He must not mind that because he leans forward and kisses me with such hunger I’m certain he’s going to fuck me right then and there. But he pulls back and smiles at me instead, cradling my face in his big palm. “Good morning, zaychik. How are you feeling?”
Like this marriage thing might not be so bad. “I’m good,” I say, smiling back. It’s only been a day, but it’s already hard to recall why I got so freaked out when he proposed. Like Alina said, this is pretty much the dream nurtured by every fairy tale: a gorgeous, wealthy husband who’s crazy about you.
Granted, Nikolai is closer to the Prince of Darkness than Prince Charming, but pretty much all of the terrible things he’s done—or planned to do—were to protect me.
Except the bit with his father.
The unsettling words whisper through my mind, but I push them away. I don’t want to think about that this morning. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for everything, and soon, I’ll learn what it is.
For now, I want to enjoy the first married morning of my life with the man who’s looking at me like I’m made of chocolate and starlight.
* * *
And enjoy it I do. We shower together, an activity that results in a prolonged, steamy—literally, because the stall is steamed up—lovemaking session, during which Nikolai eats me out as if I were his breakfast and makes me come three times in a row before pinning me against the glass and fucking me so hard I scream his name.
I guess he’s decided that taking me just once last night was enough to heal my soreness—and he’s right. Of course I’m a little sore after this session but so satisfied it’s worth it.
Afterward, Nikolai decides we need actual breakfast, so Lyudmila brings us a tray of fruit and leftovers from last night, along with tea and coffee, and we feed each other in bed. Or rather, Nikolai feeds me and I try to reciprocate—only he grabs the fork from me and kisses me until I forget all about what I was going to do. Some honey comes into play as well, and next thing I know, I need another shower and am decidedly more sore.
By the time we finally emerge from our bedroom, it’s almost lunchtime, and as we head toward the stairs, Slava runs out of his room, Lyudmila on his heels.
“Mama Chloe!” His tiger-cub eyes are shining as he throws his short arms around my legs and squeezes tight before switching his attentions to Nikolai. Hugging his legs, he looks up at him. “Papa! I miss you and Chloe!”
At the look on Nikolai’s face, I melt. There’s no other word for it. Instead of a muscle with life-sustaining functions, my heart turns into a gooey puddle, and the rest of me follows suit.
Bending down, Nikolai picks up his son and perches him on his hip with natural-seeming ease. “Slavochka…” His voice is strained as he gazes into the child’s face. “We’ve missed you too.”
Lyudmila’s eyes meet mine, and I see my feelings reflected on her normally impassive face. Clearing her throat, she says with a thicker-than-usual accent, “I go help Pavel, okay?” and hurries downstairs.
We follow her at a leisurely pace, with Nikolai carrying Slava on his hip as if he were a toddler. The boy seems glad to be there, though, and I can’t blame him.
He’s missed out on this for the first four years of his life.
As we join Alina at the table, I can’t stop smiling—and she notices.
“Fun night?” she whispers to me slyly while Nikolai is busy filling Slava’s plate.
I nod, flushing, and she laughs, causing Slava and Nikolai to look at us askance.
My joyous mood must be infectious—that or everyone is still in a celebratory mode—because the lunch proceeds without any of the usual tension between the siblings. Instead, Nikolai and Alina team up to tell me amusing stories about Russia, everything from how Americans are viewed over there to their family’s tradition of wintertime dips in frozen lakes.
“That’s horrible,” I exclaim when Alina describes how she almost lost a toe to frostbite by walking barefoot across the ice when she was seven. “What were your parents thinking?”
I realize my mistake as soon as the words are out—the last thing I want is to remind them about their father—but to my relief, Alina doesn’t bat an eye. “Oh, that wasn’t our parents’ idea. Our grandmother was the one who believed that cold exposure is good for the body and the soul. And you know what? The latest science confirms it. Same goes for saunas, another Russian staple. They’re apparently exercise mimetics, and heat shock proteins released during those sweating sessions do everything from improving heart health to preventing cancer. So if you want to live a long, healthy life, you should partake in both ice baths and saunas—and ideally, both together.”