AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her laugh is a melody I could listen to for the rest of my life. The connection between us, so potent and real, is only growing, and I can't ignore the pull I feel toward her.
"How about some ice cream, Ilya?" I suggest, my eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think we've earned it."
Ilya's face lights up, his excitement infectious. "Ice cream! Yes, please!"
Valentina looks from her son's eager face to mine, a soft smile playing on her lips. She seems to be waging an internal battle, but in the end, she just can't bring herself to say no.
"Alright, ice cream it is," she concedes, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that sends a pleasant jolt through me.
As we head back into the café, I notice how Valentina talks to her son in a language I'm vaguely familiar with but don't quite recognize. Chechen, perhaps? I think nothing of it for now, caught up in the joy of the moment.
I watch them, mother and son, a picture of love and unity, and something stirs within me. A longing, a desire for something more profound, something that goes beyond mere attraction.
This isn't just a game anymore, not a mere conquest or a fleeting passion. Valentina has touched something deep within me, something real and raw.
And whatever it is, it scares me.
Chapter 8
Valentina
Inever imagined a scenario where Roman Nicolaevich, the man I’m almost certain is linked to the death of my fiancé, would be shouldering my child in such a tender manner.
The universe has a cruel sense of humor.
From the moment Ilya mentioned wanting ice cream to the moment he nestled himself, face deep in Roman's neck, laughter shared and stories exchanged, it felt like I was in some alternate reality. The air around them was charged with a gentle charisma I hadn’t imagined Roman was capable of.
Seeing Ilya, my heart, my soul, my everything, with Roman is a dichotomy of feelings. On one hand, the protective mother in me is bristling. This man might be the very reason my son doesn't have a father, yet here he is, holding my son as if he means the world to him.
But then, there’s that other, softer, more dangerous side of me—the side that melts seeing them together, the side that aches with yearning for a simpler life, for a partner, for someone who would treat Ilya with the gentleness Roman is displaying now.
As we walk down the streets of St. Petersburg, the chilly breeze sweeping by occasionally, I watch as Roman occasionally whispers something in Ilya's ear or adjusts the boy's head to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. My son's soft snores are the only sound competing with our soft footfalls.
"I haven't seen Ilya sleep this peacefully in ages," I muse, the confession surprising me.
Roman glances at me, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe he knows a natural when he sees one."
It’s impossible to not roll my eyes, but a small chuckle escapes. "Don't get too cocky, Roman. He also once fell asleep on a sack of potatoes once."
His deep laugh, rich and genuine, echoes in the quiet afternoon. "I have definitely been compared to worse."
The playful banter is a relief, a smokescreen for the emotional storm raging inside me. But even amidst that storm, one thing is clear—Roman has an undeniable charm.
As we approach my apartment building, I feel a new wave of uncertainty. Should I let this man, who holds so much power and mystery, know where I live? But looking at Ilya, so comfortably asleep, the thought of waking him up feels like a crime.
Roman seems to sense my hesitation. "If you're uncomfortable, I can wait outside while you take Ilya in."
"No, it's okay," I sigh. This is Roman, after all. If he wants to find out where I live, he probably already knows. "But just the hallway."
He nods, understanding the boundary I set.
The elevator ride is silent, punctuated only by Ilya's soft breathing. As we reach my floor, Roman gently passes Ilya to me, their brief moment of connection broken.
"Thank you, Roman," I whisper, my voice quivering, the weight of the day hitting me.
His intense eyes lock onto mine, searching, always searching. "It was my pleasure, Valentina."
I open the door and gently lay Ilya down on the couch, pulling a light throw blanket over him. Roman watches the movement from the doorway with a softness in his eyes that seems uncharacteristic for a man of his stature.
