Page 25

The days blur into a rhythm, each one marked by the quiet preparations for a life that hasn’t yet arrived but already feels like the center of my world. I spend my time folding and refolding tiny clothes, running my hands over soft blankets, and arranging the nursery that Makar insisted on setting up weeks ago.

The room smells faintly of fresh paint, the soft cream walls illuminated by the golden glow of a small lamp. It’s cozy, inviting—a far cry from the coldness I first felt in this house. As I sit in the rocking chair Makar had delivered without a word, smoothing my hand over my belly, I can’t help but feel a mix of hope and trepidation.

Motherhood feels impossibly big, as though I’m standing at the edge of a vast ocean with no idea how to swim. Yet, every flutter, every kick from the baby inside me reassures me that I’ll find a way.

A faint knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to see Makar standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted by the hall light. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes soften slightly as they drift to my belly.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks, his voice low.

“No,” I say, gesturing for him to come in.

He steps into the room, his gaze sweeping over the carefully arranged furniture and the soft toys stacked neatly on a shelf. “You’ve been busy.”

“I want everything to be ready,” I reply, brushing my hand over the armrest of the rocking chair.

Makar nods, moving to stand beside the crib. He runs a hand over the edge of the wood, his movements uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s… nice,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter than usual.

I smile faintly, watching him. “You’re allowed to say it’s beautiful, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “It’s practical.”

“Of course it is,” I say, chuckling softly. “Everything in this house has to be practical.”

His lips twitch as though he’s suppressing a smile, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns to look at me, his blue eyes sharp but not cold.

“You’re worried,” he says, not as a question but as a statement.

I sigh, leaning back in the chair. “I’m terrified,” I admit, my voice trembling slightly. “There’s so much I don’t know—about being a mother, about raising a child, about… all of this.”

Makar steps closer, his hands slipping into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one carrying a tiny human inside you.”

His gaze drops to my belly, and for a moment, his expression softens into something almost vulnerable. “No,” he says quietly. “I’ll be the one protecting both of you.”

The weight of his words settles over me, a quiet reassurance that warms something deep inside my chest.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice softer now. “Do you ever worry?”

Makar doesn’t answer immediately. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but his gaze serious. “I’ve spent my whole life worrying about threats,” he says finally. “About keeping control, about making sure no one can hurt what’s mine.”

I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “Now?”

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine. “Now, I realize I’ve never had anything worth losing until now.”

The honesty in his voice takes my breath away. For a moment, I don’t know what to say, my throat tightening with emotion.

“Makar,” I whisper, my hand instinctively moving to my belly.

He reaches out, his hand covering mine where it rests. His grip is warm and steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

“You’re not alone in this,” he says, his voice firm but kind. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here.”

I nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. “I know.”

We sit in silence for a while, the soft creak of the rocking chair the only sound in the room. It’s a rare, peaceful moment—one where the weight of our pasts and the uncertainty of our future feel a little lighter.

As I glance at Makar, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it, I realize that for all his coldness and control, he’s trying. He’s learning to let me in.

The silence between us stretches, not uncomfortable but weighted with something unspoken. Makar’s hand is still over mine, the warmth of his touch grounding me as we sit together in the nursery. His gaze drifts back to the crib, but his expression isn’t cold or detached as it usually is. There’s something softer there, something more vulnerable.

I take a deep breath, letting the quiet settle into my chest. “You’re thinking about something,” I say, breaking the silence gently.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening slightly as though he’s debating whether or not to answer.

“I’m always thinking about something,” he replies finally, his voice low but carrying the weight of honesty.

I tilt my head, studying him. “What is it?”

Makar looks at me then, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “You,” he says simply. “The baby, how much things have changed since you came into my life.”

His words hang in the air, and my heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to continue.

“I didn’t want this,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Any of it. Not at first. I didn’t want a wife. I didn’t want a child. I didn’t want to feel… anything.”

I stay silent, sensing that he needs to get this out.

“But now….” He trails off, his gaze dropping to where our hands are joined. His thumb brushes lightly against my knuckles, and when he looks up again, his eyes are filled with a raw vulnerability that takes my breath away. “Now, I can’t imagine my life without you. Without both of you.”

The confession is like a crack in his armor, and I feel tears well up in my eyes at the sheer sincerity in his voice.

