Page 40 of His Ruthless Vow

For the first time since I left Moscow four months ago, I know things are going to be okay. We made the right choice. I haven't ever felt this alive in my life, and I don't think I would feel the same way knowing Alana was pregnant if we lived in Moscow. We'd live in fear. We'd be dodging bullets the whole time.

At least here in St. Petersburg, we can walk down the street without wondering if our baby will be safe.

"He's perfect," she says, and I smile.

"You're perfect," I tell her, and I mean it. She is stubborn at times, and headstrong like her father. But she is mine, and I'm looking forward to a future we can share with each other without looking over our shoulder every step of the way.

I just pray this peace holds out.

26

ALANA

It's warm today, probably one of the warmest day's we've had this year so far. I'm sweating and fanning myself as I heft a bag of groceries up the stairs to our tiny little apartment. Dimitri lectures me to take the elevator, but we're only on the second floor and it's good exercise since I can't seem to do anything else to keep in shape. My belly is getting too big to do much.

When I unlock and walk into the apartment, Dimitri is parked at the table on his computer. It's his day off, and we don't get much time together with him working two jobs now. He insists that our savings stay tucked away, that he doesn't mind working so hard because when this baby comes he intends to take time off and the savings will help cover it. But I feel bad. I could be working. He just doesn't want me to.

"Hey," I say softly, walking to the counter to set the bag down. He flicks a glance up at me and grunts a response as he continues typing away at whatever it is he's doing. "I got those little candies you like so much—the ones with the creamy middles. And they were out of the drinks you like, so I got something new to try."

I'm talking but he's not listening, too busy surfing the internet to pay attention. So I take everything out of the bag and put it away one by one, then fold the sack and stack it in the pantry for reuse later. Whatever has him so interested intrigues me, so I kick off my shoes and walk over to where he sits.

We've gotten pretty comfortable here, and our relationship has blossomed into something deeper and fuller. He takes good care of me, though he has his challenges, and I try my best to be thoughtful and considerate of him. It's an awkward dynamic, because while he's told me more than a million times that he loves me and I'm his, he hasn't made a move to make this permanent. If he did, I'm not sure what I'd say. The very basis of this relationship was destroying our family alliance.

"What are you working on so intently that you can't look up at me and smile when I say hello?" I ask him, leaning over his back and wrapping my arms around his neck. He tries to quickly click off a tab on his browser window, but I immediately recognize it. It's Preobrazhensky Sobor. "Hey, go back."

He clicks on a different tab and it pulls up a link to the storage facility where his car is being stored. He'll have to get the registration updated in a few months when his birthday comes or he'll have to buy a new car. I'm not sure how we'll handle that. But I'm positive this isn't what he was looking at.

"No, the Cathedral of the Transfiguration. Go back." I love old buildings. They've been my passion for as long as I can remember. I used to love going to the city center in Moscow and marveling over the old architecture. For the past six months, I've been working with a group that restores old buildings, but at this rate, I'll never get the chance to head up a project on my own.

Still, the dream persists, and something inside my heart sparks as I shift and slide onto his lap, reaching for his mouse. "This one," I tell him, clicking on the tab at the top of his browser. The screen lights up with images of the cathedral decked out for Christmas, but it's in sad shape. Not condemned by any means, but if someone with the right touch came in and offered the building some attention, it could shine again.

"Yes, I was looking at it," he says sheepishly. I narrow my eyes on him as I lean back and he wraps his arm around my waist. But his eyes have hidden meaning in them, some sort of deep emotion I can't discern.

"What's going on?" I ask, shaking my head. "Are you homesick?" Ever since Alexei was shot two months ago, Dimitri hasn't been as focused on the here and now. He always checks on things back home and had been doing it before too. But now sometimes, I find him antsy and rigid, overly obsessed with Moscow. I wonder if that's what he's doing here.

"Well, I miss home, yes." He looks away, reaching for the mouse to close the window. Then he shuts his laptop and focuses solely on me. His eyes are searching, studying me as he says, "I'm not going to lie, I was looking at that old building thinking of you."

A warm flush rushes through my chest and the baby kicks against Dimitri's belly, making his hand slide across my stomach to feel it. It happens regularly now. With only nine weeks to my due date, our little soccer player is really getting strong.

"Thinking of me?" I ask, confused. He knows my dream of restoring buildings, but he also knows how risky it would be for me to gather any attention toward myself for doing it. My alias, Sera Volsky, could do amazing things in the field of architecture restoration, but my face would be plastered all over those sorts of announcements. It would be too much limelight for a woman trying to hide from her past.

"Yeah." He leans down, kissing my belly where the baby moves and then looks up at me. "This is a for-life thing, right? I mean, you and me. We're having a baby together. But I don't want your identity to be that of a mother or daughter or wife. I respect you more than that. I was looking at that building back home thinking what our future might look like if we never get to chase our dreams."

I sigh, feeling the weight of what he's saying. He's right. His dream was to be a hero and to live away from Moscow. He's right there in the middle of it, but my dream has gone by the wayside, maybe never to be picked up again. I can't very well allow my craving to be known and leave a legacy to expose our secret and our child to the men who hunt us for what we did.

My hand rises, cupping his cheek. The coarse hair of his beard scratches my palm as I lean down to kiss him softly. He deepens the kiss as his hand grabs my hip and squeezes, but I pull away.

"Dimitri, you had everything in Moscow. Your family would never have disowned you. You'd have been wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. You might have faced punishments or setbacks, but with Alexei leading the family, you'd have been his right hand. All the power and influence you wanted was at your fingertips, and you gave it all away to protect me."

He rests his hand on mine where I cradle his cheek and closes his eyes when I lean my forehead against his. The sacrifice he made to walk away from all of it is something I could never repay. Yes, I want my dream to come true, but I understand maybe it will never happen. My dream just changed.

This baby is my everything now, and a life where I can protect him and keep him safe. If that means I'm with Dimitri and exposing my secret would jeopardize what we've built, the old dream has to die.

"I'm willing to do this for us, okay?" I tell him, feeling the tug at my heart when I realize how badly that might suck. Maybe I've already been grieving it because I already knew it before we even ran away from Moscow. Maybe I've known it since the instant I woke up after Ivan attacked me.

"I don't want that for you," he says softly. I can feel the emotion in his words, but sometimes, there's nothing we can do about it. Fate has its own way of guiding our lives to where we're meant to be.

"I know, but we don't have to think about it right now, okay? We can enjoy every day for what it is. Today, I'm with you and we are thriving. Somewhat." I titter, and he chuckles silently, then tips his head up and kisses my lips again.