“People who host Bratva meetings and don’t want everyone using the same toilet,” Dima says seriously.
“Also people with pregnant wives who need options,” Lev adds.
Mary snorts. “Fair point.”
We move through the house. I watch her face as she takes in each room. The formal dining room. The library. The media room. The gym.
“You have a gym in your house,” she says.
“Our house.”
“We have a gym in our house.”
“For prenatal yoga,” I offer. “And postnatal recovery. Jasper mentioned you’d want space for that.”
She turns to look at me. “You talked to Jasper about my postnatal recovery?”
“I talk to Jasper about everything concerning you.”
“That’s either really sweet or really creepy.”
“Can it be both?”
“Probably.”
Lev is trying not to laugh. Dima’s smirking. Boris is typing something on his tablet, probably updating security protocols.
“Six pools,” I mention as we pass windows overlooking the grounds. “Olympic, lap, infinity, indoor heated, children’s splash pad, and natural spring-fed.”
Mary stops walking. “Six pools.”
“You’re pregnant in Vegas. Options are important.”
“I’m starting to think you’re compensating for something.”
Lev barks out a laugh. Even Dima cracks a smile.
I lean down, mouth near her ear. “Would you like me to prove I’m not compensating for anything?”
She turns red. “Anton!”
“Later,” I promise. “After the tour.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
But she’s smiling. And some of the tension in my chest eases.
The master suite is on the third floor. Private wing. I open the door.
Mary steps inside. Takes in the windows, the bed, the sitting area, the bathroom.
Then she sees the connecting door.
“Is that—?”
“The nursery.” I open it.
