7. Vadim
7
VADIM
The sight of Megan and Lacey together in the sitting room catches my attention. Something feels different.
Not necessarily wrong, but there's an undercurrent I can't quite place.
Lacey sits perched on the edge of her seat, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. The morning light streaming through the windows catches in her hair, turning it to spun gold.
Megan stands behind her, her hand resting protectively on Lacey's shoulder. The two of them share a meaningful look that makes my skin prickle with unease.
"What's going on?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
Megan straightens, her chin lifting. "Lacey has something she needs to tell you." She squeezes Lacey's shoulder once before heading for the door. "I'll give you two some privacy."
The click of the door closing behind Megan sounds impossibly loud in the sudden silence. Lacey's eyes meet mine for a brief moment before darting away. Her teeth worry at her lower lip—that nervous habit I've come to know so well.
My feet carry me closer, though I'm careful to maintain enough distance that she won't feel crowded. The chasm that's grown between us these past weeks feels wider than ever. But despite it, I take her hands gently in mine.
" Zvyozdochka? " I say softly. "What's going on?"
She bites her lower lip, and takes a deep breath before she speaks. "Something wonderful happened."
I lean forward, every protective instinct firing at once. But before I can speak, she pulls back, produces a small white stick, and places it in my hands.
My breath catches as I see the two pink lines. The world seems to tilt on its axis as understanding crashes through me.
Joy, terror, protectiveness, and something deeper I can't even name blankets me, chasing all thoughts out of my mind.
"Are..." The words stick in my throat. "Are you sure?"
Lacey nods, fresh tears running from the corner of her eyes as her smile widens. "I took three tests. All positive. I even made Megan take one just to make sure they weren't defective."
My hand shakes as I stare down at the test, handling it like it's made of the delicate filaments of glass.
Two lines. Two clear, unmistakable lines that mean everything is about to change.
"Pregnant," I whisper, the words feeling foreign yet right on my tongue.
"Yep." Her voice wavers with emotion.
I look up to find her watching me intently, her amber-flecked eyes searching my face. In that moment, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen—my fierce, brave wife carrying our child. The urge to protect them both nearly overwhelms me.
"Come here," I say, opening my arms.
She practically launches herself into my embrace. I pull her onto my lap, one hand cradling her head while the other instinctively moves to her still-flat stomach. My child. Our child. The thought sends another wave of fierce joy through me.
My hand rests on Lacey's still-flat stomach, and I can't help imagine what our child will look like. Will they have Lacey's amber-flecked eyes? My height? Her gentle nature?
I'm going to be a father.
The moment that thought enters my head, bile rises in my throat. And all I hear is Pyotr's voice echoing from those dark memories: " A son, I finally have a son. "
My hand trembles against Lacey's stomach. What kind of father will I be? The same monster who sees children as pawns to be shaped into weapons? Who views them as vessels for ambition rather than souls to be cherished?
"Vadim?" Lacey's soft voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "What's wrong?"
I try to speak but can't find the words. How do I tell her that the joy of impending fatherhood is tainted by the fear of becoming like him? That even now, decades after his death, Pyotr's shadow threatens to poison this precious moment?
My arms tighten around Lacey protectively, as if I could shield her and our unborn child from the darkness in my blood. But the truth haunts me. The darkness isn't coming from outside. It's already here, coursing through my veins, waiting to corrupt everything I touch.
"Vadim?" Lacey's fingers trace my jaw. "Talk to me, please."
The tenderness in her touch breaks something in me. I can't keep hiding these thoughts from her, not when they threaten to poison this precious moment.
"I feel... excited about being a father, but also scared," I confess. "What if this child proves that I really am no different than him?"
"You are different." Lacey's voice is firm as she takes my face in both hands, forcing me to look at her. "You're not Pyotr."
"But I am. The same blood runs through my veins. The same darkness?—"
"No." Her thumb wipes away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "Your father saw children as tools. You're crying at the mere thought of failing our baby. That's not Pyotr. That's all you, Vadim. That's the part of you that Polina gave you."
Lacey's fingers are gentle as she keeps wiping away at the tears, and her words pierce the fog of my dark thoughts.
"You're a good man, Vadim," she whispers, her own tears tracking down her cheeks. "I've seen it in everything you do. In how you fight to save those who can't save themselves. In how you protected Serena. In how fiercely you love."
I try to look away, but she won't let me.
