“She only died a month ago. It’s still new for you.”
“How long ago did …”
“Did Alexei die? Twenty years now.”
“Wow. Long time.”
“Yes.” He bows his head, not meeting my eyes. “And it still hurts,” he admits. Mikhail has never been vulnerable like this with me. It only makes my heart flutter from … love. I think I might be falling in love with him.
“Greif doesn’t make sense. This is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier today. I wanted to tell you that you can trust me with your emotions. I understand grief. I would never judge you for how you feel over losing your son and wife.”
His lips curl into the smallest smile, and it means the world to me. “You really are my good girl.” He bores his eyes back into mine. “I admit, I don’t miss Natasha. If she were still alive, I’d still be married to her, and I wouldn’t have you in my life.”
I know his words are meant to be romantic, but they only fill me with fear. If he didn’t love Natasha, can he ever love me?
“Mikhail, do you want children with me? Truly?”
He places his hand on my stomach, his fingers stretching across my abdomen. “You’re so tiny.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I want children with you, Sofiya. I want to start again.”
I’m scared to ask him my next question but I have to ask it. Otherwise, it will tear me down until I can’t breathe. “Are you trying to replace Natasha with me?”
He rips his hand away and stands up. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I need to know. I need to know that if we have children—which is a very strong possibility because we haven’t been using protection—that you’re not looking to replace Alexei with our children. I need to know you’ll see them for who they are and not for … the past.”
“How can you ask me that? I can never forget Alexei.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“It sounds like it.”
“No. All I’m asking is you see our children for who they are. That’s it. I’m not asking you to forget your son or your first wife, just like I would never expect anyone to ask me to forget my parents. I need to know you’re all in with me. If we’re going to have kids, I need to know, Mikhail.”
He’s breathing heavily, but then, slowly, his anger subsides, and his shoulders slump. “I’m all in, Sofiya. I never got to choose Natasha, but I chose you.”
“Thank you.”
He nods. “I need some time to think. I’ll see you in the morning.” He leaves the room before I can say anything more.
Once again, I’m left alone, but this time, I feel hope.
MILA
Sofiya is asleep when I go to ask her if she wants to get coffee with me. She’s been sleeping in a lot lately. Makes me wonder what she and Mikhail get up to at night.
The thought immediately makes me blush. I have some idea, but I’d rather not know. That’s personal.
I try to get Vik to go with me, but she has an appointment to get her cast removed. Enough weeks have passed, and she can move around more freely on her foot without crutches. So, it’s up to me to entertain myself.
I go to the coffee shop across the street with a guard in tow and nurse my coffee for a while, just letting my mind wander as I look out the window. This is my life now. Moscow. It’s beautiful in the summertime, but then again, so is New York. I’ll probably never see New York again, not with Boris on the loose.
And speaking of Boris … he walks right into the coffee shop and up to my table before I even realize it’s him. My guard, Fedor, walks over and asks me if everything is all right.
“I need to talk to you,” Boris says, ignoring Fedor.
Vik always tells me I need to assert myself better. She’s not shy in telling men how she feels.
Unfortunately, I’m not Viktoriya.
“Ok,” I whisper, motioning to the seat across from me.
“I’ll be right over there,” Fedor tells me, settling back into the corner.
“I want to marry you, Mila,” Boris says, grabbing my hands in his. Gently, I remove them and stick them under my thighs.
“I’m sorry, Boris. But … I don’t want to marry you.”
“You don’t have a choice. You should be grateful to marry a man like me.”
I’ve been dreaming of my prince charming since I was a girl. I intend to get my prince charming someday, and Boris is definitely not prince charming material. If I were Vik, I would tell him that.
Instead, I say, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“You can’t. Or you won’t?”
