Chapter 24
PAVEL
I stood over the bed staring down at her sleeping form.
My knuckles brushed over her sleep-warmed cheek, pushing back a wayward curl to expose her neck.
So small. So innocent. So…vulnerable.
So…mine.
Or at least she would be, very soon.
Wife.
Over these last few weeks, the word had grown on me.
Returning home each night to her sweet body had become as necessary to me as air.
It wasn't love.
Love was not an emotion I was capable of.
But it was damn close.
Close enough to build a life.
My gaze ran over her body as the silk sheets hugged each delicate curve, lingering over her stomach.
What if she were already pregnant ?
The idea of a beautiful baby with her eyes and smile filled me with a strange warmth. Again.
Not love…but close.
Last night had been different.
I’d come home after a particularly brutal day.
All I wanted to do was shower the blood off me and fuck her into submission. Fuck her until I forgot about anything else but the feel of her body accepting mine.
And yet…
She'd surprised me.
"Could we... could we watch a movie tonight?" she'd asked hesitantly after changing back into her sheer slip. "Something normal?"
Normal. Such a foreign concept in my world.
"What did you have in mind?"
" The Princess Bride . It's..." She'd searched for words. "It's my favorite. It’s super funny. Although you probably won’t understand half the references."
Something about her tentative request had intrigued me. "Very well."
Twenty minutes later, we were settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us. I'd changed into gray sweatpants and a T-shirt—casual clothes I rarely wore, feeling oddly exposed without my armor of expensive suits.
She'd disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bag of colorful candies, dumping them into the popcorn bowl.
“What unholy thing did you just do?” I teased, watching her mix the contents.
"M&Ms and popcorn." She shrugged, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Sweet and salty. Don't knock it until you try it."
“It’s against nature.”
"It's not!" She grabbed a handful and held it out to me. "Try it."
I eyed the mixture skeptically before taking a piece. The combination was... unexpected. Not terrible, but strange. "Americans have no taste."
"Says the man who puts caviar on everything," she shot back, then immediately froze as if expecting punishment for her sass.
Instead, I found myself smiling. "Touché."
"Inconceivable!" some fool on the screen shouted, and Alina actually laughed—a real sound of joy that did something dangerous to my chest.
Her laughter was dangerous. It was like a drug. I found myself wanting more.
"What does that word mean, exactly?" I asked, genuinely confused by the varying contexts the word was being used in.
"It means unbelievable, impossible. But he uses it wrong—that's the joke. Inigo keeps pointing it out."
I watched her face as she explained, animated in a way I rarely saw. When the character finally said, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means," I found myself chuckling.
"American humor is... strange," I observed, reaching for more of her bizarre popcorn mixture. The M&Ms had grown on me.
"You're getting popcorn crumbs on the couch," she giggled as she brushed the fabric .
There was no fear or hesitation in her voice. Just...normalcy.
For the next hour, we sat together like any couple might.
She explained cultural references, laughed at my confusion over American customs, and gradually relaxed against my side.
I found myself studying her profile more than the screen, fascinated by this glimpse of who she might have been in another life.
"The grandfather reading to the sick boy," I said during a quiet moment. "It reminds me of my babushka."
She turned to look at me, surprised by the personal revelation. "She read to you?"
"Russian fairy tales. Always with a moral about being careful what you wish for." I paused, remembering weathered hands and kind eyes. "She would have liked you."
Something shifted in Alina's expression—softness, maybe even tenderness. "My grandmother really does like you, you know. She keeps asking the nurses about 'that nice young man'."
The moment the words left her lips, I saw the realization hit her.
The spell began to crack as reality intruded—the reminder of why her grandmother liked me, what I was holding over her head, the cage I'd built around both of them.
Her body started to tense, to pull away, and I couldn't have that.
Not tonight .
Before she could retreat into herself, I cupped her face and kissed her.
Soft, slow, nothing like the demanding kisses I usually claimed.
This was...gentle.
Coaxing rather than taking.
When I pulled back, her eyes were wide but no longer guarded.
“Let’s keep watching your silly American movie,” I murmured, tucking her under my arm and pulling her against my side.
She settled against me with a small sigh, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder as if it belonged there.
As the movie continued, her breathing slowed, her body growing heavier against mine.
By the time the credits rolled, she was fast asleep, her face peaceful in a way I rarely saw when she was awake.
One small hand rested against my chest, fingers curled into my shirt as if anchoring herself to me even in sleep.
I should have woken her.
Should have sent her to bed and maintained the careful distance that kept our arrangement simple and clean.
Instead, I found myself memorizing the weight of her against me, the soft whisper of her breath against my neck, the way her hair caught the light from the television screen.
Carefully, I slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her sleeping form against my chest. She stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to my warmth, and something possessive unfurled in my chest .
Mine.
I carried her to our bedroom, moving slowly to avoid waking her.
In the low light filtering through the windows, she looked angelic—porcelain skin and dark lashes against flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted in sleep.
I laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the cool silk sheets.
She made a small sound of protest when I pulled away, and I found myself pausing, watching the way she unconsciously reached for me even in sleep.
Quickly, I stripped out of my clothes and slid into bed behind her.
The moment my arm came around her waist, she pressed back against me with a contented sigh, her body fitting perfectly against mine as if we'd been sleeping together for years instead of weeks.
This morning, taking her in, sound asleep in the circle of my arms, I understood something fundamental had changed.
She wasn't just my captive anymore, or even just my future wife.
She was becoming my home.
And that terrified me more than any enemy I'd ever faced.