Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
LYAH
N iko seems… different.
It’s not in anything he overtly says or does, just in the subtle shifts of his behavior. The way his eyes linger on me when he thinks I'm not looking. How his hand hovers near my belly before he catches himself and pulls away. A new gentleness in his touch as if he's afraid of breaking me.
I don’t quite know what to make of it. The Niko I’m used to, the man forged in the bowels of Ukraine, before being honed and refined in the dark alleys and boardrooms of Manhattan, is all sharp lines and shut doors, a fortress of self-rule.
He can run an empire and dismantle his enemies by breakfast, but the moment things stray too close to tenderness, he becomes evasive, as if affection is a trick bullet destined for his heart.
Even after we said I do, after the long nights pressed together on our honeymoon with the world on mute, I always sensed his caution, the lingering calculation in every rare embrace.
But lately, something has shifted. I’ve started to notice cracks in his armor.
Just little slivers - like the way he always finds an excuse to be in the same room as me, even if he’s just nursing an espresso and staring at the skyline.
Or he’ll stand in the doorway while I brush my teeth, arms crossed, feigning disinterest but glancing at my reflection.
When I’m on a call with Roisin he loiters in the background, listening to the advice she gives me and jotting down notes he disguises as work.
And when he thinks I’m asleep, he’ll kneel by the bed, resting his palm on my hip, as if by touching me he can tether himself to this fragile new reality.
Sometimes in the morning, I catch him fumbling through pregnancy books on his phone, trying to look bored, but reading every word.
I don’t dare call him out on it, but the first time he saw me looking he shrugged, and told me we should be prepared, like it was nothing.
I hope it means more than that. I think it does.
A man like Nikolai Radaeva doesn't do anything by half measures. Affection, for him, is the same currency as violence: transactional, controlled, never freely given, and never left unguarded. Even our wedding vows, whispered in a private midnight chapel with just my mother, Roisin, and Darian present as witnesses, was more like a binding contract. There were no declarations of love; we never had that dynamic. Looking back, with what I know now, I’m surprised he even took time for a honeymoon.
But here I am, watching the contours of his hard self suddenly go soft around the edges, like he's been handed a living, breathing secret he can't bear to lose. It makes the yearning ache I’ve always felt inside me bloom into a riotous garden of hope for our future.
It makes me love him all the more, and Niko is not an easy man to love.
The first time I caught him watching me sleep, he lied about it.
Said he was up early, trying to get ahead on work, but his phone screen was dark and his laptop untouched.
Instead, he held a cup of coffee and stared at me with the kind of desperation usually reserved for enemies' weaknesses.
Another night he came home late and I pretended to be asleep, but I felt the mattress dip and his hand pause over my stomach.
He whispered something I couldn't quite make out, but it sounded… affectionate, in his own, rough way.
I see him change day by day, the sharp edges blunting, silences filling with unspoken hopes, and for the first time, I believe the metamorphosis might be real.
I try to be cautious, to keep my heart barricaded behind the same steel doors Niko wields so expertly.
But it’s like watching a glacier thaw - you can’t look away, no matter how gradual the shift.
Even though everything inside me screams not to trust it, I find myself hoping anyway.
It's been a month since we found out about the baby, and each small change adds up to something more profound. Where before Niko was distant and cold, now there's an undercurrent of protectiveness in his actions. He makes sure I take my prenatal vitamins every morning, chiding me if I forget, but never harshly, which makes me feel all kinds of guilty. I googled St John’s Wort because something in Dr Zelensky’s response to it made me curious and discovered it’s the likely cause of my implant failing since it apparently decreases the effectiveness of hormone-based contraceptives, but I don’t want Niko to think I did it on purpose.
The kitchen is suddenly stocked with all the healthy foods the doctor recommended, and Niko watches like a hawk to ensure I'm eating properly, suddenly available for mealtimes. It makes me feel treasured in a way I’ve never felt before.
At night, when he slides into bed beside me, his arm drapes across my waist, hand splayed protectively over my growing bump, which is just about starting to show, but not so I’m noticeably pregnant.
Sometimes I’m roused from slumber by him whispering in Ukrainian to our unborn son, his voice low and fierce with promises I barely understand since I’m not fluent in the language, or I’ll find him wrapped around me protectively while he sleeps.
This morning, I wake to the most noticeable change as he touches me with reverence, his calloused hands skimming my skin with a gentleness I've never felt from him before. His lips trail soft kisses along my neck and shoulder as he presses against me from behind.
"Good morning, moya lyubov," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep.
I shiver at the endearment, one he's never used before. My love. The words send a thrill through me.
"Niko," I breathe, pressing back against him as his fingers dance over my skin.
His hand splays across my belly, cradling the slight swell there. "How are you feeling?" he asks, nuzzling my ear.
