Chapter 40 Sima
SIMA
Days and weeks melt into each other. Feeding, rocking, changing. Petyr and I spend nearly all of it together, orbiting around Lilia like she’s the sun that keeps us alive.
It’s quiet. Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
I’ve never been this happy. Which is exactly why I don’t trust it.
Petyr takes the mornings with her. He brings her downstairs in his arms, hair still damp from the shower, and walks slow laps around the kitchen while Anya fusses over breakfast.
He talks to her in Russian, low and serious, like she’s one of his men getting a mission briefing. It’s hilarious to watch.
But then Lilia stares at him like he’s the only person in the world, and all the humor fades into something much warmer.
Watching them together does something strange to me. It’s a softness I never thought I’d see from him. From us.
At night, he stays beside me while I feed her. Sometimes, he falls asleep in the chair, still wearing his shirt from the day, one hand draped over the armrest. Like he’s standing guard, even in his dreams.
I tease him about it, but deep down, it makes me feel safe.
It’s everything I thought I’d never have. All I ever dreamed of having, really, wrapped up in the wonderful bundle in my arms.
That makes it impossible to relax.
I’m sure my therapist would have plenty to say about that. Self-fulfilling prophecy, rumination, what have you.
But joke’s on her, because I don’t have a therapist. And an imaginary therapist can’t stare at me judgmentally from across the room or tell me off for my superstitious behaviors.
Take that, Dr. Whatsherface.
Except that it’s not really a victory. Because this attitude of mine? It’s souring everything around me.
Every time I laugh, I wait for something to ruin it. Every time Petyr cracks one of his rare smiles, I brace for the moment it fades. It’s like I’ve been conditioned to expect the world to take things from me the second I start to love them.
I tell myself to stop thinking like that. To just live in the moment. But the unease is always there, a quiet hum under the happiness.
Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and check the nursery just to make sure Lilia is still breathing. Other times, I catch myself staring at Petyr across the breakfast table, wondering if this peace is real or if we’re just pretending.
Almost two months pass like that.
The only break from the routine is my weekly check-up. Luka drives me, which is a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the mansion. Ever since we patched things up, he’s become indispensable to my continued mental health. The golden retriever bodyguard to my black cat mommy doom.
I hadn’t realized how badly I missed having a friend around.
I should reach out to Jemma. The thought sneaks up on me, heavily with the guilt of all the people I’ve abandoned. Every bridge I burned when I ran.
Once this war is over, I’ll work on rebuilding every last one.
Today, on the drive back, we take a break from cracking jokes to sit in companionable silence.
The weather’s nice: sunny, crisp air, the kind that feels like a clean start.
I’ve got the window cracked just enough for the breeze to brush my face.
Lilia is asleep in her carrier beside me, and for once, everything feels simple.
“How’d the check-up go?” Luka asks from the driver’s seat.
“The doctor said she’s perfect.” I can’t quite keep the pride out of my voice. I never understood those moms who celebrated every little thing their kids did, but guess what? My baby is healthy, and that feels worth popping open a bottle of Petyr’s finest champagne over. “Growing fast.”
“I can see that.” Luka can’t quite keep the smile off his face, either. “She keeps getting longer. Makes you want to pose with her like those guys holding a big fish upside down.”
“Right?!”
“Of course, I’m not going to do that.” His cheeks pale. “I care about my hands. Would love to keep ‘em.”
“Maybe when she’s older.” And Petyr’s on a business trip across the Atlantic, I think but don’t say, because it doesn’t need saying. Luka is as loyal as they come, but I bet he still feels the phantom pain of his boss’s knuckles every time he blows his nose.
My gaze wanders back to Lilia. Strong, the doctor said.
Healthy. She smiled and told me I should be proud.
I thanked her and tried not to cry from relief.
Every appointment still feels like holding my breath until someone tells me I can exhale again.
Because, yes, that’s another moment where I’m expecting everything to go sideways.
Then she told me something else.
I’m healthy, too. Fully healed. Cleared for everything.
The way she said it was so casual, like she was talking about the weather. Not the thing Petyr and I have been quietly waiting on for weeks
I thanked her, smiled, and acted normal. But inside, my stomach flipped.
Because I know what that means.
Petyr never pushed. He’s been patient, maybe more than I expected. But I could always feel it: the low tension between us, the way his hand would linger a little too long on my hip, his breath against my neck when we’d fall asleep. He’s been waiting for the doctor’s okay.
And now, he has it.
I’m not afraid of being with him again. Not really. If anything, I want it. The time we’ve spent together has made it hard not to want him. He’s been softer, more deliberate. Every touch feels more charged than it used to. The restraint between us has only made the wanting worse.
But underneath the warmth, there’s a sliver of worry I can’t shake.
He said once that he wanted to start trying for an heir right away. He didn’t say it again, not since Lilia was born, but I haven’t forgotten.
And I know him well enough to understand he doesn’t change his mind easily.
I do want more children. I do. Someday.
Just not now.
I want time to breathe first. To figure out how to be a mother to this little girl before I try to be one again.
