Epilogue
The salt air carries the kind of peace I’ve spent a lifetime chasing. I stand on the deck of the beach house, hands gripping the railing while the sun goes down behind me and the last of it burns across the water. The sky over the Atlantic is streaked with tangerine and bruised purple.
I bought this place six weeks ago. Cash, so there’s no paper trail worth following. It’s a weathered shingle-style house perched on a dune overlooking a private stretch of beach on the Outer Banks. The realtor called it a fixer-upper, and I saw a fortress.
A place where Vera could grow round and soft and safe, where the only sounds would be the gulls.
Only Oksana and Lev knew where we were at first. Oksana, because someone had to know, and I trusted her with Vera’s life long before I trusted her with my own. Lev, because Lev had been the one to find the house and install the security system that I insisted on.
Yelena was brought into the circle when Vera needed someone to monitor the pregnancy.
I wanted to disappear completely. To fall off the map and become ghosts. It’s a peace I didn’t know I’d ever get to enjoy.
So here I am.
The sliding glass door opens behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know it’s her.
I know the rhythm of her steps now, the slight hesitation in her gait that comes from the extra weight she carries and the way her hand always finds the railing for balance.
I know the particular warmth of her body when she presses into my back, the smell of her skin mixed with the salt air and the lavender lotion she rubs on her stomach every night.
Tonight she doesn’t come up behind me. She comes to stand beside me, and I turn to look at her because I can’t help myself. Looking at her has become as essential as breathing.
She’s wearing a sundress the color of ripe peaches, the fabric flowing over the beautiful curve of her belly like water.
“Roman.”
I reach for her automatically, my hand finding the curve of her hip. “What is it?”
She holds out an envelope. After all these months, after everything we’ve survived, she still makes my breath catch.
“I had another ultrasound today,” she says, her voice carrying that slight breathlessness she gets when she’s trying not to cry. “While you were on the phone with Lev, Yelena came to the house.”
I frown slightly. Yelena was supposed to check on her this week. I just didn’t realize she was coming today, and I still don’t like the idea of Vera being examined without me there, without my hand to hold.
“Is everything alright?” The question comes out rougher than I intend.
Vera’s smile is luminous. “Everything is more than alright.”
She nods toward the envelope, and I realize I’m still holding it. I slide the glossy pictures free.
The black-and-white images are smudged and strange. I see curves and shadows, the outline of something that looks almost alien, almost otherworldly. Then Vera touches my arm and points with a finger that trembles slightly.
“There,” she whispers. “And there.”
Suddenly the images resolve into something miraculous.
“Twins. We’re having twins.”
“Girls,” Vera says, and she laughs. “Twin girls. Can you imagine?”
“Girls,” I repeat.
My hands are shaking. I don’t remember the last time my hands shook, but they’re shaking now as I look at those grainy images.
Two daughters. Two girls who’ll call me father.
I never thought I’d be a father, never thought I had the right. The men in my family aren’t exactly role models. My father’s hands were weapons, and I inherited that violence. I never imagined those hands could cradle something small and fragile without breaking it.
Vera laughs, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Roman, I told you about the morning sickness. I’ve been measuring large for weeks. You didn’t think it was strange that I was getting so big?”
“I thought you were just...” I trail off, because I don’t have words for what I thought. I thought she was perfect. The details didn’t really matter at the time.
Her hand settles over her belly. I place mine on top of hers, feeling the tight curve of her stomach beneath my palm.
I wait. I don’t know what I’m waiting for—a kick, a flutter, some sign that they know I’m here—but I wait anyway.
Then I feel a tiny push beneath my palm.
“There’s the other one,” Vera whispers, moving my hand slightly to the left.
I feel another flutter.
Vera slips both arms around my waist and leans into my side, her belly nudging me.
Then I turn to her properly, and she’s looking up at me with those eyes that see straight through every wall I’ve ever built, and I can’t help myself. I frame her face in my hands, thumbs brushing the damp trails on her cheeks, and I lean down.
The kiss starts soft. She tastes like salt air. I take my time, drawing it out until she’s breathless.
When I finally pull back, she’s smiling that crinkled-nose smile that makes her look younger than she is, and I realize I’m smiling too.
“Twins,” she says again, like she’s testing the word.
“We’re going to have our hands full.”
She laughs, and the sound of it carries out over the ocean like birdsong. “We? Roman, I’ve seen you try to assemble a crib. You nearly put a screwdriver through the wall.”
“That crib was defective.”
“The crib was fine. You just refuse to read instructions.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s right and we both know it, so I just shake my head and draw her closer. “I’ll learn.”
Her expression softens. “You’ll be wonderful,” she says. “You already are.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just hold her. The wind picks up slightly, carrying the salt-smell of the ocean, and Vera shivers.
“Come on,” I say, guiding her toward the door with my hand at the small of her back. “You should get inside. It’s getting cold.”
She doesn’t argue, which tells me she’s more tired than she’s letting on. I stay close as we walk back toward the house.
The sliding glass door opens into the living room. It’s all weathered wood and soft throws and windows that overlook the ocean. It’s nothing like the places I’ve lived before. It’s just a house that feels like a home, warm and worn and safe.
Standing in the middle of it, putting away a portable ultrasound machine, is Yelena.
Of course.
I glance at Vera. “You could have mentioned she was still here.”
“You were a little distracted by the twins.”
Fair point.
Yelena doesn’t even look up, just continues packing her equipment with methodical precision.
“Lev let you in?” I ask.
“Lev arranged it,” Yelena says. “He didn’t want to bother you.”
My jaw tightens. That sounds exactly like Lev.
Vera makes a small sound beside me—exasperation, maybe, or amusement—and I turn to look at her. She’s shaking her head, but there’s a fondness in her expression.
