Page 50 of Broken Vows (Marital Privileges #4)

Emerson

D espite being born exactly six weeks early, Zoya and Andrik’s daughter weighs a healthy six pounds one ounce. She has a head of adorable dark-blonde locks, a slight cleft chin, and ten perfect little fingers and toes.

I swear I’ve not seen a child as adorable as her in almost a decade. Wynne was smaller at five pounds two ounces, but she had the same fight as Amaliya. They survived the odds, and I am hopeful Amaliya will be the glue that keeps the Dokovics together like Wynne was for me.

I felt like I was drowning those first few weeks of our breakup. Chaperoning my mother to medical appointments and weekly scans gave my life purpose.

As Amaliya wiggles in my arms, I can’t help but marvel at the miracle of life. Her delicate features, her tiny fingers, and the way she nestles into my embrace are all so perfect.

When I glance at Mikhail, my lungs stop accepting air. His loving glance as he watches me hold his niece speaks volumes. It is a look of pride, love, and a hint of longing.

I can’t wait to make him a father someday. The thought fills me with hope and excitement. He will be an amazing father, just as he has been an amazing spouse, uncle, and brother.

“Come, meet your niece,” I say to Mikhail when our eyes lock and hold.

As I gently hand Amaliya, swaddled in soft blankets, to a man who will protect her until his dying breath, a sense of peace washes over me.

This tiny miracle is another symbol of hope and healing for Mikhail’s family.

Considering how things were not that long ago, it is incredible to see the joy and unity this new life has brought.

Only months ago, Zoya would have disappeared off the face of the planet within a minute of finding out she had conceived a daughter. If she were fortunate to have conceived a son, she would have been granted a maximum of five years.

It is insane to consider how many changes Andrik has made to his family’s bigamist ways in the past six months, and it has me hopeful Mikhail will have more understanding for the reason he made the mistake he did.

As I drink in the image of my man of great strength and power swaddling a newborn, I slip my hand into Mikhail’s spare one. He squeezes my hand gently before tilting closer, the miracle of this day not lost on him either.

He only learned of Zoya’s existence last year, so he’s never held a newborn baby girl, much less one related to him by blood.

“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, my praise both for Amaliya and her parents watching our interaction with eagle eyes. I am aware of the cause of their gawk, but Mikhail is clueless. That doesn’t mean he will hide what I mean to him, though.

He nods, his eyes never leaving Amaliya. “She is.” The world’s axis tilts when he lifts his eyes to mine and whispers, “And so are you.”

This is the perfect time to tell him what’s been gnawing at me for the past week, to soothe any possible troubled waters while his niece slumbers peacefully in his arms, but I can’t do it.

Amaliya and her big brother are the bridge that will keep his family connected, but a story can only be written one word at a time. Mikhail will learn the truth one day. It just won’t be during a moment that he’s meant to cherish for eternity.

As we walk toward the exit of Vlotz maternity suite, a smile tugs at my lips. The last time I walked these steps, I did so with my baby sister in a baby carrier, and my first true smile in months spread across my face.

Mikhail’s hand is warm in mine, and I can feel the slight tremor of his grip.

I’m about to ask him what’s got him so nervous, when he blurts out, “Do you want kids, Emmy?” He twists to face me, almost walking backward. “It was on our list for a long time, but it was the only thing we didn’t place a timer on.”

“Because I was a hog.” When he peers at me with crinkled brows, I laugh. “I wanted you to myself. I didn’t want to share.” He stops waggling his brows when I add, “But yeah, I think one day I’d like to have kids.” I graze my lower lip with my teeth, keeping the tension high. “You?”

“With you…” I could kill him for the delay. “Yep.” My heart pounds furiously when he says, “I’ve never had an interest with anyone else, though.”

“So there are no mini-Mikhail lookalikes already running around?”

He laughs, loving my jealous tone before he boinks my nose. “Nope, not yet.” He nudges his head to the maternity ward. “Might be one day soon, though. She’s cute as fuck.”

For the first time in my life, I don’t get jealous about his immediate bond with his niece. I use it to my advantage to guide him toward a softer landing spot for when the truth comes out.

“You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

He nods before saying, “Don’t be jealous, Em. I’d do anything for you too.”

“I know, but it’s different for Amaliya. She’s blood. Nothing is off the table when it comes to blood.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he’s paying too much attention to the groove between my brows to remind me of how horrible he was treated by blood when he was a child. “What is this about? The groove between your brows I’ve not been able to shift for a week is back.”

