“You didn’t want to sleep with Niko?” I mumbled into her shoulder.
She stretched out beside me. “He’s a big boy.” Then she added, “Babushka took my spot. There’s no room for me.”
Laughter rumbled through us both.
I pressed another kiss to her bare skin. “Well, you’re always welcome here.”
“I’m sure I am,” she murmured, arching her neck as my kisses moved higher and higher. “You’re enjoying me being kicked out of my bed by a cat a little too much.”
“On the contrary, Elena.” She gasped when I took a piece of her neck in my mouth, sucking gently on the skin. “I think I’m enjoying it just enough.”
We made slow luxurious love over my silken sheets. Each breath was euphoric, each touch was addictive. Our cries were swallowed, and groans bitten down as we tried to remain discreet with the thin walls. We finished together as an entanglement of limbs, high on lust and satiated by each other.
I slept peacefully with Elena in my arms. For the first time in my entire life, my dreams were forgettable and my rest deep.
It amazed me that this was the first of many nights. There would be decades of falling asleep with my Elena in my arms and waking up to her voice in the morning. Though the dark raincloud of Tatiana still hung over us, there was only happiness and love between us, only the beginning of our future.
I could hear Elena and Roman bickering in the kitchen from down the hall.
“Mama’s angry?” Niko asked. He was dressed in his underwear and dinosaur shirt, having straight up refused to wear pants to breakfast. However, he had wanted to bring his favorite sticks (that he had been collecting from outside and bringing into the house) to breakfast and had made me carry the ones that were too heavy.
“Uncle Roman likes to stir up your mother.”
“Stir? With a spoon?”
I laughed. “No, stir her up to irritate her.”
Nikolai nodded.
When we reached the kitchen, Elena and Roman were on either side of the table, two armies facing in battle. Dmitri sat between them, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“–stop acting like a dipshit for five minutes.” Elena was saying. “I’ve had more intelligent conversations with Babushka and she’s a cat.”
Roman huffed angrily. “If you weren’t such a nosey–”
“Oh! I’m nosey? Me? That’s ironic.” She slammed the plate of syrup down onto the table. “You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Don’t try me right now, Elena. I’m really not in the mood.”
There was enough of a threat in his voice that I cut in smoothly. “I don’t recall breakfast coming with a show. Care to share why you’re fighting before I’ve had my coffee?”
Dmitri had never looked so happy to see me.
Elena snapped her head to me. Her expression softened as soon as she spotted Niko. “Good morning, baby. Did you bring your sticks down?”
“Mmhmm.” Niko held them up. “All of them, Mama.”
“Even the one with spots?”
“Yup.” Niko held a stick up to me that did look like it had spots. “Can you see?”
“I can. It looks very cool.”
He grinned, pleased.
Elena turned back to Roman, softness disappearing. “Pull your act together.”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to ever say that to me,” he grumbled.
“I believe it,” she sniped. To Nikolai, she said sweetly, “Come and have some fruit, my wild boy. There’s lots of pears–your favorite.”
Soon the room was filled with our family, even Anton joining. We squeezed around the table, hands reaching over one another and shoulders bumping together. Yet no one complained at the lack of space; it was proof that our family was growing larger.
I leaned back and observed the room quietly as the meal progressed. A pain formed in my chest as my family went about their breakfast, sharing and laughing, bickering and eating. My son giggled with his cousins about their funny uncle Roman, the woman I loved listened to the rambling of Danika and catching whatever Danika almost dropped. Even Dmitri was involved in a conversation with Roksana and Artyom, the three of them talking excitedly about the new foal.
Growing up, there had been no warm meals surrounded by the ones I loved. Each bite of food had been in between watchful glances and perfectly spoken sentences. Mother and Father would hold us hostage as they sniped at each other, and my brothers would make a game of stabbing me with forks and knives beneath the table.
When I had left with Artyom, it had been meals I’d been most strict about. Breakfast was together, every single day. Even if someone couldn’t make it, or life was too horrendous to even contemplate sitting down, we ate a meal together. Sometimes dinner or lunch, but mostly breakfast. We used to eat stolen bread on the tops of buildings, watching the sun rise over the frost-covered city as we spoke about our plans and ambitions.
When Tatiana had joined, and eventually Roksana and the others, we had needed a table and warmer place to eat. But sometimes I missed those mornings with Artyom when we were boys–after all, they had been the first meals I hadn’t been stabbed with a knife or manipulated into madness by my mother.
Elena met my eyes over everyone’s heads, brows arching.
I just sent her a smile.
Both our attentions shifted as Danika wiggled in her seat, discomfort clear on her face. She was recovering and well-enough to walk around, but I knew the pain of the bullet still ailed her–as did the trauma of who had done it.
I hadn’t let myself contemplate it for too long. Thinking of what Tatiana had done to Danika was enough to send me into a vicious frenzy.
She will pay, I soothed the beast inside of me. We will have our revenge.
“Are you okay, Dani?” Elena asked, eyes narrowed.
Danika forced a smile. To the untrained eye, the little interrogator’s smile would’ve been perfect, but I knew she had painted it on her face to hide the emotions storming inside. “Fine.” Her eyes darted to Roman. He was entertaining the kids. “Just a little tired.”
I knew what Elena and Roman had been fighting about in an instant.
The moment Danika had woken up, Roman had left her side. He hadn’t discussed or mentioned his reaction to see Danika hurt, instead choosing to ignore all his problems. She was confused–I knew she was confused. The two usually fought like cat and dog, but Roman had been strangely distant. He hadn’t spoken to her in days.
Irritation zapped over Elena’s face as she saw the same things I did. “Do you want me to get you something?” she asked. “Or make something? To help with your sleeping?”
“I’m fine, Lena.” Dani said. She tore her gaze away from Roman and stared down at her plate.
Elena opened her mouth but I shot her a look. She scowled instantly, her expression saying a million things. None of them nice.
Let them figure it out on their own, I warned her with my eyes.
He’s hurting her, she responded.
They’re both hurting.
Elena rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything else on the topic.
25
Konstantin Tarkhanov