Chapter 18 Dimitri
DIMITRI
It’s been two days since the bleeding. Forty-eight hours since I thought I might lose them both.
I’m supposed to be reviewing security protocols—the file is open on my laptop, cursor blinking expectantly—but instead I’m watching Vera sleep.
She’s on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her auburn hair spills across the white pillowcase in waves, catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and her lips are slightly parted with each slow breath.
She’s beautiful.
The thought isn’t new. I’ve always known she was attractive, even when I hated her, but this is different.
This is watching the way her nose scrunches slightly when she dreams, the way her fingers twitch against the pillow, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest that tells me she’s here, alive, and safe.
This is memorizing every detail like I’m afraid I might forget, like she might disappear if I look away.
My eyes drift lower, to where her other hand rests on her stomach.
There’s only the slightest sign of the twelve-week-old life growing inside her.
If you didn’t know her body the way I do, you would never know that she’s pregnant.
But I know it’s there. I’ve seen the grainy ultrasound image that’s now tucked in my wallet, and heard that impossibly fast heartbeat.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The memory makes my chest tight. Those moments before Dr. Petrov found the heartbeat—when Vera was sobbing in my arms and there was so much blood and I thought—
I force the memory away. She’s fine. The baby is fine. Dr. Petrov said so.
But I haven’t been able to leave this room for more than a few minutes at a time since. Mrs. Kozlov brings meals. I work from the chair beside Vera’s bed. At night, I lie next to her and barely sleep because I need to know she’s still breathing and okay.
It’s excessive. Obsessive, frankly. But I can’t stop.
The thought of losing her—losing them—rearranged something fundamental inside me until I can’t pretend anymore.
I’m in love with her.
With Vera Ashford. The woman I married for revenge. The woman whose family killed my brother. The woman who is pregnant with his baby.
The realization should horrify me, and it does. But it’s also so obvious I don’t know how I missed it.
When did it happen? I try to trace it back and pinpoint the exact moment.
Was it at dinner when she threw my own words back in my face and refused to be cowed?
Or when she looked at me in the library with understanding instead of fear?
Or the night we had sex in my office and she told me she cared about me despite every reason not to?
Or was it two days ago, when I saw her doubled over and bleeding and the bottom dropped out of my world? When I realized I would burn everything to the ground—every alliance, every carefully laid plan, the entire fucking city—if it meant keeping her safe?
Maybe it was all of those moments. Maybe it was none of them. Maybe I’ve been falling since the moment she walked down that aisle in her white dress, scared shitless but meeting her destiny head on.
Vera shifts in her sleep, her hand moving unconsciously over the barely-there swell of her stomach. Protecting. Even unconscious, she’s protecting the baby.
My baby.
The thought stops me cold. Not Alexei’s baby. Mine.
Sweat trickles down my back. When did that shift happen?
When did I start thinking of this child as mine instead of my brother’s?
Is it because I’m the one who's been here for every doctor’s appointment and every moment of morning sickness?
Because I’m the one who held her while she sobbed and bled and thought she was losing it?
Is this what a father feels? This fierce, overwhelming need to protect them both. Or is it just what an uncle should feel?
The distinction matters. It should matter.
Because if I’m thinking of myself as this baby’s father, then I’m taking something that should have been Alexei’s. The chance to be there for Vera’s pregnancy, to hold his child, to build a family.
He’s been dead two and a half months. Two and a half months, and I’ve already taken his girl and claimed his baby as my own.
Fuck me. I’m a horrible brother.
Alexei didn’t deserve her, I know that now after Vera told me about their relationship. He kept her a secret, like she was something to be ashamed of. He had this incredible woman who loved him and he treated her like an afterthought. How could he do that?
But she was still his. And this baby—
I look at the ultrasound photo on the nightstand. That tiny form, barely recognizable as human but unmistakably alive. My nephew or niece. My brother’s child.
My child.
I drop my chin onto my chest. God, I’m so fucked.
I can’t separate the two anymore or draw a clean line between duty and desire, between protecting what’s mine and taking what was Alexei’s. It’s all tangled together until I don’t know where one feeling ends and another begins.
I just know that I love her. I love her in a way that’s all-consuming and entirely inappropriate given that she’s grieving my dead brother while pregnant with his baby.
