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His brows were drawn as if I’d slugged him. “Sieva?”
My attention roved over his tensed muscles. He looked as if he debated striding over to kiss the ever-living hell out of me.
Before he could decide, I said, “I’ll, uh, go shower. Be back in a minute.”
As though he didn’t trust himself to speak, he merely nodded.
In the shower, I replayed the stunned look in his eyes while trying to ignore the spray of warm water on my sensitive skin. Drops hit my icons, my growing belly, my bare ring finger.
I wasn’t yet ready to resume our marriage. I gazed over my shoulder in his direction.
But I will be.
7
Death
I paced our bedroom, a seething mix of frustration, lust, and my ever-present guilt. These past weeks had only increased each.
We should never have had this divide between us.
But hadn’t this schism been inevitable as soon as Evie had learned Jack lived? She hadn’t preferred me over him. She had settled for me.
Did she love me? Yes. But I would forever know that she hadn’t chosen me.
Still, I chose to be hers with everything in me. I willed her to take her wedding ring from that drawer and return it to her finger.
As much as my body missed pleasure, my mind missed communing with hers. My soul missed its mate.
Yet even if she wanted to resume what we’d shared, we would only be together for a time. I became more convinced that we couldn’t thwart the game, even with our son’s birth.
I regretted not telling my wife about my plan to defeat the Emperor. Despite my unfailing honesty, I chose subterfuge now, because our lives were not the only ones on the line.
But hadn’t I misled her from the very beginning? I’d never shared with her that the Fool had predicted my future—one part heaven, one part hell. . . .
When Evie emerged from the bathroom, she avoided my gaze, allowing me to take in all the changes in her miraculous body. As she grew our child, her breasts and belly had swelled. Her clothes barely contained her curves, her blouse a tight wrap across her chest.
The button just above her cleavage hung on by a mere thread. I hung on by a thread.
In agony, I half prayed it would come loose, half prayed it wouldn’t.
As she combed the length of her gleaming hair, that button bobbed up and down. Up. Down. Gods almighty.
“I’m thinking strawberries today.”
Excellent. I’d have to withstand the sounds of her delight as she sampled the fruit. “As you wish,” I said, scarcely recognizing my voice.
When we headed out into the castle together, I resisted the impulse to take her hand in mine and relived memories of stealing kisses from her.
In this hall, she’d grinned against my lips.
In that vestibule, she’d nipped my bottom one.
Beside that window, she’d threaded her fingers in my hair to draw me closer. Harder. More.
I scrubbed a palm over my face. When we descended into the nursery, I turned my attention from the potting bench, where I’d taken her more than once.
Searching for something to talk about, I cleared my throat and asked, “Have you decided on a name for our son? I assume we won’t christen him P’tee Garçon Greene Dominija.”
She said brightly, “I think that has a great ring to it!”
My expression must’ve betrayed my thoughts.
“Oh, my God, I’m kidding.” Even now she could make me grin. “I’m open to suggestions. What was your father’s name?”
“Teodors. And yours was David.”
She nodded. “It’s amazing that I can miss someone I never really knew. But I do, along with everyone else I’ve lost. Earlier, the dream about my mom was so lifelike.”
In the scant time I allowed myself to doze at night, I’d had reveries of my own parents. “Why do you think you dreamed of her?” I suspected the Fool was sending Evie messages. His own powers must be strengthening as well.
I didn’t understand their bond and probably never would—because I didn’t understand him.
She shrugged. “Because she would’ve been a grandmother? She would’ve loved that.” Evie’s smile was bittersweet, emotions dancing in her eyes. Then she frowned. “My own grandmother would not have been so pleased.”
“No. No, she wouldn’t have.” Her Tarasova grandmother had confirmed to me this game would play out differently—but she’d known not how. Of one thing she’d been certain: only one could win.
“Let’s make this name choosing easy. How about Teodors David Greene Dominija? His nickname would stay the same.”
“I think that’s a fantastic choice.”
She patted her belly, telling him, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” She cocked her head. “No? Then it’s settled.”
Warmth stole through me. We’d just named our son—another milestone I’d never thought to enjoy.
She and I shared a grin. I was about to say more, but she turned from me to collect herbs. “What do you think about a quiche for breakfast?”
