Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
She blinks, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought I was just…a vessel to you. Someone to be used for gain. You needed a wife and child…then I came along. I could’ve been anyone. Anyone.” Now she cries freely. I release her long enough to pull her body completely on top of me. I sit up and arrange her so she straddles my lap.
“My love. Aria. Have I failed to demonstrate how much you mean to me?”
“You bought me,” she whispers. “You bought me like I’m a rare trinket you wanted for your collection to keep under lock and key.”
“I paid a price for Tatiana’s services, Aria,” I say gently. “Not for you.” I lay my hands on either side of her, my fingers laced at the small of her back. “There is no price for perfection.”
She sniffs, and I pull her to my chest. I hold her to me while she cries freely.
“Aria, don’t you know? If I’d only known you, I would’ve chased your shadow from the very first time I ever saw you. I would have reinvented myself, become the man you needed me to be just for the merest glimpse of your smile or a moment of your attention. I would have fought full armies for your favor and destroyed anyone or anything that pulled us apart. I would have razed the earth to clear a path to you and make you mine.”
“Oh my God, Mikhail,” she sniffs. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” I ask, bemused.
“Being so damn perfect,” she sobs. “I was totally convinced I was only your trophy and someone you’d used to get your way. And then you go and say all these perfect things…”
“Oh I have every intention of using you.”
EPILOGUE
Aria
The crackling fire warms the interior of the living room where I sit – no, lounge on a chaise built for a king. It seems Ekaterina furnished the Russian home with furniture strong enough to withstand the weight and heft of the Neanderthals she raised. Not that I’m complaining. I quite like that Mikhail and I can snuggle here comfortably. Or, more accurately for the moment, I can snuggle under blankets and enjoy the fire while he massages my feet, which he’s back to doing and I am not complaining.
“I researched all the latest equipment,” he’s telling me, his eyes on me so earnest he looks almost boyish. “The safest bassinet, the safest car seat, the best baby monitors and strollers.” He pauses, his capable hands holding my foot. “Do you know the benefits of breastfeeding?”
I almost laugh out loud. It’s amusing as hell to see the way my monster of a husband has turned into a pile of mush.
“I have, Polina and I were researching the different feeding options.” I look down at my ample breasts. “I mean, mine are big enough…”
He shakes his head. “The volume of breastmilk a lactating mother can produce has nothing to do with the size of your breasts.” He looks momentarily amused. “Though, I have to admit, yours are perfect.”
I smile. “Why, thank you.”
“Oh, God, will you two get a room already?” Polina walks in the room carrying a tray with a large pitcher of water and a plate of something that looks delicious. She’s grinning, though. “And don’t worry about the baby gear. Auntie Polina’s on it.”
Mikhail scowls. “Run anything by me, first. Some of those things are marketing ploys with no actual focus on safety or endurance.”
Polina nestles the tray beside me and pats his head. “You’re so cute when you get all baby growly,” she says. “It’s quite unlike you.”
His scowl deepens. “What did I say about calling me cute?”
She winks at me. “We don’t do baby showers here in Russia,” she explains. “I know they’re common in America, but we consider them to be bad luck.”
I nod. “Ah. Imagine. A Russian superstition!”
She snickers. “Not like Mikhail will let anyone else buy anything for the baby, anyway. But you can’t stop me from buying all the little outfits.” She points to the tray. “Try these. They’re Russian tea cookies and they are so good with tea. I’ll make you pryaniki when you get close to labor. They’re spicy little cookies and supposedly help with the onset of labor.”
Mikhail, predictably, looks concerned. “We have a ways to go.”
“Oh, I know,” she says. “I love how liberally you men use plural pronouns to discuss pregnancy. We’re pregnant. We have a ways to go. You, my friend, do not have any ways to go.”
He dismisses her with a grunt and reaches for my right foot. I lean back and take a cookie. It’s delicious – rich and buttery and a little crumbly. “Yummy,” I say around a mouthful of crumbs. “She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and bakes. You can’t ever marry her off, Mikhail.”
I’m joking, of course, but I don’t miss the look that flashes across Polina’s face.