Chapter 15 #3
Not with lust—though that was always there, simmering under everything—but with something tender. Protective. The particular warmth that came when I used that title outside of sex, claiming him as mine in front of someone else.
"Hi, kitten," he replied, voice pitched low and gentle.
Sophie rose from the table, and there was something formal in the way she greeted him. Not unfriendly, but respectful of boundaries. "Kostya. Thank you for coming."
He nodded at her, then his attention returned to me. Always to me, like I was the sun and he was just a planet caught in orbit. "Show me what you've been doing."
I grabbed his hand—so much larger than mine, scarred from violence, capable of terrible things—and pulled him toward the table. He followed, careful of his size in the small space, ducking slightly under the string lights.
Without thinking, without asking, I crawled into his lap once he'd folded himself into one of the child-sized chairs that looked comically small under his bulk.
His arm came around me automatically, steadying me, and I felt myself settling in a way I hadn't even with Sophie.
She was my friend, my equal in this space. But Kostya was my anchor.
"Look," I said, showing him my mandala. Half-finished, all blues and greens in perfect gradients. "I stayed inside the lines."
His chin came to rest on my shoulder as he studied my work with the same intensity he'd use to plan an interrogation. "It's beautiful, kitten. Very precise. These color choices—" He traced a finger over the blue sections. "Like water. Calm."
"That's what I was thinking," I admitted, warm from his praise. "Like the ocean that morning at Brighton Beach."
Sophie watched us with a soft smile. "You two are disgusting," she said, but her tone was fond. "All that tenderness. It's like watching a wolf cuddle a bunny."
"I'm not a bunny," I protested.
"You're definitely a bunny," Kostya agreed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "My bunny."
"If she's a bunny, what am I?" Sophie asked, returning to her own coloring.
"Trouble," Kostya said immediately. "Just like Nikolai."
Sophie laughed, bright and delighted. "He says the same about you."
They had an easy familiarity I hadn't expected.
Not quite family—that would take time—but the comfortable awareness of people who understood each other's roles.
Sophie knew what Kostya did for the Besharovs.
Kostya knew what Sophie meant to Nikolai.
They existed in each other's orbits without friction, bound by their love for the Besharov brothers.
"We should play something," Sophie announced suddenly. She moved to the pile of stuffed animals, considering options. "Maya, you haven't met everyone yet."
"Everyone?" I looked at the collection—bears, dragons, elephants, things I couldn't identify.
"Every stuffie has a name and personality," Sophie explained seriously. "It's very important. This is Mr. Buttons—he's a bear who likes tea. And this is Princess Scales—she's Zmeya's cousin, obviously."
I chuckled. Sophie had been very excited to hear about the cats.
She held up a stuffed dragon, green and sparkly and absolutely ridiculous. I looked at Kostya, expecting to see amusement or barely concealed mockery. Instead, he was studying the dragon with genuine consideration.
"Zmeya would eat her cousin," he said seriously. "No family loyalty in that one."
"That's why Princess Scales lives here," Sophie continued, not missing a beat. "Protective custody from her feral cousin."
She handed me the dragon, then passed Kostya the bear. He held it with the same care he'd use for a weapon, if weapons were fluffy and had button eyes.
"Tea party or battle?" Sophie asked, like these were equally valid options.
"Battle," Kostya said immediately. "Mr. Buttons has been talking shit about Princess Scales' hoard."
My jaw dropped. "You did not just make up stuffed animal drama."
"Mr. Buttons is a known instigator," he said with complete seriousness. "Look at his face. Clear troublemaker."
Sophie was already laughing, pulling out more animals. "Okay, but Princess Scales has allies. This is Sir Hops—" a rabbit "—and Lady Whiskers—" a cat. "They'll defend her honor."
What followed was the most ridiculous twenty minutes of my life.
Kostya narrated an entire stuffed animal war with the commitment of someone planning an actual tactical strike.
Mr. Buttons apparently had gambling debts.
Princess Scales was running a protection racket.
Sir Hops was secretly in love with Lady Whiskers but couldn't confess because of the ongoing territorial dispute.
He did voices. Different voices for each animal. The Beast of Brighton Beach gave a teddy bear a New Jersey accent and made a stuffed rabbit sound like a British aristocrat.
