We climax together, clinging to one another’s bodies and losing ourselves in the explosive pleasure before settling into the afterglow, holding each other close, together, as we will be from this moment on.
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
“So, how’s Thailand?”
I push through the polished glass doors out onto the busy sidewalk, joining the throngs of people in the magical wonderland of lights and two-day-old slush.
“It’s amazing.” Emily’s voice is dreamy over the phone.
“So you had your honeymoon in Bali, and now you’re celebrating your first anniversary in Thailand. What’s next?”
Emily giggles.
“Why don't you worry about your own honeymoon?” my best friend asks when our laughter dies down. “It’s been long enough since you got married.”
“Oh, right. We were supposed to take a honeymoon in between being part of your wedding, getting married ourselves, givingbirth to Mila, and going through postpartum. I don’t care how much money you have—that shit is really hard to deal with.”
I’d gone through postpartum depression, when Dmitri's ability to support me was tested while the doctor and I figured out a medication that worked, when the long crying jags, where I would sit and hold Mila for hours, finally eased. For a man used to fixing problems immediately, and often violently, I'm not sure I've ever seen Dmitri look so helpless. But we did it—together, just like we’ve done everything else in the eighteen months since I first walked into our penthouse the night of Emily’s bachelorette party.
“You had a courthouse wedding in between business meetings. I’m shocked Michael and I were actually invited.”
I laugh again because it was actually tricky to plan. Dmitri was busy putting together two major international deals, each of which required him to be on opposite sides of the world, and I was busy representing the company in the takeover of a smaller firm, which meant many long days and late nights at the office.
Our single wedding photo—me in a cream Oscar de la Renta suit dress and Dmitri in his usual bespoke black suit next to a grinning Emily and Michael—is quite different from the photos of Emily and Michael's lavish wedding. If you look closely at the photo, you can still see the scar across Dmitri's forehead.
Because it was freezing that day, I wore a soft cream-colored coat that complemented the holiday crimson of the maid of honor dress Emily and I chose, but it also hid the thick bandage on my arm from the bullet graze. The makeup artist did a great job of covering up Emily’s scar in much the same place, allowing her to shine in her strapless bridal gown, a reminder of darknessagainst the backdrop of her holiday wedding decorations and fairy lights.
The most critical thing Emily had said when I lamented about ruining her wedding photos was that we were able to be there, that we were alive, my bump visible and straining against the fabric of my dress.
Emily and I talk a little bit longer before she signs off, promising to bring Mila something cute. As I slip my phone into my purse, waiting to cross the busy street, I look around me at all the holiday lights and marvel at how far I’ve come in the year.
I’m married, deep into a life I never could have imagined, the mother to a beautiful baby girl.
I approach the car where my baby girl and husband wait. She’s tucked securely in the crook of her father's arm; her tiny head shielded against the cold by the most adorable beanie with bear ears. Her eyes, the exact startling blue of his, are half-closed, heavy with sleepiness. Her small fist is curled around the lapel of his heavy wool coat.
Her father, the man who commands thousands and rules an empire, is rocking her with the slow, deliberate rhythm of a man who practices the simple act every single day. Despite the holiday cheer and his unusually relaxed stance, danger still radiates from him like heat. People instinctively give them a wide berth, flashing covert looks his way.
I take it all in, from his tousled hair to the sharp lines of his jaw beneath the perfectly groomed beard, the strong, muscular body that still takes my breath away, even though I get to see it nearly every day. But what really gets me is his face. Usually a maskof stoic command, it now holds an expression of pure, tender adoration.
A sudden burst of emotion—joy, pride, and an overwhelming sense of love and security—takes the air from my lungs as quickly as the sharp snap of cold air around me.
This. This is thewhyof my life, standing in front of me, among all the holiday cheer and bustle, the tourists with their phones out as they take pictures, the city dwellers muttering in annoyance as they walk around them.
I know the bodyguards are positioned discreetly around us, but in this moment, all I see is the two of them.
Dmitri’s eyes find mine, the warmth and possessiveness there, the desire and heat instantly burning away my professional façade, the one I’ve worn for the last three hours.
“You look like you owned the room, Clara,” he says, his voice both intimate and authoritative. He shifts slightly, adjusting Mila without waking her. “Did you take their offer yet? Or are you giving them time to wonder whether or not they’re good enough for you?”
I laugh quietly and slip under his other arm. He holds me close, his kiss to the top of my head lingering.
“I told them I’d call next week.” I reach out, gently stroking Mila’s cheek.
“She's out cold,” I whisper. “Though if the noise and joyful chaos around here doesn't wake her up, I'm not sure anything will. Did you have a good day with her?”
“I did. We both enjoyed our visit to the zoo. She liked the polar bears and the ducks. I preferred the leopards. Then she slept theentire drive here.” The flash of his grin is mischievousness, and I bite back a giggle. I spot a tiny smudge of something, probably carrots or crackers, on the perfect white of his shirt. I imagine it’s a badge of honor for this man, someone who got a second chance he never thought he'd have at being a father.
