Page 82 of The Mafia's Septuplets
27
Willa
After a quick check from the doctor that was part of Iskander’s “freelance” team cleared me to wait for a more extensive check-up, we came home. I’ve been here for almost two hours now, and Dr. Layton arrived an hour ago via some power of persuasion Iskander employed. He didn’t share the details, but she doesn’t seem fearful or resentful, so I assume he used honey rather than vinegar—or threats of violence—to get her to make a house call.
The estate’s medical suite is quiet as Dr. Layton carefully removes the heplock attached to the now-empty saline bag that had been feeding fluids into my dehydrated system. A squirt of blood accompanies the removal of the IV, but she quickly covers it with gauze and wraps a bandage around the spot. Iskander hasn’t left my side since we returned from the compound, and he holds my hand while monitors track my blood pressure and the babies’ heartbeats.
“Your blood pressure is still elevated but stable now that you’re not stressed and have been rehydrated,” Dr. Layton says after reviewing my latest readings. “The stress response was significant, but you and the babies weathered it remarkably well. Get some much-needed sleep, and I want to see you again in three days. Sooner if things get worse.”
Iskander nods while studying the monitor displaying seven distinct heartbeats, and each one represents a small miracle after everything we’ve endured. His relief is written across features that still carry tension from hours of imagining the worst possible outcomes.
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand as Dr. Layton packs her equipment. “I feel much better already.”
“Adrenaline can mask exhaustion and dehydration for hours.” She gives me a stern look. “Your body needs time to recover from the trauma, even if your mind feels ready to move forward.”
After she leaves, silence settles between us like a protective blanket as we leave the medical suite to return to Iskander’s room. The familiar comfort of our bedroom feels surreal but soothing after the basement’s concrete walls and harsh lighting.
“I keep thinking about how close we came to losing everything.” Iskander’s voice carries exhaustion that goes beyond physical fatigue. “How easily Mikhail could have succeeded if you hadn’t been brave enough to create that opening.”
“We’re here now.” I reach up to touch his face, noting the shallow cut along his jaw from our final confrontation. There’s a bandage on his shoulder put in place by one of the medical team at the fortress while I was getting checked over, but those are the only visible reminders of what happened. Bruises will likelybloom soon though. “We’re safe, the babies are safe, and Mikhail can never threaten us again.”
He turns his head to press a kiss against my palm, and something in his expression shifts from relief to a deeper emotion that makes my pulse speed up despite the IV fluids flowing through my system.
“Willa.” His voice drops to something approaching reverence. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning, about partnership and commitment and building the future you deserve.”
The morning feels like weeks ago instead of hours, and our argument about priorities and presence has been overshadowed by kidnapping and violence that put everything into stark perspective. “We both said things for which we need to apologize.”
“No apologies.” He stands and moves to the nightstand, retrieving something from the drawer. “Just honesty about what I want our future to look like.”
The ring box in his hands is simple black velvet, elegant in its understated design. Inside, a solitaire diamond catches the lamplight with brilliance that seems to hold captured starlight within its faceted depths.
“Marry me.” The words emerge with certainty that brooks no hesitation. “Not because of the babies or the danger we’ve faced, but because I can’t imagine building any future that doesn’t include you as my partner in everything. I’ve waited too long to say it, but I love you.”
Tears blur my vision as he drops to one knee beside the bed. This isn’t the proposal I might have imagined, but it’s perfect for the reality we’ve created together.
“I promise you honesty about my world and my choices.” He sounds like he’s speaking his vows right this moment. “I promise you partnership in every decision that affects our family, and a future where love matters more than legacy.”
The ring is a perfect fit when he slides it on my finger, as if it was designed specifically for this moment and this choice. The diamond’s weight feels substantial against my skin, a symbol of promises being made and accepted. “Yes.” The word emerges through tears and laughter from relief that we’re both alive to make this choice. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”
He rises to kiss me with careful tenderness that acknowledges my physical fragility while conveying emotional depth that takes my breath away. This kiss tastes like the future we’re choosing to build together despite everything that’s tried to tear us apart.
“I love you.” I pull back to meet his gaze directly. “I love you, and I understand you, and I want to spend the rest of my life figuring out how to balance the darkness with the light.”
“The rest of our lives.” He settles onto the bed beside me. “Starting right now.”
The engagement ring catches lamplight as I trace the planes of his face, memorizing details that could have been lost forever if Mikhail’s plan had succeeded. His jaw carries stubble that rasps against my fingertips, but his eyes hold warmth that makes everything else fade into irrelevance. “Make love to me?”
He seems surprised. “Are you sure you’re strong enough for that?” His concern carries genuine worry about my physical condition. “Dr. Layton said to rest.”
“I’m sure I need this.” I guide his hand to rest against my belly. “I need to feel alive and connected to you. I need to celebrate that we survived.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, with growing passion that ignites despite exhaustion and trauma and medical equipment. He strokes my body, tracing my curves and touching me with so much tenderness it makes tears sting my eyes again.
I help him remove my clothes with movements made clumsy from lingering stiffness after being confined to the chair earlier, but his patience transforms awkwardness into intimacy. Each revealed inch of skin receives attention from his lips and hands in worship disguised as seduction.
“So beautiful.” He traces the gentle swell of my belly with fingertips that barely disturb the surface. “I love how you look like this, carrying our children and growing our future inside you.”
The possessive note in his voice sends heat coursing through my system. I reach for his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin while celebrating the fact that we’re both here and whole, choosing each other.