Page 107 of Under His Control

He won’t admit it hurts, but I know it does.

I catch him glancing toward the balcony as I finish stacking plates. “You okay?” I ask.

He looks over and forces a small smile. “You always know.”

“Because I love you, and because you keep sighing like a character out of a Victorian novel.”

That earns me a faint laugh. He comes over and places his hands on my belly—an eight-month swell now, round and proud beneath my tank top. “You’re nesting again. Don’t forget that this is your brother’s place now.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t painted the walls lavender and hot pink.”

Before he can answer, Chris walks in again, this time balancing a pizza box on one hand and two bottles of sparkling water under the other arm.

“Pizza’s here.” He sets the box down on the kitchen bar and flips the top open, revealing a particularly gooey-looking pepperoni pizza.

I gasp. “Is that cheese stuffed crust?”

“Hell, yeah. It’s dairy, so basically a health food,” he says with a smirk, setting everything on the counter. “I figured you needed comfort food after watching old man billionaire here try to figure out how to carry boxes without spraining something.”

“Old man billionaire is standing right here,” Anatoly says dryly, reaching for a bottle.

“And still terrifying,” Chris mutters with a grin.

We eat at the bar.

After a few more boxes are brought up and a little more unpacking, Chris excuses himself to shower, which gives me and Anatoly a rare moment of quiet. I lean against him, my cheek pressed to his shoulder, and we watch the last bits of sunset turn the sky into streaks of apricot and indigo.

“I never thought I’d see him like this,” I say softly.

“Whole?” he asks.

“Trying.”

Anatoly nods. “You gave him that.”

“I didn’t give him anything. He fought for it.”

“You showed him it was worth fighting for.”

I smile, letting that sit for a moment.

I turn and look up at him. “Do you miss him?”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Doesn’t dodge.

He just nods.

“Every day,” he admits. “In spite of everything, he was—is—my brother.”

I wrap my arms around his middle. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “He made his choice. I’ll live with mine.”

That’s the thing about Anatoly. He doesn’t chase people. He lets them go—even when it breaks him. And God, I wish I could hate Damas for what he did, but part of me just feels... tired. Tired of carrying all this anger when I’ve got a whole future growing inside me.

So I focus on the man who stayed.

The man who chose me.