Chapter 11 Tonight Everything Changes
Tonight Everything Changes
She’s a vision.
My wife steps out of our room in an emerald dress that should be illegal. Short enough to taste her thighs. Soft knit hugging her waist. Black sheer tights that shimmer when she moves.
And those boots.
Four inches. Maybe more.
My jaw tightens.
Any other night I’d let her twirl in front of me, I’d let her show off those legs she thinks are too short, that body she thinks is too small; Dio, she has no idea how perfect she is.
But she’s pregnant.
And she’s running around the house in heels.
My pulse spikes every time she takes a step.
“Dea,” I say under my breath, letting my hand settle on her lower back as she moves around the dining room. “Slow down.”
“No,” she says. “I know you’re worried about the boots, I can tell. I’ve worn much higher heels before.”
My jaw ticks. “Not while carrying my child.”
She places her hands on her hips. “Santo, I’m barely pregnant. The baby is the size of a poppy seed. My shoes aren’t going to hurt it.”
I sigh, my frustration warring with how adorable she is standing there, defiant and beautiful. “The baby might be small, but you’re still pregnant. What if you slip? What if you fall?”
“Then you’ll catch me,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You always do.”
She moves past me to adjust a place setting, and I follow, unable to stop myself from hovering.
“At least let me help you,” I mutter, reaching for the napkin she’s about to fold.
Vasilisa swats my hand away. “Santo, I love you, but you’re driving me crazy. I’m not made of glass.”
I sigh. Frustrated, but I step back.
She’s in hosting mode, floating, glowing, beautiful. I watch her glide from the table to the mantel, adjusting a garland ribbon that was already perfect, humming under her breath.
I adore her when she hosts.
I always have.
She lights up entire rooms without trying. Steals my breath every time.
She steps onto her toes to straighten a candle, and my heart stops because she wobbles, just a fraction, before steadying herself.
My entire spine locks.
I take one step toward her, ready to catch her—
But she doesn’t fall.
She just turns around with that proud little smile that kills me.
“Santo,” she warns softly, reading my mind. “I’m fine.”
She’s fine.
She’s fine.
And still my hand stays on her waist like I’m afraid she’ll float away.
She places the last plate, sighs with satisfaction, and looks like something sculpted by God just to ruin me.
I can’t look anywhere else. I don’t even try.
My entire world narrows to the sway of her dress, the soft sparkle of her tights, the way the green matches the shirt I chose just to make her smile.
Every second, I fall harder.
The doorbell rings.
Vasilisa gasps and my heart lurches in my chest.
And then she runs.
In heels.
Across marble floor.
“Dea!” I bark, already reaching out. “Stop running—”
Too late.
She’s already at the door, flinging it open like she’s five years old and it’s Christmas morning.
“Luna!”
Her entire face lights up. She throws her arms around her best friend, squealing, nearly knocking both of them off balance.
My heart stops.
She’s going to fall, she’s—
But Luna steadies her, laughing.
I exhale through my teeth.
Fine.
She’s fine.
I open my mouth to tell her, again, to slow down, but Nico walks in behind Luna and he has my ring.
I see it.
The bag.
Velvet.
Small.
Black.
He nods at me.
“Merry Christmas Eve.”
Vasilisa links arms with Luna, dragging her inside, talking a mile a minute as she pulls her toward the kitchen.
Before she disappears entirely, I pull her close by the waist, press a kiss to the crown of her head, and murmur against her hair:
“Don’t run, Dea. I mean it.”
She huffs, actually huffs at me, before tugging Luna toward the kitchen.
Both of them vanish around the corner.
I wait until her green dress slips fully out of view before I turn back to Nico.
He lifts the bag in his hand.
The heirloom she thinks she lost.
The ring I stole on purpose.
The ring I had engraved because my wife deserves more than anything I’ve ever given her.
And tonight—
Tonight is the night.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod.
“For her?” I say quietly. “Always.”
***
The house is full.
My men.
Angelo’s men.
Some of Maksim’s men.
And her at the center of it all.
Beaming.
Glowing.
Perfect.
She captivates the room, my Vasilisa. Even Sergei, who scowls at everyone, softens when she hands him a glass of wine. Vaska follows her around per my request, carrying trays of appetizers she insists on passing herself despite my protests.
I stand back, watching her work her magic, the ring feeling heavy in my pocket. Every time she wobbles on those damn heels, my heart stops. When she laughs, throwing her head back at something Luna whispers, the sound travels straight to my core.
Pietro approaches me, glass in hand. “She’s happy,” he says simply.
I nod. “She is.”
“You did good with the decorations.” He gestures to the garland, the lights. “Enzo told Sergei and he told us.”