I want to give her my full attention, all of it, without splitting it between two cries, two bottles, two lives.
I want to keep this fragile peace for as long as I can before life complicates it again.
I’m just not sure how to tell Petyr any of that.
As the car turns into the driveway, I glance out the window at the tall iron gates closing behind us.
Petyr’s already there. He’s standing at the top of the stairs, hands in his pockets, his coat still on like he’s just come back himself.
The second he spots us, his whole demeanor softens. It’s subtle, but I see it. The tension in his shoulders eases, his mouth curves faintly. Almost a smile.
He meets us halfway down the steps. “How did it go?”
“Good.” I grin and unbuckle Lilia from her seat. “Really good. The doctor says she’s growing like a strong, healthy cabbage.”
“A cabbage.”
“Maybe not her exact words.”
Amusement twinkles in his eyes. His gaze flicks to the baby, then back to me. “And you?”
“I’m good, too.” I pause for effect. “All healed up. Cleared for everything.”
His face darkens a fraction. Not with anger, but something thicker. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
Behind us, Luka clears his throat. “I’m gonna go see if Anya needs any help with the… stove,” he mutters before quickly scurrying away.
Petyr and I stay like that. I can feel the way the air between us shifts. “That’s good to hear,” he says finally. His voice is huskier now. Almost hoarse.
He steps closer. His hand brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. My heart picks up, unable to keep still when Petyr’s hands are on me, even if they’re just fixing my hair.
Though we both know that’s not what he’s really doing. “You sure you’re feeling up for it?”
“Sure am.” I try to sound casual, even though I’m slowly melting into a puddle. “It’s the healthy thing to do. Doctor’s orders, right?”
His lips twitch with amusement again. “Later,” he says, and takes the baby carrier from me. “For now, you should rest.”
His tone is soft, but I know what’s beneath it: a dark, heated impatience, edged with anticipation.
And I can’t deny the spark of nerves that runs through me. The excitement that tangles with worry in my gut.
Because I know exactly what later means.
After dinner, the house goes still. Lilia’s asleep in her bassinet, her little breaths soft and steady. The quiet hum of the baby monitor fills the room as I look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
I haven’t used any of the lingerie Petyr bought me since I’ve been back. There hasn’t really been any occasion. Any sex we’ve had has been impulsive, a thing of want and greed neither one of us could control.
Tonight, it’s different.
I blink at my reflection. I’m not sure why I feel like a circus clown, but I do. I’m not used to being dolled up. Haven’t really had any reason to do so before Petyr, and after… he never really had the patience to wait for me to do so.
Not that I minded.
Nerves spark under my skin as I stare at myself. The lace feels foreign on my body. After months of only wearing Walmart’s finest cotton blends down there, it feels odd to have scratchy, beautiful fabric covering me.
Well, almost covering me.
My gaze snags on the stretch marks on my belly. An unwelcome reminder that my body isn’t what it used to be. There are faint lines where there weren’t before, softer curves, small scars that remind me what I went through to bring our daughter into the world. I try not to think about it too much.
I linger in the doorway for a moment. My heart pounds.
Then I step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
Petyr is standing by the bed, his shirt half-undone. He always looks like the dictionary definition of “genetic lottery winner,” but tonight, just seeing him makes my breaths short and quick.
Maybe it’s because I knew I couldn’t have him the way I wanted him while I was still recovering. I conditioned myself, taught myself not to look too hard. Because if I did, the desire would be unbearable.
His gaze fixes on me. Surprise flashes for a second in his eyes.
I decide to act before I’ve lost all my nerve.
The silk robe slides against my skin as I loosen the sash before letting it fall open. Beneath it, the lingerie I picked is black lace. Simple, but elegant. One of his gifts to me.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to dress this way. To want to.
For a second, his expression is unreadable. Then something dark and hungry flickers behind his eyes, and my breath catches.
The tension that’s been coiled tight between us for weeks snaps in an instant.
He strides across the distance between us. His hands find my waist, firm but careful, and pull me close until I can feel his heartbeat against mine.
He doesn’t wait for me to speak. Or, God forbid, to reach the bed. He just kisses me, deep and desperate, like he’s been starving for it.
So have I.
I melt into him. My hands brace against his chest. The warmth of him seeps through the thin fabric, grounds me even as my pulse races.
When his lips trail down my hips, I feel the hesitation. His touch changes. Lighter, almost hesitant.
“Petyr,” I whisper, and draw back just enough to meet his eyes.
He searches my face, voice low. “You’ll tell me if it hurts.”
It takes me a second to realize what he means. I smile, small but certain. “I’m fine.”
His brow furrows. “Sima—”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, firmer this time. Then I slide my hands up his chest, curl my fingers around the back of his neck, and pull him closer. “You don’t have to worry about breaking me.” A grin teases at my lips. “Though you’re welcome to try.”
He exhales sharply, something between a laugh and a growl, and kisses me again. This time, there’s no hesitation in it. No fear.
I melt into the kiss and fall back on the bed.