Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I had heard that the right woman could make or break a man. I had never believed it until now. Finding her had awoken me. Loving her had made me whole. Losing her would destroy me. A sudden pang struck my heart, imagining what her father had gone through after losing his wife. I could not bear it if that happened to me, I realized.
Perhaps we should hire a surrogate. Childbirth was far too dangerous. Perhaps I could keep Mishka wrapped in bubble wrap as well.. she would not like that though. And I would not consign her to a life half lived because of my fears.
A soft snuffling sound made me smile.
My girl was falling asleep on my shoulder. My dreams of taking her to the bed and making love with her in flight were rapidly fading.
Then again, it was a rather long flight.
“Where to for our honeymoon?”
“Hmmm?”
“I planned on taking you to the tropics next. Tahiti, perhaps. We could schedule that for our honeymoon instead.”
“Oh,” she said, snuggling deeper into my shoulder.
She had handled meeting the crew with unsurprising poise and warmth. She was truly a remarkably kind and gracious woman. She belonged on the arm of a duke or a president. I knew she cared nothing for prestige, other than becoming the best musician she could be. She would be just as happy to marry a man who ran a candy shop as a wealthy man like myself.
She would make any man proud to have her as his.
I would do my damndest to be worthy of her.
I pulled a blanket over the two of us. I would have preferred to sleep laying down but that would have to wait. With her curled into my side, I pulled out my phone to look at the markets.
Now that she was mine, I found that for the first time in months I could concentrate again.
Chapter 46
Mishka
“Papa!”
“My little butternut squash!”
I giggled at the look at Anton’s face at the nickname. Papa had many for me. I was wrapped in my father’s arms, with Anton waiting patiently near the door to the suite that my father was staying in. He felt good. More substantial than he had since the sickness started.
He felt thicker than he had in years. He looked good, too. He even smelled healthier, if that made sense.
And his accommodations were suspiciously luxurious… I gave my husband a look, realizing that his fingers were all over the situation. He had orchestrated all of it, I realized. There had never been a jar of money found in the stock room. There had never been a miraculously open appointment with a sought-after doctor.
It had all been Anton. All along. It had always been him.
Love swelled inside me, filling me with a feeling unlike I had never known. If I hadn’t loved the man already, I would have fallen for him in that moment. Could you fall more in love with someone each and every day? I wondered.
I knew that the answer was yes. For the two of us, it was yes. And judging from the doting look in his eyes, he felt the same way too.
Only my father had ever looked at me with that kind of love. Of course, it was a bit different. There was a world of heat and promise in my husband’s eyes.
Would I ever get used to saying that?
Husband. Hussssband. My husssssband.
I giggled, earning a questioning look from Anton, and my father, who pulled back to look at me.
“You look good, Mishka. Healthy,” he added turning to look over his shoulder at Anton. “I suppose this handsome devil has something to do with that.”
Anton merely smiled.
“Your son-in-law would like to take you all out to lunch,” he said, his tone and expression mild. He was not used to affection or love, I realized. His brothers and he were close, of that there was no doubt. But affectionate? Hardly. They were more likely to try and drink each other into a coma, place outrageous bets, or play outrageous pranks.
But hugging? Kissing? Compliments?
He was starved for that sort of vulnerability. That sort of tenderness. No wonder he was glued to my side. I was the first person he allowed to be kind to him. To love him.
So, it was no surprise that he looked mildly alarmed when my father strode over to him and clasped his face, before throwing his arms around the much taller, much younger man. I hid a smile as my father somehow managed to give my muscular, towering husband a bear hug. My smile grew as a moment later, Anton returned the hug.
He was careful not to hurt my father with his strength. I could tell. But he hugged him back, all the same. He had to bend down significantly to do it.
Hours later and we were celebrating a second ceremony with a quick and very early dinner, this one performed by a judge in his private chambers. In between lunch and the wedding, complete with a new, more conservative but formal lace cap sleeve dress, we had met with Papa’s doctors, who had been cautiously optimistic that a full recovery might be possible.