"Good," I whisper, a grin forming that I can’t hold back. "And even better now."
He hums in approval, his fingers resume tracing lazy patterns on my skin. There's no urgency in his touch, just a tender exploration that makes my heart ache.
Slowly, reverently, he turns me to face him. His ice blue eyes, usually so cold and guarded, are warm as they roam my face. One hand cups my cheek while the other continues its gentle caress of my stomach.
"You're beautiful," he says softly, and for once there's no calculation in his gaze, just raw honesty. I feel my cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment.
"Niko," I whisper, overcome with emotion. My hand reaches up to trace the strong line of his jaw, marveling at how open and unguarded he looks in this moment and savoring it because I know it won’t last.
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm but as I suspected he’s already withdrawing, like he knows he’s said too much, and that makes my heart ache in a different way.
I rest my hand over his heart feeling its strong, steady beat beneath my fingers.
I wish it beat for me like it does for our child, but I’m not that naive.
Still, I’ll take everything I can get. He leans down and captures my lips, and I lean into the contact.
The kiss deepens, slow and sensual. Niko's hands continue to worship my body, mapping every curve and plane as if committing them to memory.
There's none of his usual urgency or dominance - instead, he touches me like I'm something precious, something to be cherished.
I wish it was real. That I could have this all the time.
Pushing those intrusive thoughts aside, I melt into his embrace, overwhelmed by this new tenderness. I stroke my fingers through his hair, taking the rare opportunity to touch him this way as he trails kisses down my neck, pausing to suckle gently at my pulse point.
A soft moan escapes me and Niko murmurs against my skin. "Let me take care of you."
He shifts, moving down my body with a trail of feather-light kisses. When he reaches my belly, he pauses, resting his forehead against the slight swell. For a moment, he's completely still, and I wonder if he's saying a silent prayer or making another fierce promise to our unborn son.
Then he continues his journey, parting my thighs with gentle hands.
The first swipe of his tongue makes me gasp and bow off the bed.
Niko holds my hips steady as he worships me with his mouth, drawing out my pleasure with exquisite skill.
While he permits it, I allow my fingers to roam his body as waves of ecstasy build within me.
"Niko," I moan, my voice breathy and desperate. He hums against me in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body.
As I near the peak, Niko slides two fingers inside me, curling them just so. The dual sensation of his fingers and tongue pushes me over the edge. I cry out, my back flexing as intense pleasure washes over me.
Niko works me through the aftershocks before kissing his way back up my body. When he reaches my lips, I taste myself on his tongue. The kiss is deep and passionate, conveying emotions I don’t dare put into words.
He enters me slowly, joining our bodies almost reverently. There's no frantic urgency, just a steady, sensual rhythm as we move together. Niko's eyes never leave mine, and I see something there I've never witnessed before, but I’m too scared to wonder what it means.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. One of his hands finds mine, fingers intertwining as he braces himself above me. The other cradles my face, thumb stroking my cheek tenderly. The intimacy of the gesture nearly undoes me.
"Emylyah," he breathes, his voice rough with emotion. "My Lyah."
Hearing my name on his lips, spoken with such deference, sends a shiver through me; he never calls me by my pet name. I arch up, meeting his thrusts as the pressure builds once more. Niko's movements become more urgent, his breathing ragged against my neck.
"Come for me, moya lyubov," he murmurs, his fingers finding my already sensitive clit. "Let me feel you."
His words and his touch push me over the edge and I cry out, clinging to him as waves of pleasure crash over me. Niko follows moments later, burying his face in my hair as he finds his release with an elongated groan.
For long moments we lay tangled together, catching our breath. His weight on me is comforting, grounding and I want to stay like this forever, pretending this tenderness is real, that it will last beyond the afterglow.
But all too soon, reality intrudes. Niko pulls away, rolling onto his back beside me.
The loss of contact leaves me feeling bereft and I turn my head to look at him, studying his profile.
His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The vulnerability I glimpsed moments ago is already fading, replaced by his usual stoic mask.
"Niko?" I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly, and my heart sinks.
"We should get up," he says gruffly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I have meetings today."
Just like that, the spell is broken. The tender lover of moments ago is gone, replaced by the cold, distant man I'm more familiar with. I watch as he strides to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won't cry. I know better than to hope for more, to imagine this newfound gentleness extends beyond fleeting, unguarded moments.
Still, as I listen to the shower running, my hand drifts to my belly. The memory of Niko's reverent touch lingers on my skin. For a brief, shining moment, I had a glimpse of what could be - of the family I've always dreamed of. The tenderness, the connection, the love.
But dreams are dangerous things in this world. I learned that lesson long ago, and it’s better not to forget it.
Still, gone is the rough, demanding Niko I've known. In his place is a man who has shown me a side of himself I’ve never seen before. Surely that, at least, has to mean something.