Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Because he'd already proven it.
The scar on his chest, the one I trace with my fingertips every night before we fall asleep, is a permanent reminder of the bullet he took for me.
Since then, every day with him has felt like a gift.
We spend most of our time in New York. But we make it back to Alaska several times throughout the year. Which Katya loves, of course.
Nikolai and I don’t mention Andrei’s name. I don’t know what happened to him. And I don’t ever want to find out.
I hear Nikolai’s footsteps on the stairs, and my heart does that familiar flip it always does when he's near. A year of marriage, and the man still makes my pulse race like a lovesick teenager.
Probably because he fucked me senseless this morning before breakfast.
And last night.
And the night before that.
Turns out, married life agrees with both of us.
Nikolai rounds the corner, and my breath catches the way it always does. He's wearing dark dress pants and a t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my toes curl.
"There you are, solnyshko," he says, his deep voice rumbling through me like distant thunder.
"Here I am," I reply with a smile.
He crosses the room and settles beside me on the sofa, pulling me into his arms.
He presses a kiss to my temple. "Merry Christmas, my love."
"Merry Christmas."
For a moment, we just sit there in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall and the fire dance. His hand rests on my hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the softness of my sweater.
Tell him.
The thought has been gnawing at me for days. I've known since Monday and keeping it from him has been absolute torture. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to give him this gift on Christmas morning, when we're back in the place where everything began.
Where he kept me captive.
Where he made me fall in love with him.
Where he took a bullet that was meant for me.
"I have something for you," I say, breaking the silence.
"You already gave me something this morning," he says with a grin, referring to our shower together, when I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. “And I have to admit, it’s going to be hard to beat.”
“This is something different entirely,” I say, laughing as I reach for the envelope behind me and hand it to him.
He takes it with a curious lift of his brow. "An envelope?"
"Open it."
I watch his face as he slides his finger beneath the seal and pulls out the small black-and-white image inside. For a moment, he just stares at it, his expression frozen.
"What is this?" he asks slowly.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"Your son."
The words hang in the air between us, electric and alive.
Nikolai's head snaps up, and those ice-blue eyes meet mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "My... son?"
I nod, tears already building in my eyes. "Yes, Nikolai. Your son."
"You're pregnant?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"Almost four months."
His face goes rigid. A muscle ticks in his jaw. And then—oh God, tears well in his eyes, turning that icy blue into something soft and shimmering.
I've seen this man kill without flinching. I've watched him face down enemies with nothing but cold fury in his gaze. But right now, looking at the grainy image of our baby, Nikolai Morozov looks utterly undone.
"I wanted to surprise you. On Christmas. Here." I gesture around the room. "Where it all began."
His gaze softens, and he looks down at the sonogram again, studying it like it holds the secrets of the universe.
"A son," he murmurs, tracing the tiny outline with his fingertip. "We're having a boy."
"We are."
He sets the sonogram down carefully and then cups my face in his large hands. His thumbs brush away my tears as he stares into my eyes with so much love it makes my soul ache.
"Thank you, solnyshko," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Thank you for loving me. For choosing me, even when I gave you every reason not to. For giving me a family." He presses his forehead to mine. "For giving me a son."
"I would choose you a thousand times over," I whisper. "In every life. In every universe. It's always you."
He kisses me then, a deep and desperate kiss that is so full of love it makes my heart dance. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper, and I moan against his mouth.
When we finally break apart, a slow smile spreads across my face.
"Do you remember what we did last Christmas Day?" I ask.
He thinks for a moment, and a wicked gleam enters his eyes. "If I remember rightly, we spent the day in bed. Naked."