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She smiles. “Good. Ilya is sleeping, belly full of ice cream. I can send you pictures of the little man.”
I smile. “Thank you, but it can wait until morning. Let one of us get some rest, at least.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Nikita.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
The call ends.
Left alone in the room, exhaustion washes over me like a tidal wave. Only now do I realize how heavy my bones feel, how desperately my body and soul are crying out for rest. I crash into the bed, but sleep is elusive, skirting around the edges of my consciousness.
Every creak of the door, every rustle of leaves outside keeps me awake. I'm waiting for Roman. I need to see him, to feel him, to know he's real—that we are real and the world we're about to build is not some fragile dream.
Finally, the door opens softly. I sit up immediately, my eyes locking onto Roman's as he steps into the room. His eyes search mine, as if asking for permission, and in that second, all walls come down.
We meet halfway, our lips crashing in a passionate kiss that speaks volumes.
As I pull away, looking into Roman's eyes, I feel it: Home. A sense of belonging, of finality, of endless possibility.
Chapter 34
Roman
As I hold Valentina in my arms, the gravity of our recent choices and actions sinks in. But instead of a burden, it feels like a mantle—a commitment we've taken upon ourselves, a destiny we've chosen. Love can be a complicated thing, fraught with insecurities and imperfections. But in this moment, as I feel her heartbeat against my chest, it seems exceedingly simple.
My phone vibrates softly on the coffee table, the sudden noise piercing the comfortable silence. I reach for it, seeing a text from Nikita. My thumb glides over the screen to reveal pictures of Ilya. He's sleeping, bundled in a blanket, looking every bit the angel he is. A warmth fills my chest as I read the accompanying text.He’s safe and sound. No worries.
I share the pictures with Valentina, her eyes lighting up momentarily at the sight of her son. But I can also sense the undertow of emotions she's grappling with. Her eyes have that far-off look, as if she's wading through a complicated internal landscape.
My instinct is to probe, to offer a listening ear. But as I gaze down at her, I realize that maybe what she needs right now is not words, but silence.
So, I pull her closer, tightening my hold as if by doing so I can shield her from the ghosts of her past, from the specter of choices that were difficult to make. My hands slide into her hair, my fingers weaving through the silky strands as I plant a soft kiss on her forehead. In return, she nestles closer, her hand splayed across my chest, right over my heart.
I think about the path that led us here, the obstacles we've overcome, the battles we've fought—both within and without. It's not an easy love, but it's real, palpable, worth every struggle and every sacrifice. It's the kind of love that comes once in a lifetime, that changes the trajectory of your existence, that makes you reevaluate what you thought you knew about life, about yourself.
I realize she's not just someone I want for a week, a month, or a year. She's someone I want for a lifetime, through the ups and the downs, in the moments of stark clarity and the days mired in complexity. And as we sit there, the world outside retreating into a meaningless blur, I know she feels the same.
A sigh escapes her lips, a small yet profoundly eloquent sound that seems to say, "I'm here, and I'm staying." It's enough.
As the comforting silence stretches between us, I realize there's one thing we haven't exactly settled yet. A smirk curls my lips as I lean back slightly, looking into Valentina's eyes.
"You know, you never officially said yes to my proposal."
Her laughter fills the room, rich and genuine. The sound never fails to ignite something warm and invigorating within me.
"That's classic Roman—always assuming you've got it in the bag," she quips, her eyes twinkling with humor and something more elusive, something intimate that only the two of us understand.
"Well, can you blame me?" I say, feigning innocence but unable to hide my grin. "I mean, I do usually get what I want."
Her eyes meet mine, dancing with a mixture of mischief and sincerity. "Oh, I've got an answer in mind. But for that, I need you very close."
As if pulled by an invisible force, our lips meet in a passionate kiss. It's not the first we've shared, but there's a palpable difference—a promise in the press of her lips against mine, an oath in the way my arms tighten around her. The complexities of our lives, the weight of our past decisions, they all seem to melt away, leaving only this beautiful simplicity.
Finally, we break away, a few short inches separating us, but the emotional distance has been obliterated.
"So," I say, my voice low but tinged with excitement, "is that close enough for my answer?"
