Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Now that Maude is gone, I’m absurdly nervous. I’ve been in shootouts that felt less stressful than telling my wife I have feelings for her.
Just as I set the last plate on the table, Katya appears in the doorway, and every coherent thought slips away. She’s wearing a deep blue dress that hugs her torso and skims her thighs. Pregnancy has already made her breasts fuller, and I’m practically salivating by the time she reaches the table.
“You clean up nice, Kozlov,” she says with her dry, dangerous little smile.
“You’re the one stealing the air out of the room,” I say, moving toward her and pulling out her chair.
She gives me an amused look. “So, what’s with the fancy dinner?” she asks as she sits. “Am I in trouble? Have you done something awful and this is your way of buttering me up?”
I chuckle, easing into the chair opposite hers. “Can’t I just have a nice dinner with my wife without an agenda?” I ask, teasing.
“I don’t know, Isaac, it’s all pretty suspicious,” she murmurs, unfolding her napkin and laying it across her lap. “But I’ll allow it.”
She digs into the food on her plate, a traditional Russian dish she once told me her mom made for special occasions. Everything I asked Maude to prepare tonight is something Katya has mentioned. I want her to see I’m paying attention.
“Did you make this?” she asks, sniffing suspiciously. “I didn’t peg you for a cook.”
“Your instincts are solid.” I laugh and take a sip of wine, watching her eat. “I burn water. Maude made this, but I personally requested everything on your plate.”
She looks down at her plate, eyes turning glassy. She wipes them quickly, trying to be inconspicuous, but I don’t miss the motion.
“Are you all right?” I ask, suddenly worried that I’ve done something wrong.
She looks up at me, surprise blossoming into a luminous smile. “Everything is perfect, Isaac,” she whispers. “I just can’t believe I’m married to such a thoughtful man. The pregnancy hormones are really getting to me tonight.”
We eat slowly, savoring the delicious meal Maude’s prepared. Every once in a while, her hand grazes her belly, almost unconsciously, and every time she does, I feel something shift in me. We’re really doing this. We’re really on the journey of parenthood together, and I’ve never felt like a luckier son of a bitch. By dessert, I can’t sit still.
I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. She’s mid-bite of her chocolate tart when I say, “I need to tell you something.”
She looks up, eyes cautious. “Okay.”
“I know this isn’t the life you wanted,” I begin. “You didn’t choose this marriage, and you didn’t choose me.”
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Isaac…” she starts, but I raise my hand to stop her. I need to get through this.
“You’ve made the best of it. You’ve stayed. You’ve challenged me. You’ve taken on a life that was forced on you and made it your own. And now you’re carrying our child.”
She puts down her fork, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to predict where this is headed. I stand up, walk around the table, and kneel beside her.
Her brows rise in surprise and confusion.
“I never wanted marriage either,” I tell her honestly. “I never wanted children or anyone in my life who could be used against me. And, frankly, I didn’t think I deserved to have any of that until you.”
She swallows hard, tears already spilling from her stunning green eyes.
“From the moment you stormed into my office, full of sass and fire, I knew I was in trouble. I knew that you were exactly the person I never realized I needed.”
Her eyes shimmer, and she shifts in her seat slightly, but doesn’t interrupt.
“You saw me,” I continue. “The real me. And you didn’t flinch. You challenged me. You met me on my bullshit and didn’t back down. And somewhere in all of that chaos, I fell for you.”
Silence. Her chest rises and falls, shallow and fast.
“I love you, Katya.”
She stares at me for a long time. Then her hands reach for my face, cupping my cheeks, pulling me up as she leans down to meet me in the middle. The kiss is immediate. Deep. Not tentative or unsure, but molten. She kisses me like she’s laying claim to me.
I grip her hips, pull her to her feet, and her arms wrap around my neck. We stumble back from the table, knocking a chair slightly askew as our bodies press together.
“I may be pregnant, but I’m still your wife. And as your wife, I demand you take me to bed right now.”
21
KATYA
In Isaac’s arms I’m weightless, buoyed by the flex of his forearms as he strides down the hall toward our bedroom. My heart drums at a frantic pace, every beat a promise. I’m already drenched, aching to feel him. His confession still reverberates, impossibly seductive, turning my insides to molten lava.