Soft gray walls surround us, the color Anja chose because it felt calm and hopeful. A half-finished mobile of tiny wooden stars hangs above where the crib will soon stand.
Anja leans into me on the wide window seat, her body relaxed against mine despite the weight of her seven-monthpregnancy. My arm is wrapped around her shoulders, my other hand resting gently over her protruding belly.
Every few moments, I feel the strong, insistent kick of our child as a reminder that the future is no longer theoretical.
I feel the full shift in my chest.
The future is no longer about dismantling an enemy. It is about building something lasting. Something real. The revenge that once consumed my every calculated move now feels like background noise to the life unfolding right here. The woman in my arms, the child growing inside her, and the family we are creating together.
Yet I sense her lingering hesitation.
Even as she rests against me, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my forearm, the ghosts of her past still whisper doubts. I can feel it in the occasional tension that creeps into her shoulders, in the way her breath sometimes catches when she thinks about the future.
She still wonders, deep down, whether she truly belongs in this world. Whether choosing me or choosing a life tied to the Sokolovs means she will lose pieces of herself along the way.
I make a silent vow in that moment, as the sun dips lower and paints the nursery in golden light.
I will prove to her, every single day, that choosing me is not another cage. It is the safest place she will ever know.
The proposal has sealed what we’ve become, but I know her heart still needs time to fully believe it. Trust like hers, that’s earned through betrayal and rebuilt through patience, does not heal overnight. I am willing to wait. I am willing to show her, again and again, that my love is not conditional.
Anja shifts slightly, turning her face toward me. Her emerald gaze is soft with emotion, the auburn highlights in her hair catching the last of the sunlight.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For doing this here. In the nursery. It feels… right.”
“It's always going to be here. This room is ours. The life we’re building is ours,” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger.
She smiles, but there is a vulnerability behind it that tugs at something deep inside me. I lean down and kiss her, slow, tender, and full of everything I have been holding back for months. She responds immediately, her hand coming up to cup my jaw, and her fingers tracing the scar there with the same gentle touch she has shown since the first time she reached for it.
The kiss deepens gradually. What begins as reassurance quickly turns into something warmer, more urgent. Her pregnancy has made her even more sensitive to every touch, carrying greater weight.
I am careful, always careful. But tonight, the need to be close to her, to show her with my body what I have already promised with words, is undeniable.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I pull back just enough to look at her.
She shakes her head, eyes full of desire. “It’s not too much. I want you. I want this.”
I help her to her feet and lead her gently to our bedroom across the hall. The nursery door stays open, a quiet reminder of the future waiting for us. In the soft lamplight of our room, I undress her with reverent hands, kissing every inch of newly revealed skin. Her body has changed beautifully with thepregnancy. She has fuller breasts, a gentle swell of her belly, and the sensitive places that make her gasp when I touch them.
I am gentle.
Delicate.
Sensual.
I lay her down on the bed with pillows arranged carefully behind her back and under her knees to support her. My hands explore her slowly, mapping the places that make her sigh and arch.
Anja wraps her arms loosely around my neck, gently pulling my face towards her. As our lips meet, I can feel my arousal heightening.
Anja writhes beneath my touch as I slip my hand between her upper thighs. As soon as I gently slide two fingers into her wetness, she gasps. Sliding my hands beneath her, and slowly remove her blouse. As she slides her arms from the shirt, my eyes immediately see how enlarged her breasts have become.
Lowering my head, I kiss the spot between the mounds, and Anja moans from my touch. I learned a couple of weeks ago that her breasts were sensitive, and I did my best to not to irritate her, especially during these moments.
Moving down her body, I hook my thumbs around the thin piece of material on her thong. I tug the material, and Anja lifts her hips to allow for easy removal. Once her thong is discarded, I begin kissing her swollen abdomen. Just knowing our baby is safe within her body brings a smile to my face.
When I settle between her thighs, I take my time, kissing along the inside of her leg, tasting her until she is trembling and whispering my name like a prayer.
Kissing her mound, I inhale the sweetness as my finger finds her clit. Her hands instantly grab for my head. She guides me where she wants my tongue.