"Our marriage may have started as a means to an end, but you've been the best husband I could ask for." Her voice cracks with emotion. "And I know—I know —you'll be an amazing father. You're protective, loving, and with an infinite capacity for goodness."
"How can you be so sure?" The words escape before I can stop them.
"Because I see you, Vadim Stravinsky. Not as the pakhan or Pyotr's son, but you. What I see is a man who would move heaven and earth in the pursuit of doing the right thing. A man who carries so much light inside him, even if he's surrounded by darkness."
Something shifts between us as she speaks—like ice thawing after a long winter. The chasm that's kept us apart these past weeks doesn't feel quite so vast anymore. A tendril of familiar warmth snakes its way from her fingertips to my core.
I cover her hands with mine, and slowly, I bring them down into my lap between us.
"Lacey…" I lean in, whispering, and then capture her lips in mine.
The kiss is gentle at first, like testing waters I feared had frozen over. But as Lacey's lips part against mine, that familiar warmth returns. Her fingers tangle in my hair as she shifts closer in my lap.
Her lips are soft against mine, tentative at first like she's afraid I might pull away again. But I don't. I won't. Not anymore.
My hands slide up to cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks as I deepen the kiss, awakening something in me that's been dormant these past weeks.
Her skin is warm against mine, alive with possibility. The familiar heat balloons and grows, slow and steady like a rising tide. Her fingers trail up my chest to trace a line along my jaw.
The tenderness in her touch awakens something I thought we'd lost. Not the frantic need from before, but something deeper and more precious.
We break apart, both breathless. My mind races with everything we need to do.
"We should book an appointment with the best OBGYN in Seattle immediately. I'll have Lenka order some books on parenting." My hands cup Lacey's face. "And diapers—we'll need so many diapers. And the east wing of Pankration would make a perfect nursery, it gets the morning sun?—"
"Vadim." Lacey's finger presses against my lips, stopping my rambling. "Before all of that, there's one thing you really need to do first."
"What's that?"
"You need to tell your Mom."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Polina. Of course. After thirty-four years of rejection, will this news finally bridge the gap between us? Or will she reject this child too, seeing only Pyotr's blood?
Lacey's hands find mine, squeezing gently. "She deserves to know, Vadim."
"What if..." The words catch in my throat. "What if she doesn't want anything to do with our child?"
"She trusted you enough to return to the place of her nightmares because somewhere inside of her, she still believes in you," Lacey says softly. "You need to give her the chance."
Lacey's words pierce through my doubts like rays of sunlight through storm clouds. She's right. I do need to give my mother this chance. The way Lacey sees through my fears and offers her unwavering support makes my chest tighten with emotion.
"If she can come to you as a mother," Lacey continues. "Then you can return to her as a son."
My hands tighten around Lacey's.
Whatever Polina's reaction might be, I owe her this truth. And maybe, just maybe, this news might help heal some of the wounds that have festered between us for so long.
"Will you come with me?" I ask.
"Of course." Her thumbs trace patterns on my palm. "I'll be right beside you the whole time."
The gratitude I feel for her in this moment is overwhelming. This woman who started as a means to an end has become my anchor, my light, my everything. She's carrying my child, yet still finds the strength to help me face my demons.
My free hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin there. "What did I do to deserve you, zvyozdochka ?"
"You didn't have to do anything," she whispers. "You just had to be you."
The simple truth in her words steals my breath. All my life, I've had to earn every scrap of affection, prove my worth through action and achievement. But here she is, offering her love freely, unconditionally.
I lean in closer, drawn to her like a moth to flame. Her amber-flecked eyes hold mine, full of understanding and something deeper that makes my heart race. The distance between us feels charged with possibility.
" Zvyozdochka ," I breathe against her lips.
The endearment feels right again, natural, where before it had felt tainted by guilt.
She shifts, pressing closer, and I feel her smile against my mouth as we deepen our kiss.
I can taste the salt of our mingled tears, and feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. Every brush of her lips carries forgiveness, acceptance, love. Things I never thought I deserved but she gives freely.
Whether the tears are hers or mine, I'm not sure. Maybe both. But they aren't tears of pain or guilt this time. They're washing away the darkness that's kept us apart, dissolving another layer of that wall brick by brick.
Her hands frame my face as she pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. The amber flecks in hers seem to glow with an inner light. There's no fear there anymore, no hesitation. Just trust and something deeper that makes my heart clench.
"I've missed you," she whispers. "I've missed this."
"Me too, zvyozdochka ," I say as I claim her lips again.
And this time, it feels like coming home.