Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ivan
Morning light hit my eyes.
I woke with warmth in my arms. Anna was curled against my chest, her hair splayed across my collarbone, breath steady and warm. Like a cat that'd finally let down its guard, settled in the safest place it knew.
God. This was a sweet dream.
Five years. Five whole years, and I finally had her back.
Sunlight slipped through the curtain gaps, fell across her bare shoulders and back. Her skin glowed honey-gold, like something washed in morning light, smooth as pearls.
Her shoulders were delicate, soft curves, shoulder blades shifting gently beneath the surface.
Five years hadn't touched her. She was still the little wildcat I remembered—all thorns and soft spots.
I watched her for a long time. Couldn't help pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Her hair brushed my lips, smelled faintly of soap. I tightened my arm. She nestled closer, cheek against my chest, and drifted back to sleep.
Everything was perfect. Except the bed was too damn small, forcing her to sprawl on top of me.
Then came the knocking.
Soft, but persistent.
I knew who it was.
The boyfriend. The one with zero sense of timing.
Anna stirred.
Her lashes fluttered in the morning light. When she saw my face, her cheeks flushed pink. She pulled the covers higher. "Why are you still here?"
Was she seriously asking me that? I swore under my breath. She wanted me gone again?
I'd spent days in that black sedan after I left last time, watching her walk those tree-lined paths with Chris. Watching him carry her bags, tie her shoelaces, all that easy intimacy. It made me want to break something.
Why the hell would I leave? She was mine. Had been mine since that auction five years ago.
And right now, she was in my arms.
I pressed her shoulder, stopping her retreat under the covers. "Why would I leave? This is your home. It'll be mine too."
The knocking came again.
Louder this time.
Chris's voice carried an edge of worry. "Anna, I know you're in there. I heard voices. Open up."
Anna went rigid. Panic flashed in her eyes.
She sat up fast, pushing at my chest. Her palms burned against my skin. "You need to go, I—"
I pulled her back down, locked my arm around her waist. Her back pressed against my chest. Smooth. Soft.
I felt her trembling. Like a deer caught by the neck.
"Relax," I bit her earlobe, breathed in that clean scent from her hair, "let him knock. He'll get tired and leave."
"No, Ivan, please. You have to go."
Anna's hands scrambled against my chest. "I'm begging you."
I laughed, cold.
Leave? Through the window? Or the door?
I wasn't some hidden lover. Never had been.
I threw off the covers, grabbed yesterday's pants from the floor.
Anna was still in bed, sheet sliding to her waist, exposing marks in varying shades of red. I'd spent all night leaving those. Each one said the same thing—she belonged to me.
I walked to the door, gripped the handle, looked back at her. "I'm not going anywhere. You're my woman. Were five years ago. Still are."
Then I opened the door.
Chris stood there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. He held a paper bag. Breakfast, probably.
He looked like the type who'd wake at six to buy coffee for the whole family.
When he saw me—shirtless, wearing only pants in Anna's doorway—his expression froze in slow motion. The smile stuck at the corners of his mouth. The light died in his eyes. His shoulders sagged half an inch.
His gaze went past me, into the room.
The bed was a mess. Anna was frantically pulling the sheets up, only half her face visible. Pale as paper.
Chris didn't speak. But his grip on that breakfast bag gave him away.
I leaned against the doorframe and looked down at him.
I didn't think I'd done anything wrong. I was just helping Anna face reality—she couldn't keep hiding behind excuses.
After a few seconds, Chris spoke. His voice held steady, but the end wavered.
"What are you doing here?"
I didn't rush to answer. Found my cigarettes, lit one.
"That's a question for Anna."
"Anna," Chris raised his voice, fighting for calm, "did he force you?"
Anna closed her eyes.
She sat in bed, sheet clutched to her chest, hiding last night's evidence.
I watched her take a deep breath. Her voice came out quiet. "No."
She looked up at Chris, tried to smile. "Chris, just go. We'll talk later."
"Talk later?" Chris laughed, hollow and bitter. "Anna, you can't do this to me. You know—"
"Hey."
I flicked ash, stepped forward, blocked his view.
"Kid, feelings don't work that way. Being good to someone doesn't mean they owe you love. She doesn't love you. That's obvious."
I didn't want to hear his heartfelt confession. Didn't want to watch him lay out his soul. And I sure as hell didn't want Anna going soft because of it.
