Forcing myself to climb out of bed, stiff and awkward in my movements, I make my way toward the bathroom. Hopefully, a hot shower will help. At the very least, I need to wash off the smell of sex that clings to my skin and makes my stomach quiver. Still, I wish I could keep the scent of him that lingers in my hair after a night of sleeping in his bed. It leaves me feeling giddy, and a sharp stab of longing lances through me.
I shouldn’t miss him already.
That’s ridiculous—especially since we’ve never even spent a day together.
But after last night, it’s like the gravity of my world has shifted.
And my equilibrium now relies on him.
Get ahold of yourself, Evi. Sandro needs a wife who can support him, not a clingy girl who can’t manage in his absence.
By the time I’ve finished showering and dressed, I’ve pulled myself together. Wearing a sage-green summer dress I fashioned myself, I take a fortifying breath and step out into the hall. The Novikov mansion is hushed but not sleeping—faint sounds drift from the main part of the house, evidence of life going on without me. I follow the scent of something rich and savory toward the kitchen and find my way into the breakfast room.
Anika is already there, perched at the table with a mug cradled between her hands. She looks so effortlessly graceful, as though mornings bend to her will instead of the other way around. Her blond hair is brushed and gleaming, her posture relaxed but elegant. She’s everything I could ever hope to be, and when she glances up and sees me, her face softens into a warm smile.
“Good morning, Evi.”
“Good morning,” I echo, suddenly self-conscious as I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear. My gaze flicks to the cup in her hand. Steam curls up from it, carrying the faint but unmistakable aroma of coffee.
I hesitate, then blurt, “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink coffee when you’re pregnant?” Because in the few short weeksthat we put the wedding together, she told me about the baby she and Miko had been blessed with.
Her smile turns wry, almost amused, but not unkind. “It’s decaf,” she assures me, lifting the mug as if in a toast. “I really do miss caffeine,” she admits, looking longingly into her mug. “But this does the trick—sort of.”
“Oh.” I sink into the chair across from her, relief washing through me, though it feels silly.Why should I care so much about her health, about her baby?And yet I do. I can’t help it. Or the hollow ache that settles in my chest.
Anika studies me thoughtfully, her free hand drifting almost unconsciously to the modest curve of her belly. She strokes it with a kind of absentminded tenderness, her smile softening further. “It’s worth it, you know. Every sacrifice. Every change. It’ll all be worth it if you’re with the right person.”
My chest tightens at the simple joy glowing in her expression. A joy I’ll never understand—even if, against all odds, Sandro might be my right person. But the possibility of having children isn’t an option for me. I don’t tell her that, though—even if I trust Anika more than anyone else in this home. I don’t tell her how much it hurts to see her like this, radiant and fulfilled, while I sit across from her, pretending to be content. Because my mother’s words of warning ring fresh in my ears, reminding me to swallow the pain and put on a brave face.
With difficulty, I manage a smile and murmur, “I believe you.”
She beams at me, and for a moment, I entertain the fantasy that one day I might know that same happiness. If it were ever possible, last night would be the test of it. Sandro left me sore and aching, yes, but he also left me feeling fuller and morecontent than I even knew I could. If life were fair, maybe I could have earned such a gift.
I push the thought aside before it can spiral further, focusing instead on the gratitude I feel for having a wedding night as incredible as I did. It’s easier to cling to that than the hollow ache of longing for something I can’t have.
The kitchen door swings open, and one of the maids steps in with a steaming pot and a mug.
“Coffee, ma’am?” she offers, stopping beside me.
“Yes. Please,” I say, then wait as she pours the dark liquid into my mug and provides me with a bowl of sugar cubes and cream.
She leaves without another word, and I focus on stirring the sweetener into my drink.
“Do you know where Sandro is?” I ask after a moment.
Anika chuckles softly, setting down her mug. “He and Miko usually go spar in the mornings. Call it their version of a workout.”
“Oh.”
My mind immediately conjures the image—two men, fists flying, sweat dripping, strength meeting strength in brutal collision. I can almost see Sandro’s expression, intense and unyielding, and the thought sends a shiver down my spine. Then I recall the bruises he came home with last night.
“Is that safe?” I ask, worry tightening my stomach.
“I’m sure they won’t get too carried away. They got a late start this morning.”
Anika’s tone lilts playfully, and my cheeks burn as I lower my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden table.Is she… hinting about what Sandro and I did last night? Or how many times we did it?
When I finally glance back up, there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye. But she doesn’t tease me. Instead, she gives me a wink. “Miko and I kept the party going long after you two left. We danced until nearly midnight, and the guests didn’t leave until well after that. It was a wonderful celebration. I think we all needed it.”
