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“No, nuh-uh. definitely not her. Just some loose-moraled floozie I picked up off the side of the road.”
I heard Cyrille mutter an almost inaudible“asshole.”Maksim cried out, feigning pain.“Ouch, that hurt. The wife didn’t like that joke.”
“The wife needs to learn to share. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Aw, do you miss me, little brother?”
Yes,I should’ve said.
“Fuck you,”I snapped instead.“I just need to discuss shit with you. You know… Bratva business.”
“Bratva business can wait. Love is in the air, little brother. Can you feel it?”
“No,”I retorted flatly.“I can’t.”
“And therein lies the problem. I’m going insane for this woman, and it’s fucking awesome. Highly recommended. Go find one and try it for yourself.”
He hung up before I could tell him that he sounded pussy-whipped. I fumed about the whole conversation for days after. But Maksim’s self-constructed love cocoon lasted longer than my anger. By the time he re-emerged, I’d already forgiven his absence.
And now—almost a whole decade later—I finally understand it. I understand the instinct to build the cocoon, somewhere safe and comfortable, a private place just for Paige and me.
That’s what it feels like in this bed, with her body twined through mine like a knot that’ll never come undone. I don’t ever want to leave this space.
It’s not just the physical experience, the excitement of having her body so close to mine, the knowledge that I can touch her wherever I want.
It’s the mental, emotional comfort of feeling truly content.
A hole in my soul that is no longer screaming.
Paige’s eyes are still swollen from all the crying she did yesterday afternoon and throughout the night, but she’s no less beautiful because of it. She reaches out and slides her finger up and down my arm.
I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of it. I desperately want to kiss her and let my hands explore her body. I want to make her feel something other than regret or loss or sadness. But she’s too bruised and tired and vulnerable right now.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she whispers. “Can you hold me?”
I pull her against my chest and wrap my arms around her. She looks up at me for a moment and then she smiles.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” she whispers. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No one who mattered,” I rumble back.
She gives me a tired smile and closes her eyes. Her burgeoning belly is pressed against my torso. The gentle swell reminds me of everything I stood to lose today.
And it hits me—I was more terrified of losing Paige than I was of losing the babies.
The realization sinks in like cyanide. It twists at my stomach painfully and reminds me of all the reasons I swore off romantic love.
This is the third attempt on Paige’s life. That I know of. Petyr is bound to try more. What if he succeeds the next time around?
I didn’t think my brother was capable of dying before I saw that bullet sink into his chest. All it takes is one failure. A split-second wrong decision. A false instinct.
I look down and see that Paige’s eyes are shut tight. Her breathing has turned slow and even. Her body has relaxed.
But mine hasn’t.
Suddenly, in the shadows of our little cocoon, I can see my mistakes clearly. I broke my own damn rules, and it has landed me here. I made myself weak. I made myself vulnerable. And now, I’ve put a giant target on her back.
Of all my mistakes, what if loving her is the worst?