“Makar,” I whisper, my throat tightening with emotion.

“I care about you, Hannah,” he continues, his voice rough but steady. “More than I ever expected. More than I wanted to.”

The words are like a balm to my heart, and before I can stop myself, I lean forward, cupping his face in my hands. “I care about you too,” I say, my voice trembling. “I love you, Makar. I have for a while now.”

“I think I love you too.”

The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and he leans in, closing the distance between us. The kiss is soft at first, a gentle meeting of lips that feels more meaningful than any kiss we’ve shared before. As the seconds pass, it deepens, his hands moving to my waist as he pulls me closer.

He scoops me up in his thick, muscular arms and I all but melt into him, arousal pooling between my thighs.

I lose myself in him, in the warmth of his touch and the steady strength of his presence. It’s a kiss filled with unspoken promises, a moment that feels like a turning point for both of us.

When we finally pull apart, my head feels light, my balance wobbling slightly as I lean back.

“Hannah,” Makar says sharply, his hands moving to steady me. “Be careful.”

I laugh softly, clutching his arms for support. “I’m fine. Don’t start lecturing me now.”

He glares at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You can’t just throw yourself around like that,” he mutters. “What if you fell?”

“Then you’d catch me,” I tease, smiling up at him.

He shakes his head, but his lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “Some things never change.”

“Nope,” I reply, grinning.

He helps me back into the rocking chair, making sure I’m steady before letting go. His gaze drifts back to the nursery, and I watch as his expression softens slightly.

“Since you’re here,” I say, gesturing to the decorations still waiting to be hung, “you might as well help me finish setting up.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re putting me to work now?”

“Yes,” I say, giving him a mock-serious look. “Consider it practice for when the baby gets here.”

Makar sighs dramatically but moves to pick up one of the mobiles waiting on the dresser. “Where does this go?”

I point to the hook above the crib, watching as he carefully attaches it. His movements are precise, and I can’t help but smile as he steps back to admire his work.

“You’re pretty good at this,” I say, teasing.

“Don’t push your luck,” he replies, though his tone is lighter than usual.

We continue working together, him holding up decorations while I direct him on where to place them. Occasionally, he grumbles about the effort, but I catch him smiling more than once, his fondness slipping through despite his attempts to hide it.

When the last decoration is in place, I sit back, admiring the finished nursery. “It’s perfect,” I say softly, my hand resting on my belly.

Makar glances around, his arms crossed as he takes it in. “It’ll do,” he says, but there’s pride in his voice.

I smile, leaning my head against the back of the chair. “Thank you, Makar.”

He looks at me, his expression softening again. “Anything for you,” he says quietly, and for the first time, I believe him completely.

Makar straightens up from where he’d just adjusted a tiny stuffed elephant on the dresser, his sharp, tailored shirt looking almost comically out of place in the cozy nursery. I can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him standing amidst the pale pastel colors and soft toys.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, turning to look at me with a raised brow.

“You,” I say, grinning. “I never thought I’d see the big bad Makar Sharov fussing over stuffed animals.”

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. “Fussing is an exaggeration. I was making sure the elephant wasn’t crooked.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Unbelievable.”

“We’ve been at this for hours. Haven’t you had enough of telling me what to do?”

“Not even close,” I tease, leaning back in the rocking chair with a contented sigh.

His smirk deepens, and he crosses the room to stand in front of me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed bossing me around.”

I grin up at him, unrepentant. “Maybe a little.”

He leans down, bracing his hands on the armrests of the chair and bringing his face close to mine. His voice drops to a low murmur. “Careful, Hannah. You might start thinking you have control here.”

I arch a brow, tilting my head slightly. “What if I do?”

His smirk softens into something more genuine, and for a moment, he just looks at me, his blue eyes warm with a fondness that sends a flutter through my chest.

“You’re starving,” he says abruptly, straightening up.

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. “What?”

“Dinner,” he clarifies, already moving toward the door. “It’s late, and you need to eat.”

He’s not wrong. The pangs of hunger have been gnawing at me for a while, but I was too absorbed in finishing the nursery to pay attention.

“Dinner sounds amazing,” I admit, standing slowly.

“Come on,” he says, holding the door open for me.

I follow him out into the hallway, the soft light of the nursery spilling out behind us. But just as I step past him, Makar’s hand catches mine, stopping me mid-step.