“I’m just trying to emphasize that sometimes, even if there is a possibility of them being hurt, we do things others may not approve of to protect our blood.”

“It’s almost noon, and I’m running on fumes, Em. You’re gonna need to spell out what you’re trying to tell me.”

I weigh up my options. My deliberation is nowhere near as long as it deserves. It isn’t my fault. This place is full of good memories, and since I want Mikhail to be a part of them, I need him to know the truth.

I’ve not yet told him about Wynne because I’m worried he will piece the puzzle together incorrectly as Andrik and his advisor did. The only way I can avoid that is by telling him what Andrik did before announcing that he isn’t the only one with a baby sister.

“I—”

I’m interrupted by a highly recognized voice. “Emerson, finally. I was starting to think I’d have to deliver my messages in person.”

My mouth dries when Aunt Marcelle joins us in the foyer of the hospital where I spent both the renovation budget for the pub and all its savings on my mother’s prenatal care.

Her pregnancy was high-risk from day one, and she needed the best doctors in the country to make it through the harrowing odds unscathed. A two-hour drive wasn’t ideal, but Wynne is proof that sometimes you get what you pay for.

“Aunt Marcelle, what are you doing here?” My aunt is well past breeding age. She has also never given up her “kids aren’t for me” stance since she was nineteen.

Her rapidly whitening face has me gasping for air.

I can’t catch my breath.

This can’t be good, and my thoughts shift straight to my mother.

“Mom!” I shout, startling the people exiting next to us.

Pushing off my feet, I enter the emergency ward and search the closest cubicles.

Memories of the first time my mother collapsed threaten to stream hot tears down my cheeks.

She was nursing Wynne when she undertook a massive coughing fit.

Like me now, she couldn’t catch her breath.

She fell awkwardly to avoid taking Wynne down with her.

I found her three hours later.

Doctors at our local hospital told her it was just a chest infection. It was only when I saved up enough money to bring her back to Vlotz did we learn the truth.

That means my aunt wouldn’t be here unless it was something urgent. We can’t afford this caliber of health care.

“Mom!” I shout again, my heart aching.

I have no clue how I’m moving. I put one foot in front of the other, my walk guided by the strength of a man shouting to be updated on the location of Inga Morozov.

“Inga Morozov!” Mikhail yells again, startling the desk clerk. “M-O-R-O-Z-O-V.”

He tells me to take a left just as my mother’s head pops out of the curtains of an emergency resuscitation bay three spots up. She looks well. Good, actually. Albeit a little panicked.

I learn why when I dart my eyes to the occupied hospital bed. Wynne is swamped by the oversized bed and plugged into multiple machines. She’s smiling, though. Shockingly.

“It’s okay,” my mother assures me. “She’s okay.

It’s just the tests Doctor Clestonv ordered.

This is the hospital he suggested we attend for additional testing if we could afford the admittance fee.

” I feel the blood rush back to my cheeks when she twists to face Aunt Marcelle.

“I thought you texted her to tell her we’d secured an earlier appointment? ”

“I left my phone at Mikhail’s penthouse,” I say before Aunt Marcelle can speak. “I don’t have it with me.” I pat my flat pockets to prove my claim before walking closer to Wynne, silently seeking the truth from her eyes.

She looks healthy, but I’ve been fooled before.

Even now, my mother still looks as fit as a fox.

“She’s okay, sweetheart. I promise you,” my mother assures again, cozying up behind me. “The doctors think she might have asthma. Her lungs didn’t fully develop before she was born, and the smoky conditions at the pub when I worked throughout her pregnancy made them worse.”

Asthma isn’t a walk in the park, but the diagnosis is better than expected, and I can’t help but sigh in relief.

The air I just released is sucked back in a hurry when the hairs on my nape stand up, my body’s ability to sense its mate even during a crisis still paramount.

Mikhail greets my mother with a relieved smile, but it’s chased away by confusion. Just like me, his eyes snap to the occupied hospital bed.

I see a million thoughts race through his head when he drinks in Wynne’s dark hair, icy-blue eyes, and strikingly gorgeous face. She has the features of a super model, and she’s only ten.

My heart launches into my throat when Mikhail briskly swallows half a second before he pivots on his heels and stalks out of the emergency ward.

This is exactly what I was worried about the past two weeks, and why even after the gala, I’ve kept secret on Andrik’s mistake.