49. Cathy
49
CATHY
Two years later…
T he living room is scattered with toys—blocks in bright primary colors, a plush bear missing an ear, and a stack of storybooks Ivan and I read aloud every night.
In the kitchen, I find Anya at the stove, humming as she stirs a pot. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air, mingling with the aroma of whatever delicious breakfast she’s preparing. She looks up and greets me with a warm smile.
I catch sight of my manuscript draft on the counter, marked with notes and a few frustrated scribbles. I’ve been rewriting a section for days, but every time I sit down to work on it, my attention wanders to the baby monitor on the counter. Tiny sounds of giggling fill the room, and I can’t help but smile.
Anya notices and nods toward the monitor with a grin. “Little Alexei is quite the morning chatterbox, isn’t he?”
“He definitely takes after Ivan in that regard,” I say, chuckling.
“Are you saying I talk too much?” a deep voice murmurs behind me. Ivan’s arms wrap around me from behind, his hands resting comfortably on my waist. I lean back, feeling the strength and warmth of him surrounding me.
“Only when it comes to bedtime stories,” I tease, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
Anya laughs from the stove, glancing over her shoulder. “That’s not a bad thing, Cathy. A man who reads bedtime stories is a keeper.”
Ivan chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
We stand there for a moment, a rare quiet filling the space. The scent of coffee, Anya’s gentle humming, the baby’s soft sounds from the monitor—it all wraps around us, making me feel that this life, this family, is real.
Nik strides in, grinning broadly, his new prosthetic arm gleaming in the light. With an exaggerated flourish, he grabs a beer from the fridge and deftly pops the cap off, waving his new arm around proudly.
“Show-off,” I tease, laughing as I watch him.
Nik smirks, lifting the bottle. “Hey, I have to test out my new party trick. Got to make sure I still have some value around here, you know? Cheers for the upgrade, boss.”
Ivan chuckles, grabbing a bottle for himself and clinking it against Nik’s. “I only did it so you can open mine.”
Anya watches us, hands on her hips. She’s practically glowing, a smile of pride and motherly satisfaction lighting up her face. “Now don’t keep her out too long, Ivan,” she says, shaking her head with a playful wink. “She has a book to finish, remember?”
Anya waves us off with a grin. “Go on, enjoy your day. Nick and I will keep little Alexei entertained.”
Ivan and I share a look, and I give his hand a squeeze. We slip outside, feeling the warmth of the morning sun as we step onto the path that winds around the garden, basking in the rare quiet that fills our lives.
The sunlight streams over the tennis court as Ivan and I step onto it, rackets in hand. There’s a thrill in the air, one that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the lightness between us, a freedom I feel with him now that was impossible to imagine before.
Ivan leans against the net, arms folded, his eyes already sparkling with mischief. “Are you sure you’re ready to lose again?” he teases, his tone light but his expression daring. I can’t help but laugh, feigning offense.
“Oh, you think you’re the only one who’s improved?” I counter, tossing the ball up in my hand, testing the weight.
He chuckles, that low, rich sound that always seems to unnerve me in the best way. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
We start with an easy rally, the ball bouncing back and forth between us as we fall into a rhythm, each hit punctuated by a playful taunt or lighthearted jab.
I run across the court, returning a serve that lands just past the line. He grins, chasing it down with his usual speed, but this time, instead of the usual fierce determination, he seems relaxed, playful, like he’s genuinely enjoying himself.
“You know,” he says, sending the ball back with a quick spin, “I almost thought you’d take this game seriously.”
I return the shot with a challenging smirk. “Oh, I’m taking it seriously. I just happen to be winning.”
“You call that winning?” He laughs, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve barely kept up.”
The rally continues, both of us moving faster, laughter spilling into our breaths as we play. I can see the glint of surprise in his eyes as I manage to send one particularly tricky shot just past him.
It’s a genuine back-and-forth, not the one-sided game we played before, and I know he can feel it too—the equality we’ve built, both on and off the court.
But then I remember my own secret weapon, something I’d planned ever since we stepped onto the court.
I pause, catching the ball in my hand as Ivan watches me from across the net, curiosity flickering in his gaze. Slowly, I tug at the hem of my tennis skirt, lifting it just enough for him to catch a glimpse of what’s underneath—or rather, what isn’t.
His eyes widen, just a flicker, and then darken with a smoldering intensity that makes my heart race. He straightens, his racket forgotten in his hand, as he takes a step forward, his voice rough. “Is that your game strategy, Cathy? Distract me with that bare ass of yours.”
I shrug, giving him my most innocent look. “Did I forget panties again? How careless of me.”
In an instant, he’s across the court, reaching for me, and I barely have time to laugh before he’s pulled me close, his hand slipping around my waist.
His mouth finds mine, possessive and warm, and I melt against him, the thrill of the game forgotten in the warmth of his kiss. His fingers graze the bare skin beneath my skirt, and I shiver at the intensity of his touch.
“You do realize,” he murmurs against my lips, “that this means you’re forfeiting the game.”
“Does it look like I care?” I whisper back, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath my fingertips. “Or is that your excuse for losing?”