Chapter 15 Sienna
Sienna
Three months later…
Pregnancy is a strange thing.
One week, I want nothing but chocolate croissants and cold peaches. The next, I’d kill someone for a plate of mashed potatoes with pickles.
Benedikt never complains. He just listens, nods, and makes it happen.
Sometimes he makes it himself, which always ends in a mess. Other nights, he sends Artem out at ungodly hours to hunt down whatever I’ve decided I can’t live without.
He’s been good.
Really good.
And that’s almost scarier than when he wasn’t.
Ben still works, of course, takes calls, and disappears sometimes, but he’s always back before midnight. Always home for dinner, no matter what kind of blood-soaked business his family left behind. He’ll slide into bed next to me, ask about my day, and listen.
He listens about the baby, the bakery—which is opening in a month—and anything and everything I want.
It’s weird how safe I feel now.
How much I’ve started to trust the quiet between us.
Italy has helped with that. The air here feels different. The villa Ben rented sits on a hill surrounded by lemon trees and olive groves, and from my window, I can see the sea—blue and endless and full of promise.
We’ve been here a week, and today, I become Mrs. Volkov.
It’s not a huge wedding.
Ben offered to fly anyone I wanted over, but my grandmother insisted I go without her. Said she wanted us to enjoy ourselves, that she’d be waiting at home with cake and gossip when we got back.
So it’s just us.
Me, Benedikt, and Artem lurking somewhere outside and pretending he’s not guarding the place.
My dress hangs on the back of the door—simple and off-white, with lace sleeves I didn’t know I’d love until I saw them.
My hair’s done with loose curls pinned up.
I’m supposed to be finishing my makeup, but instead, I’m pacing the floor in bare feet, holding my small, rounded stomach with both hands.
I’m nervous.
Excited.
Terrified.
All of it, tangled together.
A knock at the door breaks the quiet. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant.
“Princess?”
Ben.
I smile. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not in there,” he counters through the door. “That was the compromise. Traditional… ish.”
I roll my eyes, moving closer but maintaining the barrier between us. “What do you want?”
“You ready?”
“Almost.”
A pause.
Then, “How almost?”
“Half almost.”
He sighs—a long, deep exhale that carries the kind of impatience only Benedikt Volkov can pull off. “You’ve been getting ready for two hours.”
“It takes time to look this good.”
“You always look good.”
“You’re trying to charm me before the ceremony, Volkov? I’m trying to get ready.”
“I’m trying to remind my future wife that I’m not a patient man.”
I laugh softly, leaning my forehead against the door. “That’s exactly why you’re staying on the other side.”
Another beat, and then his voice drops a little. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?”
“How would you know?”
“I can hear it,” he says without missing a beat. “You sound like you’re smiling.”
That shouldn’t make my heart race the way it does.
“Maybe I am,” I murmur.
“Good,” he says, and I can hear the smirk. “You’ll need to save some of it for when I finally get to see you.”
“You mean when you finally get to touch me.”
The growl that leaves him is low, controlled, and dangerous in the best way. “Don’t start, Sienna.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He mutters something under his breath in Russian—something I don’t understand, but I know the tone.
It’s the one he uses when I’ve pushed too far, and he secretly loves it.
“Three months, and you still haven’t learned to listen,” he murmurs.
“Three months, and you still haven’t learned to stop talking like you own me.”
“I don’t own you.” His voice is quieter now and sincere. “I just want to keep you.”
I take a breath, staring at the wood between us. The door feels like a metaphor. Everything we’ve fought through. Everything that’s still between us. But somehow, it’s thinner now.
Easier to breathe through.
“You’re sure about this?” I ask softly. “About us?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life,” he answers instantly. “You think I’d come all the way to Italy just to let you change your mind?”
“Maybe,” I say. “You did promise me three months.”
“And I made good on it, didn’t I? No threats. No forcing. Just me trying to prove I can be the man you want.”
“You’ve been doing better.”
“Better?”
“Progress, Benedikt. Don’t ruin it now.”
He laughs. “You’re lucky I can’t see you right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’d already be up against the wall,” he growls.
“Romantic as ever.”
“I’ll save the romance for after the vows,” he says. “And the wall.”
I press my lips together to stop myself from laughing. “You’re a pain in my ass, Ben.”
“I’m in love,” he corrects. “That’s worse.”
And just like that, my chest tightens in the best possible way.
“I love you, too,” I say so quietly that I’m not sure if he hears it.
But then I feel it. His presence on the other side of the door shifts closer. His voice comes out lower. “Say that again.”
“Say what again?”
“Princess,” he demands. “Say. It. Again.”
My pulse races, but I still force from my lips, “I love you, Benedikt.”
“Let me open the door.”
I scoff. “No.”
“Sienna.”
“Ben,” I mock. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before.”
“I saw you last night.”
“Because you wouldn’t leave the room.”
There’s a pause, and then he lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh—half disbelief, half relief. “You’re really going to kill me, princess. You know that?”
“Not yet,” I whisper. “Not until after the cake.”
“You didn’t want a cake. You wanted cookies.”
I shrug. “Now, I want cake.”
Ben chuckles on the other side of the door, and I can see him shaking his head. “Alright, well, if you don’t kill me, Artem will.”
“He likes the exercise.”
“He’s going to hand me my ass.”
“Well, you’d better hurry, Volkov. We’re getting married.”
“Not soon enough. You ready to be Mrs. Volkov?”
“Yeah.” I rest my palm on the small swell of my belly. “I think I am.”
“Good. Because I’ve been ready since the day you strolled into my office.”
“Guess you win, then.”
“No, princess,” he says. “We do.”