Valentine Husband (An angel for Tsar)

CHAPTER 1

ILAY

It’s six days before Valentine's Day and I am standing in my kitchen at five forty-seven in the morning squeezing oranges into the juicer while the machine whirs and pulp collect in the strainer.

Warm morning light shine through our floor to ceiling windows illuminating the clean white marble tiles as I add two red apples, cored and sliced, since Iris refuses to drink anything with the green ones in it.

The bacon sizzles in the pan and I flip the strips carefully, making sure they come out golden and crisp the way she likes them.

On the counter sit six carefully cut heart-shaped pancakes for my wife.

The watermelon is cubed and chilling in the freezer since she likes it solid and cold instead of juiced.

I arrange everything on the steel tray with the juice in the crystal glass she got from her grandmother, the bacon on the white plate, the pancakes stacked with strawberries on top, and the watermelon in the small blue bowl with the chipped edge that she refuses to throw away.

I carry the tray up the stairs carefully and push open the bedroom door with my shoulder, and there she is, my wife, sprawled across the bed in her little nightdress with her red hair fanned across the pillow, the soft glow of the lights I installed because she doesn’t like to wake up to sunlight illuminating her gorgeous face.

And on top of her, using her stomach as a mattress, is my three-year-old daughter Anya in a Donald Duck nightgown.

She must have crawled in here after I got up to make breakfast. She was not here when I left the bed an hour ago.

I set the tray down on the bedside table and move to pick her up, and the second my hands touch her little body she squirms and kicks and makes a noise like a disgruntled cat.

"No," she mumbles while still half asleep. "Five more minutes."

"It's Papa," I say quietly.

Her eyes flutter open and those green eyes, Iris's eyes, look up at me with recognition before she stops struggling and wraps her arms around my neck to bury her face in my shoulder.

"Papa," she breathes while already falling back asleep against me. "You smell like pancakes."

"That's how it is when you make pancakes."

She hums and nuzzles deeper and goes completely limp in my arms.

I adjust her weight against my hip and lean down to press a kiss to Iris's forehead, and her eyes open slowly with that sleepy confusion that I never get tired of seeing.

"Breakfast, baby," I murmur.

She inhales and her nose twitches and a smile curves across her lips before she is even fully awake.

"Mmm." She stretches and arches her back. "I was wondering what smelt so nice."

"Eat up." I watch her sit up and pull the tray onto her lap. "You came home so late last night that I was worried about you."

Her expression shifts. "Yeah, the case has been driving me insane. That man is not budging at all and my client is frustrated and I'm frustrated, and everyone is frustrated."

"Don't stress too much about it," I say while still holding our sleeping daughter. "You know you can always decide to take on smaller cases."

Her eyes flash. "Don't go there again. You already know that when I set my mind to something I have to do it."

I laugh and lean down to kiss her. "That's what I love about you."

She softens just a little. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, times a million."

She rolls her eyes but she is smiling. "You know you can just say I love you too normally instead of adding times whatever you're timing."

"I love you times extra, extra, extra, extra, and I can't even say it enough. If I could play it like a broken record for you every day I would."

She shakes her head but that smile is still there, and then she looks up at me still hovering over her. "Get your face out of my face." Then she pauses and notices the small body draped over my shoulder. "I didn't even notice she was with you."

I shift Anya's position on my hip. "She keeps latching onto you these days. She just started preschool and she's adjusting, and sometimes she doesn't want to go, so she just wants to be near us."

"Near you," Iris corrects.

"Near both of us."

She takes a bite of bacon and closes her eyes. "God, this is good."

"Alright, let me go get this one bathed and dressed so we can drop her at school and then I'll drop you at work."

"Alright."

Anya's bedroom is a disaster of pink and purple and sparkles.

She designed it herself by pointing at things in a catalog and screaming "that one" until we gave in.

There is a princess canopy over her bed and a mountain of stuffed animals in the corner and glitter on surfaces that should never have glitter on them.

I set her down on her bed and hand her a warm glass of water and she takes it with both hands while still half asleep and gulps the whole thing down.

"Morning, Papa," she mumbles when she is done and hands the glass back to me.

"Good morning, my princess.”

