Chapter 40 Holly
HOLLY
One year later.
Snow falls in soft, lazy spirals outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, blanketing the Alaskan landscape in a fresh layer of white.
Inside the lodge, a fire crackles in the stone fireplace, casting a warm amber glow across the room.
I curl deeper into the plush sofa and tuck my legs beneath me as I admire the towering Christmas tree in the corner. It's even more magnificent than last year's tree, dripping with silver and gold ornaments, and a thousand twinkling lights.
A year ago, I was a prisoner here.
Now, it’s my second home.
I glance down at my left hand, where my wedding ring catches the firelight, the platinum band gleaming beside the enormous diamond engagement ring my husband slid onto my finger when we moved home to New York.
My husband.
The word still sends a thrill through me every time I think it.
Despite me reassuring Nikolai that I didn’t need another wedding ceremony, he said he wanted to do it right this time.
So we were remarried in a small ceremony at the lodge, this time with Nana and Katya present.
I wore a simple ivory gown, and Nikolai wore a dark suit that made his ice-blue eyes smolder.
When he said his vows, I will protect you with my life, I knew he meant every word.
Because he'd already proven it.
The scar on his chest, the one I trace with my fingertips every night before we fall asleep, is a permanent reminder of the bullet he took for me.
Since then, every day with him has felt like a gift.
We spend most of our time in New York. But we make it back to Alaska several times throughout the year. Which Katya loves, of course.
Nikolai and I don’t mention Andrei’s name. I don’t know what happened to him. And I don’t ever want to find out.
I hear Nikolai’s footsteps on the stairs, and my heart does that familiar flip it always does when he's near. A year of marriage, and the man still makes my pulse race like a lovesick teenager.
Probably because he fucked me senseless this morning before breakfast.
And last night.
And the night before that.
Turns out, married life agrees with both of us.
Nikolai rounds the corner, and my breath catches the way it always does. He's wearing dark dress pants and a t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my toes curl.
"There you are, solnyshko," he says, his deep voice rumbling through me like distant thunder.
"Here I am," I reply with a smile.
He crosses the room and settles beside me on the sofa, pulling me into his arms.
He presses a kiss to my temple. "Merry Christmas, my love."
"Merry Christmas."
For a moment, we just sit there in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall and the fire dance. His hand rests on my hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the softness of my sweater.
Tell him.
The thought has been gnawing at me for days. I've known since Monday and keeping it from him has been absolute torture. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to give him this gift on Christmas morning, when we're back in the place where everything began.
Where he kept me captive.
Where he made me fall in love with him.
Where he took a bullet that was meant for me.
"I have something for you," I say, breaking the silence.
"You already gave me something this morning," he says with a grin, referring to our shower together, when I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. “And I have to admit, it’s going to be hard to beat.”
“This is something different entirely,” I say, laughing as I reach for the envelope behind me and hand it to him.
He takes it with a curious lift of his brow. "An envelope?"
"Open it."
I watch his face as he slides his finger beneath the seal and pulls out the small black-and-white image inside. For a moment, he just stares at it, his expression frozen.
"What is this?" he asks slowly.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"Your son."
The words hang in the air between us, electric and alive.
Nikolai's head snaps up, and those ice-blue eyes meet mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "My... son?"
I nod, tears already building in my eyes. "Yes, Nikolai. Your son."
"You're pregnant?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"Almost four months."
His face goes rigid. A muscle ticks in his jaw. And then—oh God, tears well in his eyes, turning that icy blue into something soft and shimmering.
I've seen this man kill without flinching. I've watched him face down enemies with nothing but cold fury in his gaze. But right now, looking at the grainy image of our baby, Nikolai Morozov looks utterly undone.
"I wanted to surprise you. On Christmas. Here." I gesture around the room. "Where it all began."
His gaze softens, and he looks down at the sonogram again, studying it like it holds the secrets of the universe.
"A son," he murmurs, tracing the tiny outline with his fingertip. "We're having a boy."
"We are."
He sets the sonogram down carefully and then cups my face in his large hands. His thumbs brush away my tears as he stares into my eyes with so much love it makes my soul ache.
"Thank you, solnyshko," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Thank you for loving me. For choosing me, even when I gave you every reason not to. For giving me a family." He presses his forehead to mine. "For giving me a son."
"I would choose you a thousand times over," I whisper. "In every life. In every universe. It's always you."
He kisses me then, a deep and desperate kiss that is so full of love it makes my heart dance. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper, and I moan against his mouth.
When we finally break apart, a slow smile spreads across my face.
"Do you remember what we did last Christmas Day?" I ask.
He thinks for a moment, and a wicked gleam enters his eyes. "If I remember rightly, we spent the day in bed. Naked."
I grin. "You remember right." I trail my fingers down his chest. "Want to shut out the rest of the world today?"
Something dark and hungry flashes in his gaze. "Is that safe? For the baby?"
I laugh. "The doctor says it's perfectly fine."
"Then who am I to argue with medical advice?"
Before I can respond, he scoops me up in his arms like I weigh nothing, and I let out a surprised squeal that quickly dissolves into laughter.
But he's already carrying me toward the stairs, his long strides eating up the distance to our bedroom.
"I'm going to spend the rest of the day making you moan my name, Mrs. Morozov," he growls against my ear, and a shiver of anticipation rolls through me.
"Promise?"
"Always."
He kicks open the bedroom door and lays me down on the massive bed, his body covering mine a heartbeat later. His mouth finds my neck, my jaw, the sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me gasp.
"I love you," he murmurs against my skin.
"I love you too," I breathe. "Both of you."
His hand slides down to rest on my still-flat stomach, and he pauses, looking down at where our child grows inside me. The tenderness in his expression makes my heart crack wide open.
"My son," he says softly, reverently. "My wife." His eyes meet mine. "My everything."
And then he spends the rest of Christmas Day making me moan his name, just like he promised.
Just like he always does.