Page 28

My second born launches into a retelling of the flight, oblivious to the emotional tension in the atmosphere. I set him on his feet beside his brother before he can begin listing the wonders of the lavatory.

Nanny Olga’s skirts swish as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Zoya shifts closer to Artur.

After introducing my children to my wife and my wife to my children, I greet the nanny and inform her of her travel in a separate vehicle.

I cannot tell if her rigid posture and furrowed brow are from her dissatisfaction or because she always looks that way.

Vilen approaches and gestures for her to follow him to his car.

She hesitates and scowls at each of my children before swishing her way toward the SUV.

“What do we call you?” Artur asks Camilla in thickly accented and stilted English. I narrow my gaze on him, warning him against taking his rebellion too far.

He doubles down and glares right back at me, letting me feel the whole of his rage.

Camilla studies him from top to bottom, glances at me, then steps forward and offers him her hand to shake.

“Hi, my name is Camilla. My friends call me Cams and my new bodyguards call me Mrs. Volkov, but that title is still new to me, so I might not respond to it very well. What do you want to call me?”

Artur eyes her skeptically but takes her hand and shakes with what must be a respectful pressure, since Camilla’s expression remains the same.

“You will not force us to call you Mama?” Maksim asks.

Camilla shifts her gaze down to Maksim’s blond head of hair and offers him a soft smile.

“No, Maksim, I’m not. I hope you will one day, but we just met, so it wouldn’t be right for me to ask that of you. What do you want me to call you?”

His eyes brighten and he bounces on the balls of his feet with a giggle.

“You already did it right!” Camilla tilts her head as though she doesn’t understand. “By my name, of course!”

The lead ball in my chest loosens as my second child accepts Camilla without hesitation. He steps forward and tugs her hand out of Artur’s for his own handshake.

Her genuine smile steals my breath. Artur crosses his arms over his chest and steps aside. Zoya acts as his shadow, shifting along behind him, but she peeks around him, revealing her curiosity.

“I bet that was a long plane ride. Let’s get you guys home so you can rest,” Camilla says.

“Our home is in Russia. We will never belong in America,” Artur snarls.

Camilla takes a deep breath, still shaking Maksim’s hand, and meets Artur’s eyes with unflinching honesty.

“You’re right, Artur. I’m sorry. Russia will be my home soon, too, although I’m not sure I’ll ever belong there.

Lots of big changes for all of us. In fact, I just moved into the place where we’re going, so I’m not even sure why I called it my home.

Probably because my brother is next door,” she says.

Artur lifts a mocking brow. Maksim steps closer to her, his bright blue eyes sparkling with questions.

As the workers roll the stairs away from the plane and begin extending the dock for regular passengers to exit the plane into the airport, I send my soldiers into motion with the flick of my fingers.

“Where did you live before?” Maksim asks.

Reluctant to release him when he still clings to her hand, Camilla guides him to her side and angles her body toward the car. He follows as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, ignoring his brother’s glare and listening to Camilla with rapt attention.

I open Camilla’s door. She guides Maksim inside and motions for him to sit in the booster in the middle of the bench but pauses when Artur stomps up to us.

Camilla rises and turns to address him.

“You’re sitting shotgun,” she says.

He furrows his brows in confusion.

“Front passenger seat,” she clarifies.

His eyes widen, and in his excitement, he rushes halfway around the back of the car, leaving Zoya behind, but catches himself at the edge of the far bumper. Zoya shuffles toward me, at a loss with both of her brothers out of sight.

Artur looks over his shoulder at me. I nod. He continues around the car and jumps into the passenger seat as though afraid Camilla will change her mind.

Camilla steps around Zoya, putting her body between my daughter and the rest of the world as luggage carts roll by, and bends down as much as her injuries will allow.

“Hi, Zoya. It’s nice to meet you. Let’s get you to your seat, okay?”

When Zoya leans away from her, Camilla’s sad smile holds a note of understanding.

“You’ll be sitting next to Maksim. Is that okay?”

With a hesitant nod, Zoya shuffles toward the back of the car. Camilla stands and walks beside her with her arms at her sides, letting Zoya move at her own pace.

Halfway around the trunk, Zoya sneaks her tiny hand up and wraps her fist around Camilla’s pinky finger.

Emotions clog my throat. I follow behind them, ensuring no one attacks the most precious ladies in my life while they’re out in the open.

Camilla opens the door and seems uncertain for a moment.

“Can I pick you up or do you want to climb in yourself?” she asks.

I pause. Has anyone ever asked Zoya’s permission before they touched her or spoken to her as though she has a right to her own opinions?

Zoya was only two when she lost her mother.

She must have been so lost, especially since her brothers kept scaring away her nannies.

She never had time to trust another adult again, but toddlers require so much physical interaction.

It’s no wonder she sucks her thumb and clings to her stuffed animal.

My daughter stares up at my wife with heartbreakingly beautiful eyes.

Is Camilla the first person to show her respect?

My heart aches.

When Zoya releases Camilla’s finger and offers her the stuffed animal she holds most dear, Maksim freezes with his hand on the center console vent and stares in shock.

Camilla takes the stuffed animal and settles it in the crook of her arm as though it’s a baby and stoops down to catch Zoya in case she slips.

Maksim taps Artur on the shoulder and gestures toward Camilla. When Artur cranes his neck and looks around the back of his seat, his scowl morphs into an expression of surprise.

My daughter grabs the edge of her seat and lifts her foot onto the wheel well and tries to hoist herself up but nearly loses her balance. Camilla settles her hand on her back and saves her from meeting the concrete.

“Maybe if you take your thumb out of your mouth? Just to climb up,” Camilla says.

To my shock, Zoya follows her suggestion and climbs into her seat with growing confidence.

Camilla praises her, leans into the car, and lifts the strap near the hand Zoya usually sucks the thumb of.

My daughter threads her arm through and repeats the motion on the other side without prompting.

As Zoya sticks her thumb back in her mouth, Camilla places the stuffed animal in her lap and fastens the buckle with only a little fumbling.

After tightening the straps and checking Zoya’s comfort and safety, Camilla braces her hands on the side of the car seat and smiles down at my daughter.

“We did it! Thank you for making my first time so easy. You did such a good job climbing in. Want to try climbing out when we get there?”

Artur’s eyes widen impossibly further as Zoya releases her stuffy, pats the back of Camilla’s hand, and nods. He huffs and plops back into his seat while mumbling in Russian about traitorous siblings.

Zoya wraps her arm back around her doll. Maksim bounces in his seat and begins a stream of excited words, unconsciously reverting to Russian as he praises his sister.

Camilla winces as she rises, and she limps her first few steps, but before she reaches her door, she evens out her stride.

I can’t resist, even though I promised to keep my hands off her. Despite my children’s innocent eyes watching, I duck into the car and caress her face.

Camilla performed a miracle, as I knew she would.

The first time she met my children, my wife not only captured my rambunctious second born’s devotion, but she also earned my daughter’s trust.

She gave Zoya the respect I failed to, and in doing so, earned the privilege of holding my daughter’s most treasured stuffed animal and the rare treat of seeing her without her thumb in her mouth.

Now all she has left to do is earn my firstborn’s heart. It may seem impossible with Artur’s stubborn will and wounded soul, but I know moya so?lnyshka will find success.

She is too resilient not to.

My children must prepare themselves, and our enemies must brace themselves, because as I grow to love my wife more, my need for revenge also multiplies.

They will pray for death.

I will grant it.

Slowly and brutally.

I will relish every moment.