We stop when she runs and clasps Rai in a hug. “Are you okay, Rayenka? I heard what happened and was so worried about you.”
My wife fakes a smile for her grandcousin’s sake, even though she’s been sulking around me. “I’m totally okay, Ana.”
“But Papa said the Albanians got you and took you and…” She trails off, sniffling.
“Anastasia Sokolov, don’t cry for something as trivial as this,” Rai scolds like a loving mother, and the analogy hits me with the image of her carrying her own son or daughter. My son or daughter.
My gaze trails to her stomach, and although it’s flat, the doctor said our child is there. Our. Mine and Rai’s.
Holy fuck. I never thought it would feel this…euphoric. Fascinating, really.
“It’s not trivial,” Anastasia argues. “You were in danger.”
“But I’m not anymore, you crybaby.”
“But you were in the past and you will be in the future.” Something flashes in Anastasia’s gaze, something I never thought a soft, sheltered thing like her would ever show.
Grudge. An angry grudge.
Is that interesting, or what?
Rai pulls her into an affectionate hug. “Don’t worry, Ana. I’ll always be around to protect you.”
“But for how long?” the younger woman murmurs, her gaze on nothing in particular.
“For as long as it takes.” Rai pulls back. “Okay?”
She nods, her gaze sliding toward me, then back to Rai. “I…I want to talk to you about something.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.” She kisses her. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” Then, Anastasia smiles at me. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
“She’s my wife. I would do it any time.” I try to reach for Rai, but she steps away from my reach.
As soon as Anastasia disappears up the stairs, Rai’s smile vanishes.
I suppress my reaction as we head to Sergei’s office so we can give him a report of what happened.
“He will let you know the rest.” She makes a vague gesture in my direction without looking at me. “I’m tired, so I’ll retreat to my room.”
“Of course, of course.” Sergei’s brows furrow. “Take care of yourself and the baby.”
Her lips thin in a line at that. She didn’t have a problem lying about her pregnancy all this time, but now that it’s become true, she’s in the mood to kill me.
She tells Sergei good night and storms out of the office as if hell is on her shoulders.
I contemplate the best way to summarize the situation to him before I join her. There’s no way I’m letting her sleep in that state tonight. It takes me twenty minutes of answering Sergei’s questions before I’ve had enough.
“I don’t think we killed all the Albanians since that’s not their only hideout. Kirill and Adrian will give you a full report come morning.”
I’m about to excuse myself when Sergei cuts off my attempt to flee. “I’m going to need you to carry out a hit.”
“On who?”
“I’ll let you know soon.” He pauses. “Just be ready for it and keep it between the two of us.”
“Got it.” No idea who he’s trying to eliminate, but if he’s keeping it a secret, something is definitely up. I will look into it as soon as he gives me a name. Did they perhaps figure out the identity of the traitor who’s been stealing from them?
The wrinkles ease at his eyes. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving Rai from an atrocious fate.”
Why do he and Anastasia think I did it for them? I only did it for her, and myself by extension.
“There’s no need to thank me. She’s my wife.”
After saying my good nights, I retreat to our room. I stop at the threshold when I spot her sleeping form on the bed. She’s curled up in a ball, which is the last position I would expect Rai to sleep in.
The vulnerability of it doesn’t escape me. She has been through so much today, from the attack to the kidnapping, and she ended the day by finding out about her pregnancy.
Recalling what those fuckers did to her makes me want to go back in time and slice the throat of every last one of those bastards.
If Kirill didn’t catch that guard or if I were a little too late, she wouldn’t be sleeping in our bed like this. I could’ve lost her for fucking good.
A long breath heaves out of my lungs as I shake those thoughts away. It’s over. She’s here, and I’ll make sure nothing like that happens again, even if it means keeping her in my sight at all times.
She certainly won’t like that, though.
The covers slide down her body, revealing her nightgown that rides up her bare thighs. It’s a plain white one, not the red I was promised tonight, but, oh well—I didn’t expect her to wear it after the fiasco in the hospital.
Her hair is slightly damp, which means she took a quick shower.