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I reach for the glass again, instinctively, but it’s empty. I blink at it like it betrayed me and glance over at him.
He just shrugs. “I was thirsty. And now I’m asking—is Isabella okay?”
When I said I wanted an heir, it was to spite Marco. It was about control, power, and leverage. I didn’t think I’d get attached to the reality—that it would feel like the world has shifted under my feet, making my chest pound so hard it feels like it might explode.
Leo’s fingers snap in front of my face. “Roman?”
“She’s pregnant,” I finally say.
He blinks. “Who’s—wait. Isabella’s pregnant?” His mouth hangs open for a moment before the shock smooths into something like acceptance, maybe even amusement. “Well, she is your wife. It’s not exactly breaking news.”
He adds, “But I see what you mean. At first, it was just a plan. You were detached, you didn’t care about how it would happen, just that you wanted it to happen. Now…” He gives me a meaningful look. “You feel something for her. You care for Isabella more than you ever thought you would.”
Yes. I do.But I never knew that caring for someone came with this type of fear.
I feel Leo’s hand on my shoulder. “You might not believe me, but I know you’ll be a great dad. You didn’t have the best role model, but Isabella’s had it worse, and I know she will be a good mother too. So, maybe trust yourself more?”
He moves to leave. “I need to get going now—some things I have to check out—but you should spend more time here. With her. It’s not a crime to be in love, Roman Volkov. If anything…” Heshoots me a smile by the kitchen door. “I think it looks good on you.”
I never felt the need for my father to be a better dad. He did right when it came to the things he thought mattered—showing me the ropes, teaching me how to read people and deal with difficult situations.
He spent his years training me to take over from him.
But with Isabella, Iwantthings to be different. She makes me yearn for something more—like looking into our baby’s face and seeing her smile.
It’s not a crime to be in love.
It’s not love. No. It’s far from indifference and being tolerant, though.
My fingers reach for the empty glass again, and I sigh when I remember it’s empty. The sound of the tap running as I take it to the sink is the only thing louder than my thoughts.
After returning it, I walk out of the kitchen quietly.
“Polina—”I find the housekeeper in the kitchen the next morning, making breakfast. Isabella is nowhere to be found, though. “Where’s my wife?”
She takes a break from the stove, gesturing vaguely at the door. “She’s getting ready to go to the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
Polina nods. “Yeah.” Then she gives me a look, like I’m supposed to be privy to the information, not her.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I turn, heading for the stairs. When I reach her door, I pause with my fist raised, taking a deep breath before knocking.
“Polina,” Isabella calls out from inside. “I’m really not hungry. I’ll eat when I come back. Thank you!” She sounds chirpy, like she didn’t spend the entire night in thought.
The way I did.
Do I walk away?The door opens before I can decide, and Isabella appears, looking a little frazzled. “I knew it.”
“You knew it?” I echo. Her hand is on the doorknob, and her body’s blocking most of the open space, so I can’t see what’s happening in the room, but it looks like she just ran a marathon.
Isabella nods. “Yeah. Despite what I said, Polina would’ve walked in because she’s very strict with meals. When the door didn’t open and I didn’t hear anything, I knew it was you.”
I hear her words, but I’m too focused on the strands of hair glued to her forehead from sweat…and the outline of her nipples showing through her camisole.
“Roman?”
I blink, refocusing. “Polina said you’re going to the hospital?”