Chris's face went red, from neck to ears. "This is between me and Anna. You have no right—"
"No right?"
I raised an eyebrow, glanced down at my chest. Scratches crisscrossed my skin, deep and shallow, stark in the morning light.
I laughed low in my throat, looked back at him slowly. "I spent last night in her bed. And you're calling me an outsider?"
That hit harder than any weapon.
Chris's face went from red to ashen. His lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw locked.
Finally, he looked away.
"I understand, Anna. I'm just worried he'll hurt you. He doesn't look like a good man."
Listen to that. I wasn't a good man, sure. But I didn't need some kid passing judgment.
"I don't need your assessment." I gestured at Anna. "And she doesn't need your concern."
Chris crushed the breakfast bag in his fist, gave Anna one long look—resentment and hurt mixed together. In the end, he just set the bag on the table.
"Anna, if you need anything, call me anytime."
He turned and left.
I shook my head. Felt satisfaction surge through me.
With him gone, I was one step closer to Anna.
When I turned around, Anna had put on pajamas. Pale gray cotton, long sleeves, buttoned properly to the top. She sat against the headboard, knees drawn up, chin on her arms. She didn't look happy.
I reached to touch her face. She turned away.
"That was too much, Ivan."
I smiled, didn't argue. Bent down to pick up scattered clothes from the floor—her pajamas, my shirt, a sock that'd somehow ended up near the baseboard.
I folded them slowly, laid them over the chair.
"Too much?" I straightened, looked at her. "If I'd really been too much, you wouldn't have made it out of bed. Wouldn't have heard any knocking."
Anna's face went crimson, from cheeks to ears, like sunset burning across the sky.
She grabbed a pillow, threw it at me. "Shut up!"
I caught it, held it. "Fine. I'll shut up. Rest a bit. I'll make breakfast."
I headed for the kitchen. Behind me, Anna's voice sounded stunned. "You?"
"Of course. Can't have you eating garbage."
I picked up Chris's paper bag from the cabinet as I passed. Heavy, neatly folded, smelling of bakery cream.
I hefted it once, didn't open it, dropped it straight into the trash.
Anna's kitchen was tiny. Too small for two people to turn around without bumping shoulders. No idea how she managed in here.
I set the pan on the burner and turned on the flame. Blue fire licked the bottom. I dropped in a chunk of butter. It melted slowly, sizzling, filling the kitchen with rich, buttery scent.
I laid bacon strips in the pan one by one. Oil spattered. I shifted instinctively, realized I wasn't wearing an apron. These hands could steady a gun and hit a target's brow from a hundred meters. Cooking bacon was somehow trickier.
"Be careful. Don't burn yourself."
I turned. Anna stood in the doorway, hand on the frame, wearing that cream-colored pajama set, buttoned to the top. Her hair was mussed, loose strands framing her face. She looked like she'd just crawled out from under the covers.
Her color was better than before. Morning light came through the window behind her, outlining her in soft gold.
I turned off the burner, leaned against the counter, and smiled at her. "Come here."
She hesitated. Brief, but I saw the struggle in her eyes—like wind rippling water, wavering, then settling.
She walked over slowly, each step cautious, leaving herself an escape route.
I pulled her into my arms. Her hair brushed my chin, soft.
"Still mad at me?"
"No." Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, slightly nasal. "I just don't want to forgive you."
She wouldn't forgive me, yet she'd let me have my way last night? Now stood here letting me hold her?
Just a stubborn little cat.
I cupped her face, made her look at me. "Look at me, Anna. I searched for you for five years. I won't let anyone take you away again. Not your bastard father. Not Chris. No one."
Anna looked at me. Her eyes were bright in the morning light, like amber washed clean. She looked for a moment, then her lashes lowered. She lifted her hands, brushed mine away.
"Just focus on cooking."
She wouldn't give in. Wouldn't say she forgave me.
I sighed inwardly. Didn't push.
Five years of distance wouldn't vanish with a few words. I had patience. I could wait.
Then another voice rang out.
"Ivan! What are you doing here?"
Alex ran over in his school uniform, hair sticking up in places, obviously combed by himself. He ran up to me, looked up with those gray-blue eyes bright and full of joy.
I smiled down at him. "Came to take you to school."
I ruffled his hair. "Go check your backpack. After breakfast, we'll head out."
"Awesome!"
Alex bounced back to his room.
In the kitchen, just Anna and me.
The air went quiet for a few seconds. She looked away toward the door. "I'll go wash up."
