Extended Epilogue
MAXIM
Ten years later…
I head upstairs to hurry her along—we're twenty minutes late—expecting a shoe crisis, maybe a zipper malfunction. I knock once, don't wait for an answer, and push the door open with my best we're-burning-daylight grin already forming.
It dies the second I see her face.
She's still in the towel. Just the towel. The olive dress we bought three days ago hangs untouched on the back of the chair, tags still on, and she's standing frozen between the bed and the mirror like she's trying to decide which one to hide under.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing fits."
I close the door behind me, keep my voice easy. "What do you mean? We just bought that olive dress the other day."
Her jaw works. She won't look at the mirror. "It's not the dress. I don't like what I see in the mirror."
I cross to her in two steps, tilt her chin up so she has to look at me instead of the floor.
"You gave birth five times." My voice comes out low, rougher than I meant, but I let it land that way. "You housed our kids. Mila, Nik, all of them—you carried them, you made them, and I love every single curve it left you with."
Her breath catches.
I lean in close, let her see I mean it. "Besides—I love those extra curves. Means I can be rougher with you now."
Her mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're beautiful. Now put on the damn dress before Lev has an aneurysm downstairs."
She does. The olive fabric clings in all the right places, and when she walks past me toward the door, her head's up, shoulders back, and I'm completely wrecked by the sight of her.
Downstairs, Lev's eyes track her immediately, that possessive heat flickering through his expression before he schools it into something civilized. Kostya just stares, silent and obvious, and I catch the smallest curve of his mouth before he turns away.
We head out together—five kids, three men, one woman, and a world that's got opinions about all of it. People talk. Society clutches its pearls. I've heard every version of the judgment, every tight-lipped disapproval.
And I still don't see the problem.
We're consenting adults. We love each other. Our kids are loved, safe, whole, happy. So what, exactly, are we supposed to apologize for?
Nothing.
Not a damn thing.
Thanks for reading!