Yelena has always operated on her own set of rules.
“He could have told me,” I say.
“Apparently he thought you had enough to worry about.” Yelena finally looks at me. “I’m not stupid, Roman. I checked the perimeter before I entered. Your security is adequate.”
“Adequate,” I repeat, unimpressed.
“For this location.” She shrugs. “You chose well.”
From Yelena, that’s practically a compliment.
I guide Vera to the couch, settling her onto the cushions before turning back to Yelena. She’s finished packing most of her equipment now, and I watch as she moves around the kitchenette.
With anyone else, I’d have a problem with this.
But Yelena has spent years keeping me alive, stitching me together in places where questions couldn’t be asked.
More importantly, she’s taken the same uncompromising approach to Vera’s care.
If someone has to know where we’re hiding, there are worse people to trust.
“You still could have called,” I say.
“I could have,” Yelena agrees. “Now hush and let me further examine her.”
Vera shifts on the couch, and I turn to check on her, taking her hand automatically. She squeezes my fingers, completely at ease with Yelena taking charge.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Yelena has monitored her pregnancy with a care that borders on obsessive, answering every anxious question with patience and precision.
“Examine her?” I ask, turning back to Yelena. “You already did the ultrasound.”
“The ultrasound was routine.” Yelena moves toward the couch, her expression shifting into something more clinical, more focused. “I wanted to check her vitals. Her blood pressure has been slightly elevated the past few weeks, and I wanted to ensure it hasn’t worsened.”
I feel Vera tense beside me, and I turn to look at her. “You didn’t tell me about your blood pressure.”
“It was nothing,” Vera says, but she won’t meet my eyes. “Just a little high. Yelena said it’s common in twin pregnancies.”
“It can happen,” Yelena confirms, settling onto the coffee table across from Vera and pulling out the blood pressure cuff. “It requires monitoring, which is why I’m here.”
She secures the cuff on Vera’s arm with practiced efficiency, pumping it up and watching the gauge with sharp eyes. I sit beside Vera, still holding her hand, my jaw tight. I should have known. I should have been paying closer attention.
“You should have told me,” I say again, quieter this time.
Vera looks up at me, and there’s a vulnerability in her expression that makes my chest tighten. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m going to worry anyway.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “You worry enough. I didn’t want to add to it.”
Before I can respond, Yelena removes the cuff. “120 over 78,” she announces. “That’s good.”
Vera exhales, and I can see the relief in her shoulders.
“So everything looks good?” I ask.
“Everything looks good,” Yelena confirms, and there’s a warmth in her voice that I rarely hear. “Both babies are developing normally. Vera’s vitals are stable. We’ll continue monitoring her blood pressure, but right now I see no cause for concern.”
She pauses, her dark eyes meeting mine with a directness that brooks no argument.
“She needs rest, Roman. Real rest. Vera needs to stay off her feet as much as possible, and more so from here on. Twins ask more of a body than one does.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here,” I say, and there’s a defensiveness in my voice that I don’t entirely mean. “I brought her here so she could rest.”
Yelena’s expression softens, just slightly. “I know, and you made the right choice.” She glances around the house. “This place is good for her. The air and the quiet will do you both good. It’s exactly what she needs.”
She turns back to me, her gaze steady. “And don’t get any ideas. That means no fooling around.”
Vera makes a choked sound, but I bite back a grin. “No promises.”
Yelena makes a face but doesn’t argue.
Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she nods once and stands up from the coffee table.
“Good,” she says. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
She starts gathering the last of her things, moving around the kitchen with that same efficient grace and packing the unused supplies back into her bag.
Vera shifts beside me, her hand finding my knee and squeezing gently.
“Thank you for coming. I know it’s a long drive.”
Yelena pauses with her hand on the strap of her bag, and something flickers across her expression. “Of course,” she says finally. “I’ll be back next week to check on you again.”
She moves toward the door, then hesitates and turns back to face us. Her gaze lingers on Vera.
“Twins,” she says. “That’s quite remarkable.”
Vera smiles, that radiant smile that still makes my breath catch. “We’re still getting used to the idea.”
“Take care of her,” she says. “Take care of yourself, too. Those girls will need a father who’s still in one piece.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, slipping out the back door as silently as she came, leaving nothing behind but the echo of her footsteps.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment, then turn to look at Vera. She’s watching me with those knowing eyes, her hand still resting on my knee.
“She cares about us,” Vera says softly. “In her own way.”
“I know.” I exhale slowly, some of the tension draining out of my shoulders. “I just wish she and Lev would stop arranging things behind my back.”
Vera laughs, that bright, startled sound that I want to hear every day for the rest of my life. “They were trying to help.”
“Uh huh. Which means I need to have a conversation with Lev.”
“Leave him alone.”
“We’ll see.”
I shift on the couch until Vera is settled more comfortably beside me. One of our daughters moves again, a tiny flutter I can feel where Vera’s belly touches me. I close my eyes and let myself feel it. Let myself believe that this is real, that this is my life now.
“Rest,” I murmur into Vera’s hair. “Doctor’s orders.”
She makes a soft sound of agreement, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “Only if you rest too.”
“I’m not the one carrying twins.”
“No, but you’re the one who hasn’t slept more than four hours a night since we got here.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a firmness beneath it that I know better than to argue with. “I can hear you pacing at three in the morning, Roman.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she presses a finger to my lips and silences me.
“Rest,” she says again. “Don’t fight it.”
How can I argue with that?
I lean my head back into the cushions and let my eyes close. The sound of the ocean drifts through the open windows, and Vera’s breathing slowly evens out beside me.
I think I can learn to love this future I never thought I’d have.
THE END
Read Chapter One on the next page!