I scoop her up again and carry her to the bathroom, and the second she sees the tub her eyes go wide.

"Papa." Her voice is urgent. "Papa, please don't make me go to school today."

"You know we can't do that. Your mama is going to be very upset if you don't go to school, and school isn't even for the whole day."

"No." She grabs onto my arm. "I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I want to stay with you."

"Don't start this again, princess."

But she is already crying with fat tears rolling down her cheeks as I lift her into the warm water, and she sobs through the entire bath while hiccupping and sniffling and grabbing at my hands

"Papa, please, Papa, no, I don't like school, why should I have to study when I can already talk?"

I wash her hair and keep the soap out of her eyes. "How about this, after school we get ice cream and cupcakes."

She sniffles. "We already have ice cream and cupcakes every day so you have to convince me more."

She is still crying but I can see the crack in the performance now, the tiny smile trying to break through. She is three but she is already a negotiator who knows exactly how to work me.

She is her mother's daughter.

"Okay," I say slowly. "How about this, you go to school like a good girl and when you come home you get to help Papa with a very important secret mission."

The tears stop immediately and her eyes go round. "A secret mission?"

"A very important one."

"Am I gonna help Papa with his spy mission?"

I keep my face serious. She thinks I am a spy who fights bad guys and saves the world and comes home smelling like victory. She does not know and she can never know that her papa is the bad guy everyone else is afraid of.

"Yes," I tell her. "We're going to do something very secretive, something special, but you can't tell Mama about it."

Her face lights up. "A secret from Mama?"

"A secret for Mama, there's a difference."

She considers this and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Throw in the stuffed bear from the store window and you got a deal."

"You're adding conditions now?"

"Yes.

I sigh and rinse the soap from her hair. "Alright, anything you want, princess."

She grins, victorious. "Deal."

I lift her out of the tub and wrap her in a towel, rubbing her dry before carrying her back to her room.

I have done this enough times now that I could do it in my sleep.

The little underwear with the butterflies, the pink dress with the ruffles, the white socks that match, the shoes that light up when she walks.

Then her hair. Two ponytails, even and symmetrical. I spent six months perfecting this and watched tutorials and practiced on dolls until I could create a ponytail that would make a hairdresser weep.

I pack her bag with her little lunchbox that has the rabbit on it, her water bottle, her glitter pens since she insists on bringing them everywhere, and her favorite chapstick that she is too young to need but loves anyway.

"Ready?" I ask.

She holds up her pinky. "Promise about the mission?"

I hook my pinky around hers. "Promise."

"And the stuffed bear?"

"And the stuffed bear."

She nods, satisfied. "Okay, I'm ready."

I send Anya downstairs to have breakfast with her mother while I shower and get dressed.

I pull on a fitted navy polo and leave it untucked with dark jeans and clean white sneakers. I used to wear custom Italian suits every day with expensive watches and cufflinks and tie pins, but now I wear whatever makes it easier to chase a three-year-old through the park.

I push my hair back and head downstairs.

In the kitchen Iris is sitting at the table with Anya in the chair beside her, and there is a plate of scrambled eggs and vegetables in front of my daughter. She is picking at it and moving the vegetables around with her fork and avoiding them like they are poison.

I walk up behind her and tap her nose with my finger.

She giggles and squirms. "Papa!"

"Princess," I say while crouching down beside her. "You have to eat your veggies if you want to help me out later."

Her face scrunches and she looks at the broccoli like it personally offended her, but she spears a piece with her fork and shoves it in her mouth and chews and swallows and makes a face like she just survived something traumatic.

"Good girl," I tell her.

She eats the rest of them reluctantly and dramatically, but she eats them.

Iris watches the whole thing with raised eyebrows. "Why does she always listen to you?"

I straighten up and kiss the top of Anya's head. "She and I are kindred spirits, aren't we, princess?"

Anya grins up at me with broccoli still visible in her teeth. "Yes, spirits!"

Iris shakes her head but she is smiling. "You two are ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in sync," I correct.

The three of us head outside to the car where Viktor is already waiting. He has been my driver for five years now and he does not ask questions and does not blink at anything.

Iris gets Anya settled into her car seat while I hold the door, and then she slides in beside her.

