“Thank you for coming! Enjoy your books!”
I send the customer off with sing-song gratitude because I’m just so happy. They walk past the balloons tethered outside and the windows Katie decorated with glass chalk in colorful patterns and swirls.
“I can’t believe this!” Marco walks up to the counter, gazing around the bookstore at people who squeeze past one another to look at books, read them, buy them, or talk about them. The air is festive, buzzing with excitement and low chatter. “I’ve never seen this many people in here before.”
“Icanbelieve it.” I nudge his shoulder, grinning up at him. “You worked hard for this.”
This was Marco’s senior project, to take a business and dream up a refresh for the business model and marketing. Except my brother did more than write it up on paper. He even graduatedas valedictorian for the work he’d put into the family bookstore and the way he turned it around.
And now we’re here at the grand reopening.
“I’m proud of you.” I nudge Marco again, and color spreads from his cheeks to his ears, much to my delight. “You did all of this.”
“Evgeny helped,” my brother mutters, uncomfortable with the praise.
An extra stroke of genius, yes. Evgeny offered some of the Kucherov books and a Fabergé egg from his collection as a display to lure even more people in. Hands off, of course, but the display drew a circle two people deep around it, despite the tattooed, unsmiling Bratva member standing guard.
The library and the safe room in Evgeny’s office are the two things that did not burn down, because my husband had made both rooms fireproof to protect what was most precious to him.
They were most precious to him then, anyway.
His priorities have shifted to the two little squishes snuggled and asleep in their carriers behind the counter, Jordan and Eliana, named after my brother and as a nod to both my mother and Evgeny’s mother.
The twins’ sleep schedules are finally evening out, and I’ve been jumping for joy. We were told it was normal for babies born early, as the twins were, at thirty-six weeks, to have trouble sleeping. That knowledge doesn’t make the sleepless nights or the hours trying to get them to nap any easier. And I have more help than most, with Alona often stepping in.
My father is another unexpected source of help, especially now that Marco has taken over much of the business.
The twins’ birth finally stirred him from whatever dark hole he’d fallen into. That, and Evgeny invited him to dinner one night to talk. Not the Bratva “talk.” Evgeny assures me it was civil, a conversation between two men, not the intimidating Bratvapakhan.
Evgeny refuses to tell me what he and my father talked about, but whatever it was, a détente has settled between them. And my father enjoys his grandchildren the way I’m not sure he ever enjoyed his children. Whatever trauma or belief kept him from growing too close to us seems to have vanished with the birth of the twins. Dad is even softer around Katie, for which I am eternally grateful.
The twins, it seems, have changed everything for all of us. I bend down ostensibly to check that they are snug in their car seats, but it’s just an excuse to stare at them.
I often find myself staring at the tiny humans I grew, watching as they take in the world around them, minute expressions crossing their faces, changing every moment. They’re a miracle, these children who weren’t supposed to be but are, with their dark hair and green eyes.
Jordan is always curious about the world, always reaching for people, always talking in coos and other sounds. Eliana is quiet, watchful, those big green eyes absorbing everything around her without comment.
Before I’d given birth, I hadn’t known my heart could open so wide, could love so much. I had no idea pieces of my heart could live outside my body, but here they are in front of me. And I’m so grateful for them.
Something else I’m eternally grateful for? The man walking through the door, flanked by Dmitri and two other men in dark suits and dark glasses. He never fails to make the butterflies dance in my chest.
Even though the bookstore is packed, an actual aisle of space opens for my husband and his men. Whether or not the patrons know who he is, they move because of the aura surrounding him. Covert looks trail him, flick to his scars, then slide away, just as their bodies step aside.
At one time, I did, too. But now I know all the other parts of Evgeny, the part of him that holds me close at night, the part that came to my rescue when Vasya would have killed me. The part that didn’t give up protecting me even though I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. The part that fixed me up in the club with gentle hands, the same gentle hands that hold our twins.
I know those hands have done terrible things and will continue to do so. That is part of being his wife. But I’ve chosen this life, this love, this beast who is a man beneath all those layers of darkness.
“You made it.”
The beginning phases of the downtown development project are in full swing, and between that and the Bratva, Evgeny is busier than ever. But he still made time to celebrate today.
My husband comes around the counter and gathers me in as I rise on tiptoe and wind my arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t have missed it. This is incredible.”
“Right?” I laugh, thrilled, especially now that he’s here to share my joy.
Evgeny is warm and solid, engulfing me in his hold, which has become my favorite place. I take a deep breath, his scent surrounding me, and he leans in to plant a soft kiss on my mouth.
“Isn’t it strange for the landlord to randomly stop by?” Dmitri winks from over Evgeny’s shoulder, and I laugh.
