Iskra
My mother barely looked at me as she dove straight for Runa.
I couldn’t blame her—Runa looked magnificent in her sky blue dress, matching cardigan and bow sitting high on her head.
The intricate floral details at her waist were eye-catching and her soft leather shoes were designed to stay on her feet.
I was still staring at her when my father pulled me into a sudden hug so tight it knocked the air from my lungs.
Ahh. Men. Such simple creatures.
They could react like a beast and blame the victim for provoking them, then justify everything over a drink at night. I patted my father’s back, alleviating the guilt he carried without naming it. He patted the top of my head like a pet and moved on.
Ruslan was next. My man in arms. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his chest, swallowing when I registered how much of a man he looked at eighteen. Barely the boy I remembered.
My head flew up, nearly catching his chin.
“You’re still reading, yes?” I asked. He rolled his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Good boy,” I said, patting his cheek. “In a quiet pool, devils dwell.”
Brains were required. Keep your intentions hidden, strike when necessary, retreat not in defeat but to fight another day. The old proverb was a warning against what lived within people. Against trusting appearances.
“Indeed, moya zhena,” Vadim said, moving behind me. The warmth of his hand settled on my back.
Galina watched us from across the hallway, clutching her husband’s arm. For once I didn’t feel the familiar irritation at her manner.
I released Ruslan, who moved to join my parents around Runa.
“Nice of you to join us,” I said pleasantly.
Her eyes flicked to Vadim before she nodded and moved past me.
Her husband attempted to greet Vadim but she pulled him along through the hallway.
She glanced at Runa before her attention shifted to the artwork on the walls.
Her husband said something to her that didn’t please her.
She dropped his arm and wandered into the living room.
I wasn’t angry with her. I couldn’t be. Neither of us had been given a choice about who we married. Konstantin appeared from the living room doorway and joined the gathering.
This was family, whether I liked it or not.
My parents were already bickering over Runa—would she say babushka or dedushka first? She babbled constantly to herself but hadn’t produced an actual word yet. The debate was heated regardless.
“You’re as sly as a fox,” Vadim murmured beside me. “You should have come with a warning label.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I said with a sniff, and walked away from him.
His laughter followed me.
I smiled and joined the chaos.
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My mother had barely released Runa. I’d kept aside some breast milk for her, knowing the visit might overrun. My mother hummed contentedly as she fed her. Konstantin stepped into my line of sight, blocking the view.
“Thank you for inviting me to lunch,” he said, swirling the clear liquid in his glass.
“You’re family,” I said with a smile.
“My honorary sestra,” he said, raising his glass to me.
“Thank you,” I murmured. The word Ruslan reserved for me carried weight and Konstantin knew it.
I glanced at Vadim, who sat in his armchair studying everyone in the room.
“He’s changed, you know.”
“I think we all have,” I said with a sigh.
“Never change, sestra,” he said, chuckling as he walked away.
His words warmed something in me. The brothers rubbed one another the wrong way more often than not, but the camaraderie and history between them was what held the bond together.
I toyed with the smooth pendant, turning it between my fingers.
The love for the next generation was like a balm for old wounds—that was what I had come to believe.
Some might think it macabre, carrying a piece of my son with me, but the pendant was a quiet source of comfort.
No one could fully understand unless they had suffered a similar loss.
His eyes were on me. I could feel them before I looked.
I glanced away from my family and Runa.
A shiver ran down my spine—not fear, not dread. Anticipation.
His gaze dropped to my hand before moving over me slowly. Calculating. I watched the moment an idea formed and locked into place behind his eyes.
He sipped his vodka and licked his lips.
Such a small thing. On anyone else it would appear innocent.
I supposed neither of us had that title.
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The family visit had left Runa overstimulated and the poor dear hadn’t known how to process it all. Slapping her father several times must have helped because she fell into an exhausted sleep by eight o’clock.
The house settled into quiet around us—the stillness that followed a full day of noise and people, the kind that made the air feel different. Softer. The lamp on the bedside table threw a warm amber glow across the room as Vadim came to bed.
“She didn’t even stir when I put her in the cot,” he whispered.
“She’s tired.”
“Are you?” he asked, pulling my dress from my shoulder to press his lips there.
His mouth moved across my shoulder to my throat, warm and deliberate, as he eased me back into the pillows. The scent of him—cologne and something warmer underneath—reached me before his weight did. My dress lay open from feeding Runa and he moved in without hesitation.
“I’m not tired. Olya did most of the work,” I said, combing my fingers through his hair.
He glanced up from my chest.
“You must hire a nanny before the due date,” he said. From the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, no was not an option.
I nodded.
“Good girl,” he said, shifting his weight over me. “I need all of your spare time.”
I smacked his shoulder.
His lips closed over my nipple and he sucked.
The hand I’d used to hit him now held him closer.
His knee nudged between my thighs until I parted them and he settled there—the solid warmth of him, the familiar weight.
While his tongue worked, his hand closed around my other breast. It took mere seconds for my breathing to change and that slow tension to begin building.
“If I could keep you like this forever I’d die a happy man,” he murmured against my skin. “My child in your belly and these breasts full of nectar.”
I stroked his hair, the dark strands sliding between my fingers.
“You should consider counselling,” I said helpfully.
His head rose. In the amber light of the lamp, I could see his smile—wide, unguarded, entirely undiplomatic.
“No one could persuade me otherwise. I’d be doing the world a favour by keeping it safe from you.”
I gasped and tugged his hair.
“There’s my naughty girl. Lie on your stomach.”
I knew what he wanted. The moment my family had left he had cornered me with a new glass butt plug.
The man was obsessed with my backside.
I grumbled and pushed on his chest to remove his weight so I could turn.
The reluctance was a farce and we both knew it.