to look at the clock. Just past nine in the morning. Dr. Katya must have approved my move from the medical wing back to our rooms.
Every inch of me feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry — muscles heavy, skin aching, a dull soreness radiating from my bones. Like the adrenaline that kept me upright for days hasfinally drained away, leaving me hollow and exhausted, but... oddly relaxed.
As if sensing my wakefulness, Konstantin stirs, his arm tightening slightly around me. His eyes open—those storm-gray blues instantly alert.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He looks fresher today.
“Morning,” I reply, unable to keep the smile from my face. This feels surreal—waking up beside him, his guard completely lowered, no pretense between us. “How long have we been here?”
Konstantin lifts his arm, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Twelve hours and thirty-five minutes.”
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, warmth unfurling in my chest. Of course he’s that precise. It’s so him — calculated, controlled, down to the minute. And the way he says it, so matter-of-fact, like he’s cataloging data instead of talking about the time we’ve spent wrapped around each other.
Konstantin’s brows pull together, watching me like I’ve lost it, but I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like my laughter might be contagious.
“The doctor said you could rest better in your own bed, as long as you remained calm.” His hand slides up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture casual, as if he’s been doing it for years rather than days. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I say honestly. “Hungry, actually.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Good sign.” He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, tapping out a quick message. “Breakfast will be here in ten minutes.”
“Efficient as always,” I tease, enjoying this relaxed version of him.
“I aim to please.” He shifts to prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression I’m still getting usedto—open, unguarded, almost… tender. “Do you need anything? Water? The bathroom?”
I laugh softly. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. But yes, bathroom would be good.”
He helps me up with unnecessary but sweet attentiveness, his hand on the small of my back as I make my way to the en-suite bathroom. When I emerge, he’s made the bed and opened the curtains fully, revealing a stunning view of the Pacific sparkling under a cloudless sky.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, drawn to the window. “I didn’t realize this room had such a view in the morning.”
“One of the reasons I chose it,” he says, coming to stand beside me. “I’ve always found the ocean… grounding.”
I glance at him, surprised by this small admission of something as inconsequential as a preference. It strikes me how little I know about the man I’m carrying a child for—his favorite color, whether he prefers mornings or evenings, the books that shaped him. All the small details that make up a person.
A soft knock at the door announces breakfast. Konstantin opens it to reveal not a maid as I expected but Oleg himself, carrying a tray laden with food.
“Mrs. Belov,” he greets me with a formal nod that’s softer around the edges than usual. “Your breakfast. Dr. Katya provided specific instructions for your meal plan.”
“Thank you, Oleg,” I say, genuinely touched by the personal delivery.
He sets the tray on the small table by the window, fussing with the arrangement in a way that seems oddly paternal.
“The children have been informed you’re back in your room and recovering well. They’ve been… eager to see you.”
I catch the ghost of a smile on his usually stoic face.
