“I know.”
“Will you be able to deal with the two of us?”
What was wrong with this man, and why was this conversation so endearing? “A mini Rodion? That’s actually cute to imagine.”
“You know he’ll be like me,” he repeated.
“I know, sweetheart,” I said, matching his tone.
Rodion leaned forward and took my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles.
“Why?” I asked softly. “You don’t want a son?”
He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to it, his lips warm against my skin. “He won’t be a sick bastard like his father was.”
I rolled my eyes with a scoff. “I’m about to slap you now.”
He was serious, but I didn’t want the mood to shift. This had always been Rodion’s deepest fear. He feared he would one day treat his child the way his father treated him.
“But in case he would be—”
“You’ll be there for him,” I beat him to it. “You’ll be a good father. I know that.”
That silenced him for a moment. He leaned in again and brushed his lips over my hand, the tension in his features fading.
“Alright, a son and two daughters.” He murmured.
That actually sounded so nice. “A mini Rodion and two little versions of me.”
His rare smile stayed on his lips. The world saw Rodion Konstantinov as a man to fear, the one who gave orders and ruled in silence and shadows. But across the table, with candlelight softening the lines of his face and the faint scent of roses between us, he was simply my man.
The man who smiled only for me.
The man who made the future sound less like a risk, and morelike a promise.
THE END