“Gossips, all of you. But she deserves it.” I keep my eyes on Vasilisa as she hands Nico a cookie shaped suspiciously like him. “All of it.”
Pietro follows my gaze. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m watching.”
“Same thing.” He takes a sip of his wine. “But you’re watching more than usual. Is she okay?”
I don’t tell him she’s pregnant. That’s her news to share. Instead, I clench my jaw and say nothing. I still don’t trust that he doesn’t have feelings for my wife. Being her former guard since she was a teenager he’s too close.
“The garden looks good too,” Pietro adds, and I tense.
My eyes land on him.
“You’ve been in my garden?”
He shrugs. “Perimeter check. Maksim’s orders.”
Of course. Even when that bastards not here, he manages to insert himself into my home.
“It’s secure,” I say tersely. “I’ve made sure of it.”
Pietro raises his hand and glass in surrender. “Just doing my job.”
I nod once, dismissing him. My attention returns to Vasilisa, who’s now bending down to adjust something on the coffee table. The dress rides up her thighs, and I move without thinking, crossing the room in four long strides.
“Let me help,” I say, my hand already on her elbow, steadying her automatically.
She glances up, exasperation and amusement warring in her eyes. “I’m just fixing a napkin, Santo.”
“Still.” I help her straighten up, my hand lingering on her hip. “You shouldn’t bend like that.”
“Because...?” she prompts, eyebrow raised.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Because every man in this room is watching your ass, and I’m about to start removing eyeballs with Vaska’s favorite knife.”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “Liar. First of all, none of them see me like that and secondly, they’re terrified of you.”
“As they should be.” I press a kiss to her temple. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she says, but I catch the slight tremor in her voice. The exhaustion creeping in at the edges. She’s been on her feet for hours.
“Sit,” I say, settling on the couch “Just for a minute.”
She nods, lowering herself onto my lap, her legs drape over mine, and I settle her exactly where I want safe and soft and close.
Her tiny weight relaxes against me, warming every part of my body.
My hands bracket her gently, one above the knee, one on her waist, she brushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
She sighs, melting into me. “A lot of men brought their wives or girlfriends.”
“Mhm.” I hum, noncommittal.
Not because I don’t care, but because I’m too busy watching her.
Studying her.
Is she pale?
Is she tired?
Is she breathing too fast?
Is she hungry?
Is she dizzy?
Is she in pain?
I’m tracking every tiny shift in her body like it’s life or death.
“It’s nice to see them all together,” she murmurs, leaning her head against my shoulder. “It feels… warm. Like a real family.”
My thumb strokes slow circles on her hip.
I love when she talks like that.
I love that she sees light in places I don’t.
I’m about to tell her she did all of this, she created this warmth, when she suddenly sits up straighter.
“Lila hasn’t shown up.”
I blink, refocusing. “What?”
“She said she would come tonight.” Her brow furrows, worry creeping in. “Mrs. Keen and Julian are both away for the holiday, but Lila promised she’d be here to help.”
That surprises me.
Lila may flirt with my men.
Gossip.
But she’s reliable.
Timid around me, but devoted to Vasilisa.
And she doesn’t break promises.
My jaw clenches. “She didn’t call?”
“No.” Vasilisa shakes her head. “And she always calls.”
I hate the way her voice softens with concern.
My arms tighten around her automatically.
A dozen possibilities flash through my mind.
None of them good.
But I keep my voice level as I smooth my hand down her thigh.
“Maybe…” I clear my throat. “Maybe with everything going on with Romeo, she decided to stay home.”
Her lips part. “Oh.”
“They’re a couple,” I add quietly. “She probably didn’t want to come without him.”
Vasilisa nods slowly, but I can see the sadness behind her eyes.
She loves easily.
Deeply.
Even small absences sting her.
I press a kiss to her temple, grounding her in my arms.
“She’s fine, Dea,” I murmur. “If something was wrong, we would’ve heard. Romeo would’ve called.”
She nods again, but her fingers curl around the fabric of my sleeve, holding me closer.
And I hold her.
Tighter.
Because the truth is?
I don’t like loose threads in my house.
I don’t like unexpected absences.
And I don’t like anything making my wife’s smile falter.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
“Do you want me to check on her?” I ask softly, brushing my thumb along her hip.
Vasilisa looks up instantly, hope blooming in her eyes like sunrise. “Can you?”
“Of course.”
I kiss the side of her head. “I’ll text Enzo. His family’s close to her apartment, he can stop by and see if everything’s alright.”
Her whole face brightens.
Dio, she’s so easy to soothe.
So easy to love.