Epilogue
Tatiana
One year later
“Bonne nuit, Pascal,” Goodnight, Pascal. I say as I lock up the front door to my new gallery. We’re not open to the public yet, but I’ve had the absolute time of my life finding the perfect location and spending my days traveling the French countryside sourcing the very best artwork.
And yes, most of it is love-centric.
Some things will never change.
Pascal is a homeless veteran of l’Armée de l’Air - the French Air Force who sleeps in front of my gallery every night.
I’ve offered him the apartment above the gallery more times than I can count, but he always refuses.
I’ve stopped pushing. He knows the offer is there whenever he’s ready to accept it.
I bring him coffees and pastries every morning and dinner most nights, and in return, he protects the gallery at night. Paris may be the city of love and is modern and fashionable, but night times bring out the worst of the city.
“Bonne nuit, madame,” he replies, pulling the camping blanket I bought him up around his shoulders.
A car is waiting for me at the curb, and I smile. Roman.
I climb into the passenger seat, leaning over to give him a kiss on his scruffy cheek. He’s been wearing a light beard ever since “retirement,” and I love the rugged look on him.
Our chateau is about an hour from the city, but I don’t mind the commute. After everything went down with the Vitales and Chernovs, we flew into Paris and stayed in a historic hotel for a month while we toured houses.
Finally, we found the perfect house. It’s small for a chateau, but it’s settled into rolling hills that look down onto a small medieval village, has a small orchard, a large stone back patio for dining, and a small barn for Juliet and our new gelding Romeo, a gorgeous black Warmblood we bought to be her companion.
I lace my fingers through Roman’s right hand and rest my head back against the car seat as I listen to him tell me all about his job.
After we’d settled in the chateau and he was comfortable with the security of it, he got a job at a local vineyard, helping with the vines and harvest and learning the ins and outs of wine fermentation.
It may not be being an architect, but in a lot of ways I think this suits him better.
He gets to use his hands, the job is different every day, and he’s fascinated with the science behind what gives a harvest different flavor profiles.
I’m so very tired, but I try to keep my eyes open and give him the attention he deserves.
When we pull into the long, winding dirt driveway of our new home, I bite back a yawn.
They don’t know about the doctor’s appointment I had earlier in the day.
I still keep in touch with Nikki and Hannah.
We’ve got a group chat called “Mafia Princess Diaries” even though Nikki and I don’t have anything to do with the mafia business anymore.
They share pictures of their kids, and I share pictures of Paris and our home.
The mafia lifestyle isn’t something every day civilians can really understand, so it’s nice having a community of women who get it.
I’m still taking my cybersecurity courses because it itches a part of my brain that I love.
It challenges me and helps me balance my softer, artistic side.
Mikhail renovated the dilapidated greenhouse and kitchen gardens on the property, and he spends his days with the horses, gardens, and helping a local sheep farmer during shearing and lambing days.
Lev claims he’s “retired” and doesn’t need to work anymore.
But I’m pretty sure he just says this to needle me.
In reality, he does so much for the family and chateau, but he doesn’t know that I know how much.
He manages the small security team we have, maintains the cars and the cleaning staff, and does most of the cooking.
When he’s not managing the property, he’s found a small MMA club in the next town over that he likes to train with.
I never knew I could be so happy. I never knew we could be so happy. I still find myself reeling that this is our life now.
Subconsciously, my hand rests on my still-flat belly. Because things are about to get happier.
I kick off my shoes and set my purse down in the living room, like I normally do, before heading for the shower to wash the smell of the city off of me. I’m surprised when none of my men join me. I can count on one hand the number of showers I’ve taken alone in the last year.
Every day we work separately, but come together at night to eat and drink and fall into bed together. Our free use continues once Lev’s confirmed all of the staff have gone home for the night.
Johnson’s kept us updated with the trial and sentencing, but truthfully, my family and my life are right here, in this country, and this home, and these men. I couldn’t care less what happens with the Chernovs and Vitales.
I dry off and wrap a plush robe around my body before I walk barefoot into the living room.
“Guys?” I ask. All three men are standing around in a semi-circle in the living room.
“Knyazhna?” Lev asks, looking up from my purse.
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.
“Knyaz?” Prince I reply.
“Is there something you want to tell us?”
“Well, I was going to wait until later, but it looks like you already know.” In his hand is the prescription for prenatal vitamins my OBGYN wants me to start taking. I’m still too early for an ultrasound.
Mikhail is the first to move. In three long strides he’s in front of me, wrapping me up in his arms and spinning us.
I rest my hands on his shoulders and let the happy laugh bubble out of me.
We, of course, had talked about kids, but we were letting nature take its course.
No condoms, no birth control, but also not really trying.
I’m pulled unceremoniously from Mik’s arms into Roman’s. My feet still haven’t touched the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist and study his handsome face. He’s not smiling, but the look on his face is full of seriousness and awe.
“You’ve made me a father?” he whispers, tenderly holding the side of my face in one of his large hands.
I nod, but correct him. “You’ve made me a mother.
” The phrase should scare me, and sometimes I have doubts.
I’ve never seen what a good mother does, how a good mother acts.
And a part of me is terrified I won’t know what to do.
But the bigger part of me knows already that I will do anything for the little nugget growing inside of me.
And I have three men who I know will be there to support me. Unlike my own father.
When Roman finally sets me back down onto my feet, I look to Lev. I’m not sure how he’ll react. I know deep down he still worries about dying early. He’s leaning against the back of the couch, so I step in between his knees and hold his face in my hands.
“How do you feel about the news?” I ask, knowing that I can love him through any doubts he has.
A tear breaks free, and I watch as it tracks down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb.
“I think this is the greatest gift you could have given me.”
And I know he doesn’t mean the baby itself, but trusting him enough to get pregnant. I drop a kiss to his lips, satisfied to let him process it how he needs to.
“Right,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Now someone feed this pregnant woman. I’m starving.”
The End