Chapter 19 #2
When Nikandr places his hand on the small of my back, I don’t flinch away like I might have a week ago. The touch is warm and protective without being possessive, and I lean into it slightly as we walk.
“Thank you,” I say as we step out onto the sidewalk, “For letting me have something normal.”
“You don’t have to thank me for normal, Sabrina. You deserve normal.”
The way he says my name, soft and deliberate, makes something flutter in my chest. I’m not sure when the heat between us turned into something warmer and steadier. This feels less like desire and more like the foundation for something tangible.
We’re walking toward the car, my arms full of shopping bags, when I catch sight of a man in a dark jacket, leaning against a lamppost, and staring directly at us.
He’s not moving or pretending to be doing anything else.
He just watches with an intensity that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Something about his posture, and the way he holds himself perfectly still while everything around him moves, sends a surge of fear through me. He’s too focused and deliberate. Normal people don’t stand that way or stare that openly.
I slow my steps, trying to get a better look without being obvious about it. The man appears to be middle-aged and average height, with graying hair visible beneath a baseball cap. There’s nothing particularly distinctive about him except for that unnerving stare.
When I do a double take, shifting my bags to get a clearer view, he’s gone. He vanishes into the crowd of shoppers as if he was never there at all. I scan the sidewalk frantically, looking for any trace of the dark jacket or the baseball cap, but see nothing unusual.
“Everything okay?” asks Nikandr, following my gaze across the street.
I scan the sidewalk again, looking for any sign of the man in the dark jacket, but see nothing unusual. There are only normal people going about their lives, carrying shopping bags, pushing strollers, or talking on phones.
“Yeah,” I say finally, deciding not to mention what I saw. It could all be in my head anyway. Things have been peaceful lately, and maybe I’m just not used to feeling safe. Maybe I’m seeing threats that don’t exist because part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You sure?” His voice carries the kind of alertness that tells me he’s already shifting into protective mode.
“I’m sure. I thought I saw someone I recognized, but I was wrong.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he opens the passenger door for me and waits until I’m settled before closing it and walking around to the driver’s side.
As we pull away from the curb, I cradle the bag of baby clothes against my chest and let myself imagine what our life could look like with a normal family life.
There will be bedtime stories, birthday parties, and school plays.
I can picture it clearly. Not just surviving this situation or getting through the pregnancy but actually building something good together. Something real.
The thought should terrify me, but as I watch him drive, noting the careful way he checks the mirrors and the unconscious protectiveness in the way he positions himself between me and potential threats, I don’t feel afraid. I feel hopeful.
Maybe that’s na?ve. Maybe I’m setting myself up for heartbreak by believing we can have something normal and beautiful together. Maybe, maybe, maybe… Sitting here with bags full of tiny clothes and impossible dreams, I can’t bring myself to care about the risks.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, glancing over at me.
“Baby names,” I lie, not ready to share the deeper thoughts swirling through my mind.
“Any ideas?”
“A few. What about you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I keep thinking about my grandmother’s name, Elizabeth. It means grace in Russian.”
“Elizabeth,” I repeat, testing the sound of it. “I like it. It’s beautiful.”
“What about middle names?”
“Maybe something that honors my mother? Her name was Claire.”
“Elizabeth Claire.” He says it slowly, like he’s imagining calling our daughter by that name. “It’s perfect.”
The easy way we slip into planning our daughter’s name, and the natural rhythm of discussing our future fills me with calm confidence.
This isn’t just about shared responsibility or physical attraction anymore but about building something together while creating a family that goes beyond the circumstances that brought us into each other’s lives.
When we arrive back at the estate, Nikandr insists on carrying all the shopping bags upstairs to the nursery he’s been having renovated. I follow him down the hall to a room I haven’t seen since the day I arrived, and when he opens the door, I gasp.
The space has been transformed into something out of a fairy tale.
There are soft gray walls with white trim, a crib that looks like it was handcrafted by artists, and a rocking chair positioned perfectly by the window.
Everything is elegant and beautiful and completely ready for our daughter’s arrival.
“When did you do all this?” I ask, running my fingers along the edge of the crib.
“I’ve been working on it since I found out you were pregnant. I hope you’ll stay long enough to use it.”
The carefully neutral way he phrases it tells me he’s trying not to pressure me, but there’s something vulnerable in his expression that suggests my answer matters more than he’s willing to admit.
“I’m sure I will. I like it here…with you.”
The admission surprises both of us, but it feels true in a way that has nothing to do with fear or obligation. I want to stay not because I have to, but because I can imagine being happy here with him, building the kind of life our daughter deserves.
As we unpack the shopping bags together, arranging tiny outfits in the dresser and placing the stuffed bear in the crib, I let myself believe maybe fairy tales can come true, and two people from completely different worlds can find a way to build something beautiful together.
Maybe this can actually be real.