We pull up to the preschool with its bright colors and happy signs and children running around like tiny maniacs while exhausted teachers try to maintain order

Viktor opens Iris's door and she gets out first and opens Anya's door, but Anya does not move.

I step out of the car and walk around to her side. "Are you not going to come?"

She is staring straight ahead with her hands folded in her lap. "I need a minute, I need a minute to myself, please."

Iris and I exchange a look and she shrugs, so we wait.

One minute. Two minutes. Three.

I crouch down to her level. "Anya."

She takes a deep breath and squares her little shoulders and her face sets into an expression of fierce determination that looks absolutely adorable on someone who still needs help reaching the sink.

"Alright," she announces. "I'm ready."

Iris bends down to her. "Baby, it's not as if you're going to fight a war or something, what's gotten into you today?"

Anya looks at her mother with complete seriousness. "Mama, I have to be a brave girl today, so you have to pray for me, okay?"

Iris's eyes flick to me, confused. "What is going on with her?"

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. "Nothing, she's just being a brave girl."

We walk her to the door and she hugs me and then hugs Iris and then turns and marches into the building like a soldier heading into battle.

"She gets that from you," Iris mutters as we walk back to the car.

"The dramatics? Absolutely not, that's you."

She smacks my arm and I catch her hand and bring it to my lips.

When we arrive at her office building I step out first and walk around to open her door for her, and she takes my hand as she steps out onto the sidewalk.

"At exactly 4, I'm coming back here to pick you up," I tell her.

She sighs. "I'm really busy, I don't know if I can even finish by 4."

"This is not healthy at all, angel." I look at her properly. "I mean, look at you, you've lost a lot of weight. I'm not happy about that."

She waves a hand. "That's a good thing. I'm trying to lose this baby weight for the past three years and it's not easy. This is actually helping. Plus, you know how I felt when I just gave birth. I wasn't really myself."

"Have I ever made you feel insecure about your body?"

Her expression softens. "No. You've never. In fact, you've loved me more than ever before."

"And I will keep loving you." I take both of her hands in mine.

"You brought a life, our child, into this world, risking your own life.

I would never, and I mean never, dislike your body.

No matter how much it changes. So please don't stress yourself and try to lose weight to appeal to me.

You would appeal to me even in a hot dog costume. "

She stares at me. "Okay, that is very offensive." But she is smiling. "But also sweet."

She leans up and kisses my lips. "I love you."

"I love you too."

I pull her closer and kiss her again, deeper this time, and when she tries to pull back I drag her lips back into mine.

She pushes at my chest lightly. "Not in front of my office, I know people here."

I kiss her again anyway.

"Ilay," she mumbles against my mouth. "People are going to start seeing my husband being inappropriate with me outside of my office."

I grab one of her ass cheeks and squeeze. "Your husband is hot. You are hot."

She laughs and tries to squirm away. "That's the more reason why we shouldn't be doing this intense kissing outside of here."

I lean in again, this time to the side of her neck, and I press my lips there, feeling her pulse against my mouth. And then I bite. Not hard enough to break skin. Just hard enough to leave a mark.

She yelps. "Ouch! Why did you do that, you vampire?"

I pull back and rub the spot with my thumb while my eyes drift to the man in the suit standing near the building entrance. The one who has been to my house twice now for work dinners. The one who watches my wife with a little too much interest every time she walks into a room.

"Just a precaution," I say calmly. "Just to deter pests. I know you don't like me killing your colleagues, so this is a precaution."

She rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Go home and behave."

"Yes, angel."

I give her ass another firm smack as she turns to leave.

She yelps and spins around to glare at me. "Ilay!"

I just smirk at her.

She shakes her head but she is fighting a smile, and she turns to walk toward the building. Just before she reaches the entrance she looks back over her shoulder at me, and I give her a small wave. She giggles and shakes her head again and disappears inside.

The man near the entrance is watching me now.

I hold his gaze and let the smirk stay on my face, and I do not look away until he does.

Then I get back in the car.

"Home, sir?" Viktor asks from the front.

"Not yet." I pull out my phone. "I have a mission to plan."

Six days until Valentine's Day.

And I intend to make it perfect.