Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I smile, tipping my head up to look at him. “You? The great and powerful pakhan is surprised by domestic bliss?”
He smirks. “Careful. That sounds dangerously close to teasing your husband.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, yet the warmth in his expression softens every hard edge. It reminds me of the day we got married.
It’s been three years since we stood on the Amalfi Coast, surrounded by our families, the ocean behind us and a lifetime ahead. The sun slid toward the horizon as we spoke our vows, gilding the water until it gleamed like blown glass. My dress blew in the breeze, and Sergei looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
It’s one of my favorite memories. That day marked the beginning of a new chapter, not just as husband and wife, but as partners, truly and fully. He promised me forever, and every single day since, he’s kept that promise.
“Any updates on work?” I ask gently, even though I already know the answer. He’s still the pakhan, and I’ve long since made peace with that. I never asked him to change for me. I just asked for honesty. And he gave me exactly that—every unvarnished piece of himself.
“It’s been another quiet week,” he says, his voice calm. “Deals have successfully been closed. Everyone’s staying in their lane.”
“Good.” I pause. “You know I always worry.”
He nods, brushing his knuckles along my jaw.
“I know. But you don’t have to. Not now. I’ve got good people in place. And more importantly, I’ve got something worth staying alive for.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I glance back out to where Anya has collapsed in the grass, laughing up at the sky. The sun catches her face, her dimples, the little gap between her front teeth.
She’s pure magic.
“I never thought I’d be this person,” I admit quietly. “I used to think I had to choose between a life I loved and being a mother.”
“You don’t have to choose,” he says simply. “You’re both. You’re incredible at both.”
After Anya was born, I stayed home, soaking up every second of motherhood. But over time, I found myself missing the work I loved, helping people, offering care, and making a difference. Sergei helped me launch a home-care service that lets me do both.
I visit patients in their homes now, mostly elderly or recovering patients who need a nurse and a warm presence. It’s fulfilling, and it fits into the life we’ve built. Anya stays with her grandmother when I’m out. Liliya’s health has completely rebounded, and she’s become the most doting, protective babushka in the world.
Sergei and I host Sunday dinners now. Every week, no matter what. His family, my family, Mia, and her new boyfriend, who works in finance and blushes every time she flirts with him in front of us. We cook together, laugh, drink wine, and sit around the long table in our dining room. The house hums with warmth and joy.
“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have,” I whisper. “Not just the house or the business or even Anya and Nikolai. You gave me the freedom to be myself. The safety to have a life I never could have even dreamed of.”
Sergei turns toward me, cupping my cheek with one large, warm hand. “You deserve it all, Nicole. And you’ve worked hard to achieve it. I just got lucky enough to be the man who gets to see it every day.”
My heart swells, and I lean into his touch. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He smiles. “More every day.”
Anya runs back over to us and climbs into my lap, still giggling as she wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Mama! I made a bubble this big!” She spreads her arms wide, her eyes huge with excitement.
“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” I say, kissing her head.
“Papa, did you see?”
“I saw, my dove,” Sergei says, lifting her from my lap and cradling her against his chest. “I think that was a world record.”
Anya beams, always pleased to be the center of Sergei’s attention. Sergei looks at me over her head, something soft and wonderstruck in his gaze.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve any of this,” he murmurs.
I rest my hand over his. “Whatever it was, I’m glad you did.”
We sit there for a while longer, the three of us tangled together under the fading sun, our world small and perfect. But the peace doesn’t last very long. We hear the back door open, and footsteps on the patio.
“The rest of the family will be here soon,” Liliya calls out, Nikolai cooing in her arms. “You’d all better get washed up for dinner.”
Sergei turns to her, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Of course, Mom,” he responds, ever the dutiful son. “We’ll just go get ready and be right down.”