I laughed until my stomach hurt. Laughed until tears streamed down my face. Sophie was no better, collapsed against the table, wheezing about Mr. Buttons' dramatic death scene where Kostya had him confessing his sins in increasingly ridiculous detail.
"He leaves his button collection to charity," Kostya intoned solemnly, making the bear flop dramatically. "His honey stocks go to his estranged brother, Theodore Buttons, who lives in Vermont and makes artisanal jam."
"Stop," I gasped, barely able to breathe. "Stop, I can't—"
"Mr. Buttons' death cannot be in vain," he continued, completely committed to the bit. "Princess Scales must learn the cost of power."
Sophie threw Lady Whiskers at his head. "You're insane. You're completely insane."
"I'm thorough," he corrected, catching the cat easily. "Lady Whiskers would never engage in violence. She's a pacifist. Says so in her backstory."
"Since when does she have backstory?" Sophie demanded.
"Since now. She studied philosophy at cat university. Wrote her thesis on non-violent resistance in territorial disputes."
I was crying now, actual tears, but from joy.
From the complete absurdity of this moment.
This man, who'd probably broken someone's fingers that morning, was creating elaborate histories for stuffed animals because it made me laugh.
Because in this safe space, he could be silly and gentle and completely unlike the monster the world knew him as.
"You're perfect," I said without thinking, the words escaping on a laugh.
Everything stopped. Sophie went quiet. Kostya's hands stilled on the stuffed bear. The air in the room shifted, became charged with something bigger than play.
"I'm not," he said quietly, all humor gone from his voice.
"You are," I insisted, crawling closer in his lap, cupping his scarred face in my small hands. "You're perfect for me. My perfect Daddy who makes up stories about teddy bear gambling debts."
His eyes searched mine, looking for the lie, the platitude. Finding none. Because I meant it. Every word.
"Disgusting," Sophie said again, but she was smiling. "Absolutely nauseating. I'm telling Nikolai you two are worse than us."
"Impossible," Kostya said, pulling me closer. "Have you seen yourself with him? Like teenagers."
"We're in love," Sophie defended.
"So are we," I said, and felt Kostya's arms tighten around me.
The words hung in the air, simple and true. We were in love. The doctor and the enforcer. The runner and the hunter. The Little and her Daddy. All of these things, none of these things, everything in between.
Sophie started packing up the stuffed animals with exaggerated care, giving us a moment. I stayed in Kostya's lap, my head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat against my chest. Strong and steady, like everything about him when he held me.
"Thank you," I whispered against his neck. "For coming. For playing. For being . . ."
"Ridiculous?" he supplied.
"Mine," I corrected. "For being mine."
His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, holding me close. "Always, kitten."
Sophie cleared her throat gently. "It's almost four. Nikolai will be looking for me."
Time's up. Back to reality. Back to the world where Brand was hunting me and danger pressed against the compound walls. But for two hours, we'd been safe. We'd been silly. We'd been ourselves in ways the outside world would never understand or accept.
"Same time next week?" Sophie asked, hope clear in her voice.
I looked at Kostya, saw him nod slightly. "Yes," I said. "Absolutely yes."
“Maybe Nikolai will join us,” Kostya suggested.
“Maybe,” Sophie replied.
We gathered ourselves, me reluctantly sliding from Kostya's lap, him unfolding from the tiny chair with a grunt that made us both laugh. Sophie hugged me goodbye, quick and fierce, whispering "You're good for each other" before pulling back.
As we left the nursery, Kostya's hand found mine. We walked through the Besharov compound in comfortable silence, carrying the peace of that yellow room with us like a secret, like a promise.
This could be our life. Not just the danger and the running and the violence that surrounded us, but this too. Soft afternoons with friends who understood. Stuffed animal battles. Coloring inside or outside the lines by choice.
A future. Despite everything hunting us, we were building a future.
Ifloated back to Kostya's room on a cloud made of crayons and stuffed animal warfare, my body loose in ways it hadn't been in months.
Every muscle relaxed, every anxious thought quieted, that constant spiral of what-if finally, blissfully silent.
The nursery had done something to my brain chemistry that six months of running hadn't—made me feel safe.
Not just protected, but actually safe, down to my bones.
Kostya headed straight for the shower, pressing a kiss to my forehead before disappearing into the bathroom. "Five minutes," he promised, already pulling his shirt over his head.