I turned back, plated the bacon and eggs, and brought them to the table.
Besides bacon, I'd made toast, spread thin butter on the slices. Fresh-squeezed orange juice fizzed in the glass.
Within minutes, the bedroom door opened.
Anna came out wearing a light blue knit sweater, hair in a low ponytail, face still dewy from washing.
She'd clearly been lured out by the smell. Her feet stopped at the table, but she kept her composure. "You didn't need to go to this trouble. I can take care of Alex and myself."
She said that, but her body had already moved. She sat down at the table.
I held back a smile. "Eat before it gets cold."
She picked up her fork, cut a small piece of egg, and put it in her mouth. Chewed twice. Her eyes lit up without meaning to.
That little spark was small, like candlelight flickering in wind, but I caught it.
When the little cat tasted something good, she always did this—corners of her mouth would lift slightly, lashes would lower, cheeks would puff just a bit. She never knew how obvious these tells were.
Even without saying anything, I knew she liked it.
Sunlight slanted through the window, caught in her honey-gold hair, and edged it in soft gold.
She was cutting her egg, sunlight sliding down her profile, collecting in a fine bright line at her jaw.
Her slightly rounded cheeks looked especially soft in the light, like a peeled hard-boiled egg, still warm.
Alex ran out with his little backpack.
He ran to the table. I pushed the toast plate toward him. Tapped his forehead. "Eat up. After breakfast, I'm taking you to school."
Alex dumped his bag on the chair, grabbed bacon, and took a huge bite. "Ivan's taking me to school! Everyone's gonna be so jealous!"
Anna's hand froze on her fork. She looked up at me, lips parting like she wanted to say something, then stopped.
"If you have something to say, say it."
She glanced at Alex, leaned forward slightly, and lowered her voice. "You shouldn't lie to him."
She thought I was lying to Alex? How could she think that?
"I'm actually taking him to school."
She was struck speechless. Her cheeks puffed out like a deflated hamster.
I couldn't help smiling again, leaned close to her ear, voice dropping to almost just breath. "You don't want Alex knowing what happened between us, right? And Nadia's waiting for you. So let me handle this."
Anna's eyes dropped.
Her hand tightened on the glass.
She was torn. I could see that thin layer of hesitation in her eyes, like frost accumulated overnight, melting bit by bit in morning light.
I knew she'd agree. The little cat was a soft-hearted fool.
After breakfast, I kept my word. Took Alex downstairs. He bounced the whole way, told everyone we passed "This is my teacher," even the mailman.
Then I drove back from the school district to downtown.
After dropping him at the school gates, I headed back downtown. I'd neglected work these past days. My desk was probably buried under documents waiting for signatures.
When I got to the office, Dmitri had everything ready. Files stacked on the left side of the desk, sorted by urgency. A cup of hot coffee sat beside them, steam half-dissipated. He'd been waiting a while.
I sat behind the desk, opened the first file. Sergei's cleanup was in final stages. Just needed my signature, then profit distribution and personnel arrangements could proceed.
I gripped the pen, tip hovering over the signature line. Stopped.
The words lined up across the page, neat and clear, every clause spelled out plainly. But those words blurred before my eyes, like ink soaked in water, spreading, dissolving.
My head was full of Anna. That sliver of waist exposed when she wore her pajamas this morning. The way her hair fell when she bent to tie Alex's shoes. The way she bit her lip last night beneath me, trying to hold back her moans.
Every image vivid as film, playing on loop in my mind. Couldn't cut it. Couldn't shut it off.
I had to admit—my feelings for her were never small.
These five years hadn't dulled them. More like wine sealed too long. Pop the cork, and the taste hit all at once, thick enough to choke on. Now I just wanted to be with her constantly, make up for every hardship she'd endured.
The rest of this life was long. I could wait. Wait for her to come close again. Wait for her to accept me. We had a whole lifetime ahead.
I'd even started planning our future—once Sergei's business was wrapped up, I'd take her and Alex to Switzerland. Find a little cabin in the mountains, the kind where you open the window and see snow-capped peaks. Walk along the lake after dinner. Watch sunsets turn the mountaintops gold.
The future looked beautiful. I couldn't help smiling.
Then my private phone rang. Antonia's name flashed on the screen.
I frowned and answered.
"Sir, we have a problem." Antonia sounded flustered. "Your ex-wife Victoria is here. She's insisting on seeing Nadia."