Epilogue
MIKAIL
My wife.
My heart.
My life.
I thought that making Dahlia my wife would at least curb my obsession. No such thing. I feel even more possessive of her.
I’ve called her my wife a thousand times already. I’ve called her even more in my head.
I am mad. Desperate for her.
Raw craving and unfiltered adoration lead me every single moment since I made her mine officially.
It’s been ten months since we got married at Versailles, and the happiest time of my life.
Work has become secondary. More of a chore and duty than anything. But I had little choice considering the world I was born into. I must become even more powerful and feared, so no one can even get close to touching the life I am building with my wife.
My legacy will prevail.
It’s growing in my wife’s belly.
My baby boy.
She’s pregnant. Four months and she is just showing.
But with my incapacity to keep my hands off her, the outcome was to be expected. On a weekend getaway, I beat the odds. Since then, I’ve pranced around, feeling cocky as fuck and even prouder.
Knowing I am a father has been the humblest and most fearful experience of my life. He’s not even here, yet I love him with everything in me.
Music floats around me as I listen to her play.
It’s become our routine when we’re not going out, loving to spend our time holed up at home. Making love, having late dinners where we dance and laugh, swimming and talking. Simple, serene.
Some nights she plays for me, like now. I listen, enthralled, not believing that this breathtaking, talented, sunshine of a woman is my wife. That she chose me.
Every day of my life is a constant proof of my undying love and eternal devotion to her. She will never regret loving me, that she chose me to spend her life with.
I love her so much, I wish to be the only one she loves, needs, desires. I was her first, and I will be her last, but in between I want to remain the only one she’s ever wanted.
Am I doing enough? Loving her well enough? Showing her enough that she’s my entire world?
“Dahlia,” I call to her, and it’s enough for her to stop playing.
Sometimes when feelings overcome me, like right now, I lack the right words to say, but she understands.
She pulls the lid of the piano closed and stands up, walking to me.
“What is it, baby?” she asks, tilting her head.
“I love you.”
She smiles a bright, full of understanding one, palming my chest that warms under her touch. “I know. You’re the best man, the best husband, and will be the best father.”
I grip the armrests of the chair as if wanting to smother the nagging thoughts, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. “What if––”
She cuts me off by placing a finger on my mouth and drops into my lap.
My hand goes to palm her belly. It does the strangest things to me, witnessing her belly grow. I can’t wait for her to get even bigger, swell with my son.
From feeling elated to being so proud, I could shout out to the world that it’s mine. I got her pregnant. To being constantly worried about him and his mother, to getting hard randomly, just glimpsing at her belly. And damn, my woman has been craving my cock even more lately.
I wish my baby to be like his mother, but he has to be just like me. That thought always threatens to dampen my mood.
“Mika, I knew exactly who I married. I didn’t compromise or settle for less. We’ll raise him under the same credo. Family comes first too.” She smiles warmly. “What are you afraid of?”
My first instinct is to say no, that I fear nothing but that would be a lie.
I sigh and draw strength from my wife. “I wanted to give you Paris.”
I don’t need to continue.
She eyes me with such understanding and adoration it puts me on my knees.
“Paris was just a dream. Reno is our city. Our home. And you’re the Pakhan, my man. This is the life I chose for myself. This is the life I’m falling in love with daily. Give me a life, not a dream, baby. Because I’ve dreamed for years. Now, I just want to live the rest of my life.”
Her loving me never ceases to amaze me. Her unwavering belief in me makes me want to be a better man, each day renewed. “You’re perfect, Mika. You know that?”
She loves me just as I am, and that fortifies me.
I rub my nose against hers, stealing a kiss. “You keep reminding me.”
There isn’t a word in the dictionary that could come close to describing how mad I am for her.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that while pregnant, I’m afraid I will never stop wanting to get pregnant.”
I chuckle. “Is that so? I love to fuck you pregnant, baby girl. That might be a problem.”
“You’re supposed to stop me when I’m being irrational,” she tries for a chastising tone but fails.
I arch a brow at her. “My wife is not irrational. She just loves my cock too much to resist.”
Brushing my palms along her calves, I reach the apex of her thighs.
The delicate tattoo on the place where her thigh meets her pussy greets me with my name. She wanted that as a wedding present for me. Once we returned from our honeymoon, I tattooed my name on her and her initial on my ring finger.
She traces her palm over my hard abdomen. This woman makes me feel powerful like a titan, strong as a cliff, seductive like the ocean.
“So unfair…” she sighs. “You’re freaking perfect.”
“You’re carrying my child. You’re the perfect one. The sexiest, most desirable woman for me is you. Always were, always will be,” I assure her.
She’s become even more beautiful to me since she got pregnant, which baffles me, but I don’t question it.
“Nothing compares to what we have, what you’ve gifted me, baby girl. You’ve filled my life with meaning, my heart with love, my days with purpose, my nights with passion. My only regret is there’s only so many variations of I love you.”
Her mouth curves up in the sweetest smile possible, and she cups my cheek. I lean into her, wishing I could never forget how her warm, soothing touch feels.
“I love you is more than enough, baby. It carries pieces of your heart you gift me daily.”
The End