Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He looks at me curiously. “And?”
I swallow. For some reason, my heart is beating really fast right now. “What if we… you know… adopt? What if we adopt some kids that are in need of a good home?”
“Lydia,” he says seriously. “We’re Bratva.”
“Viktor,” I respond. “I mean, don’t show them your weapons.”
He grins at that. I love when he grins. My heart turns in my chest.
“We’ll be good parents. Just like Mikhail and Aria are. Harper and Aleks. And Vera and Nikko will be someday.”
“We will. Because we love each other, and we know what it’s like not to have that love.” I nod. We’ll lavish love and attention on whatever children we bring into our home. “And,” I say with a serious nod. “You’ll immediately beat your brothers in that race to see who has the most kids. Like you’ll advance right to the finish line.”
He snorts into his beer bottle, upends it, and polishes it off. “Now you’re talking. Perfect. Let’s look into it, baby.”
I nestle against his arm. “I have this feeling I could tell you I wanted to run a marathon, adopt an entire litter of puppies, sell this house and move into one of those RVs, or open up a mobile food truck bakery, and you’d smile at me and say yes.”
He holds me close to him and kisses the top of my head. “Of course I would. Though I don’t know if the entire litter of puppies and a mobile home at the same time is wise.”
I laugh along with him.
“I told you, Lydia,” he says quietly, his eyes growing soft, the flicker of flames reflected in his gaze. “I’ve only ever wanted you. And now you’re mine.” I bend and brush my lips against his. My heart swells, and I think, for the first time, I actually, truly, really believe him. I lie in his arms as he assures me one more time.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted and all I ever will.”
I lie in his arms, blissfully content. I don’t feel the need to run anymore. I don’t feel like I have to constantly look over my shoulder, waiting for the next wave of doubt or uncertainty to haunt me. His words mend my years of insecurity and heartache. My past no longer holds me in its grip.
As I nestle closer, I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat along with mine. “I’ve spent so much time running,” I whisper, “but now I feel like I can finally… stop. Like I’m finally home.”
His arms tighten around me. “We all have scars, Lydia,” he says. “But they don’t define us. They remind us of what we’ve fought and how we became who we are today.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“And I love you.” He holds me.
We lie there before the fire, our pasts behind us and untold years ahead of us. I feel like, for the first time in my life… I’m happy. For the first time in my life, I’m free.
EPILOGUE
Six months later
Lydia
It’s late at night, but Viktor and I have lost track of the time. We do that sometimes when we’re with each other. The minutes tick by into hours, and before we know what’s happening, the sun is rising, and it’s a new day. We have flexible work schedules, though, so it’s all good. He does what Mikhail demands when he calls him, and I’ve recently gone back to online grad school.
But tonight, I’m restless. The air is pregnant with the threat of coming rain, held at bay and only momentarily forgotten when I light a fire.
I love it here. It may be my very favorite place to be, the fire pit in front of me and flickering candles on various surfaces. I especially like it when there’s a chill in the air like tonight, the cold at our backs, and the warmth of the fire in front of us.
It’s early autumn in The Cove, the maples bordering the fire pit tinged with hues of gold and rust still mingled with hunter green. I stand before the flames, warming my hands. We roasted marshmallows after dinner, burnt the ends of our roasting sticks so they weren’t sticky with residue, and laid them where we like to keep them behind the pit. Viktor sits silently behind me, wearing a contemplative expression.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, reaching for one of the sticks to stoke the fire. It kindles as sparks fly, the crackling sound of fire rising. Viktor rises and approaches from behind, his hulking frame softened by the flickering light.
“Lots of things,” he says, his deep voice a low rumble in the fire-lit quiet. “I got you something.” Though he isn’t a gift-giver by nature, frequently forgetting his siblings’ birthdays and needing to be reminded it’s occasionally a good idea to toss a few gifts or cards at loved ones, he never seems to neglect giving anything to me.