“Hannah.”

The way he says my name makes me turn immediately, my gaze locking with his. His expression is serious, his jaw tight as though he’s wrestling with something difficult to say.

“When I said ‘anything for you,’” he begins, his voice low and measured, “I meant it.”

I swallow hard, the intensity of his tone catching me off guard. “I know, Makar.”

“No,” he says firmly, his hand tightening around mine. “I don’t think you do. I haven’t always… been kind to you.”

I shake my head, opening my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.

“Let me finish,” he says, his voice softening. “I haven’t been kind, and I’ve made choices that hurt you. I need you to know that I do want you to be happy—with me. I want us to build something real. For you, for the baby… for us.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice makes my chest tighten, and I reach up, placing a hand on his cheek. “Makar,” I say softly, “I believe you, and I want that too.”

He leans into my touch slightly, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he straightens up, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips.

“Good,” he says simply, his voice steadier now.

“Good,” I echo, smiling back at him.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering just long enough to make my heart race. Then he steps back, his hand still resting lightly on my waist as he guides me toward the stairs.

***

In the kitchen, Makar moves with surprising ease, pulling out ingredients from the fridge while I sit at the counter, watching him.

“Do you even know how to cook anything that isn’t breakfast?” I ask, grinning as he starts chopping vegetables with precise, practiced movements.

“I don’t always rely on chefs and takeout,” he replies, glancing at me with an amused glint in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” I tease, propping my chin on my hand.

He shakes his head, muttering something in Russian under his breath, but there’s a faint smile on his lips as he continues working.

The smell of garlic and onions fills the air, and my stomach growls loudly enough to make him pause.

“Impatient,” he says, smiling.

“Starving,” I correct, giving him a pointed look.

“Almost done,” he promises, setting a pan on the stove.

True to his word, it doesn’t take long before he sets a plate of steaming pasta in front of me. I take a bite, closing my eyes as the rich flavors hit my tongue.

“This is amazing,” I say, grinning at him.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replies, taking a seat across from me.

We eat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around us like a warm blanket. Every so often, I catch him watching me, his expression soft and unreadable.

The quiet stretches between us, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against the plates. Makar eats methodically, his movements precise, his focus seemingly on his food. Yet every so often, I catch his eyes on me, their intensity softened by something unspoken.

“You’re staring again,” I tease lightly, taking another bite of the pasta.

“You’re imagining things,” he counters smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“Or you’re terrible at minding your own business,” he replies, his tone carrying just enough warmth to make it clear he’s teasing.

We lapse back into silence, the comfortable kind that doesn’t demand filling. I twirl my fork in the pasta, the weight of the day starting to lift. Yet, there’s something lingering on my mind, a question I’ve been hesitant to ask.

“Makar?” I say finally, my voice quieter now.

He looks up from his plate, his blue eyes locking on mine. “What is it?”

I set my fork down, brushing a hand over my belly. “I’ve been thinking about names,” I admit.

His brow lifts slightly, his expression curious. “Oh?”

“For the baby,” I continue, glancing at him nervously. “I know we said we’d wait until they’re born, but… if it’s a boy—” I hesitate, biting my lip.

“Go on,” he says, his tone gentle but urging.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “If it’s a boy, I thought maybe we could name him Anatoly.”

The name hangs in the air, heavy with meaning. For a moment, Makar doesn’t respond, his expression brightening. His fork hovers just above his plate before he sets it down carefully.

“Anatoly,” he repeats, his voice low.

I nod, my fingers twisting together in my lap. “I know it’s your brother’s name,” I say softly. “I just thought… it might be nice. To honor him, but if you don’t want to—”

He cuts me off with a slight shake of his head. “It’s not that,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “It’s a good name.”

I search his face, trying to decipher the emotions flickering behind his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, though there’s a faint hesitation in his tone. “It’s… fitting.”

I can tell there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he picks up his glass, taking a slow sip as though to steady himself.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice softer now.

“For what?”

“For thinking of him,” he replies, meeting my gaze.

His words are simple, but they carry a weight that makes my chest tighten. I smile faintly, reaching across the table to touch his hand.

“I wish I could have met him. He’ll always be part of your family,” I say gently. “Now, part of ours.”

Makar doesn’t respond, but the faint nod he gives me and the way his fingers briefly tighten around mine tell me everything I need to know.