And I know I can’t tell her.
Saying “I love you” feels like the ultimate vulnerability, and Dimitri Volkov doesn’t do vulnerable.
More than that, it feels wrong, like I’d be forcing her to choose between her grief for Alexei and her growing feelings for me.
It feels like I would be taking advantage of her isolation and dependence.
I’d be betraying my brother one more time.
So I stay silent.
I bring her meals, not trusting anyone else to make sure she eats and set out her prenatal vitamins each morning and watch until she swallows them. I’m here when she wakes from nightmares, when the cramping gets bad, and when she needs someone to just sit with her.
At night, I hold her and press my face into her hair and breathe in the scent of her shampoo and I think about if life were different. If we had met first, before she and Alexei got together. And I whisper everything except the words that matter most.
“You’re safe.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
But never “I love you.”
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Because some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud and some feelings are too complicated to untangle. And some betrayals—
A knock at the door interrupts my spiral.
I glance at Vera, but she doesn’t stir.
The knock comes again, more insistent.
I close my laptop quietly and slip out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. If this is important enough to disturb us, someone’s about to have a very bad day.
Konstantin stands at the top of the stairs, looking perfectly composed as always. Gray suit, not a hair out of place. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me emerge from Vera’s bedroom.
“Dimitri. I was beginning to think you’d taken up permanent residence in there.”
“Vera’s on bed rest,” I say flatly. “Someone needs to make sure she follows orders.”
“And that someone has to be you?” He doesn’t sound judgmental, exactly. More... pleased? Like I’ve done something he approves of. That’s odd. “You have staff for that. Mrs. Kozlov. The guards.”
I scowl at my uncle. “I’m not leaving her.”
Something flickers across his face. Satisfaction? “I can see that.” He gestures towards the stairs. “Shall we talk downstairs? Unless you’re worried she’ll disappear in the five minutes you’re gone?”
The sarcasm grates, but he has a point. Vera’s asleep. Dr. Petrov cleared her yesterday as the bleeding has stopped and the cramping has eased. She’s out of immediate danger.
And I need to get out of this hallway because for whatever reason, I don’t like my uncle being around Vera.
“Fine.”
We head downstairs to my office. I don’t offer him a seat, and he doesn’t take one. Instead, he stands by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the grounds.
“The girl is recovering well, I take it?” he asks.
“Vera,” I correct sharply, stiffening at the slight. “Her name is Vera. And yes, she’s fine. The baby is fine.”
“Good.” He turns to face me, and there’s that expression again. Pleased. Satisfied. “I’m glad to see you’re taking your responsibilities as a husband seriously.”
I chafe at his words. “Of course I am,” I retort, irritated. “She’s my wife. She’s carrying a Volkov child.” I cross my arms, defensive without quite knowing why. “Her wellbeing is my concern.”
Konstantin snorts. “It’s more than concern, Dimitri,” he says gently. “It’s obvious you deeply care about the girl.”
I don’t deny it, especially when I’ve been camped out in her bedroom for two days like a guard dog, but I’m not going to give my uncle the satisfaction. “What’s your point?” I ask impatiently.
My uncle shrugs. “No point. Just an observation.” He moves away from the window, closer to where I’m standing.
“When we arranged this marriage, I told you it would bind the families together and create peace from tragedy. But I didn’t expect…
” He pauses, studying my face. “Genuine feelings to develop so quickly.”
The way he says it makes something in my gut twist. Why does he sound so pleased?
“If you’ve developed genuine feelings for Vera,” he continues, “it only strengthens the alliance. Makes it more likely to last. After all, a marriage based on real affection is worth more than one based on obligation.”
He’s right, but something about his tone—about the way he’s watching me like I'm a chess piece that's moved exactly where he wanted—makes my instincts prickle.
“What are you getting at, Uncle?”
“Nothing at all.” He spreads his hands innocently. “I’m simply saying I’m pleased. For both of you. Alexei’s death was a tragedy, but perhaps some good can come from it, after all.”
There it is again. That casual dismissal of Alexei. Like my brother’s murder was just an unfortunate bump in the road to a stronger alliance.
“You keep doing that,” I say slowly.