Epilogue
ANYA
Two Years Later
The frosting is too sweet and the noise is too loud, and somehow neither of those things bother me. It’s taken two years, but I’m finally learning to enjoy the little moments of chaos. They’re so much better than the violence I was raised in.
“Mommy,” Annetta says too innocently.
I immediately know she’s done something wrong and she’s trying to get in my good graces. I arch an eyebrow at her.
“Do you have something you want to confess?” I ask her.
Her mouth opens and closes once like she is considering it.
“No,” she says, letting the word last just a little too long.
“Interesting,” I deadpan. “Because there’s a bunch of frosting on your nose.”
She giggles and darts off before I can catch her, because she knows I won’t chase her through a party full of people. She’s right, of course. I may be the mother of a toddler, but I still try to maintain some decorum.
Viktor stands near the far wall with a glass of something dark in his hand. He is talking to two of his men, both of them a little older and both of them cautious about their tone around him. Viktor doesn’t look like he’s working. His posture is relaxed and his eyes are calm.
His gaze flicks toward our daughter when she runs past him, and I watch his expression shift.
It’s subtle, but I’ve learned all his subtle shifts by now.
His eyes soften just a fraction. His mouth relaxes for half a second.
His shoulders drop. He bends down to scoop her up, and her laughter fills the whole room.
He excuses himself from his men and crosses the room without hurrying. Annetta squirms and giggles in his arms. He throws her over his shoulder and she hangs upside down, laughing at her helpless parents.
“Look at me, Mommy.” She laughs.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he murmurs affectionately.
“No, I think you’ll find that’s your daughter,” I joke.
“Okay everyone,” Sergei calls from across the room. “As we all know, today is the princess’s birthday. It’s time to cut the cake and sing to our favorite girl! Where is she?”
Annetta giggles again and screams. “Put me down, Papa,” she says happily.
He sighs and rolls his eyes, taking her over to her “Uncle Sir” to be regaled with a birthday song and cake. Of course, when the cake is brought out, there’s a long line of frosting that’s missing from the design.
Viktor meets my eye from across the room and we both start laughing. A chorus of “Happy Birthday” breaks out, and then our brave little girl blows out the candles all by herself, before patiently waiting for her cake.
Sergei walks over to me, shifting his plate to one hand, and lowers his voice. “Your father is here.”
My body goes still. My pulse still jumps, because my father’s presence will always do that, even when he is smiling and trying to play the role of affectionate grandfather.
Viktor’s hand at my back firms slightly, not squeezing, not locking me in place, just reminding me that he is there. His voice stays even.
“Where?” Viktor asks Sergei.
“In the front room,” Sergei answers. “He came alone. He didn’t argue about the security check.”
Viktor nods once, then looks at me. “If you want him to leave at any point, just say the word,” he says quietly. “I’ll take great pleasure in throwing his ass out the door.”
I take a slow breath and shake my head. “I want our daughter to know her family. As long as he accepts the terms.”
“And if he doesn’t, I’m throwing his ass out.”
I nod once and smile, then angle my body toward the front room. My father is standing near the entryway with a small gift bag in his hand. His suit is perfectly tailored. His hair is combed back neatly. He looks like he’s sincerely trying.
He sees me and his face becomes affectionate. “Dochka,” he says softly.
The word still crawls under my skin. It still feels like ownership disguised as warmth.
“Otets,” I reply, keeping my voice level.
His gaze flicks toward Viktor behind me, then returns to my face. He acknowledges Viktor’s presence with that faint tightening around his eyes that tells me he hasn’t really come around to his side.
My father holds the gift bag out. “I brought this for Annetta.”
I take it. “You can give it to her yourself,” I say. “She’s over there with Mama.”
Dad’s eyes darken. He and my mother have barely spoken since she divorced him not long after my wedding. He hesitates for a moment, weighing whether giving my daughter a gift is worth facing his ex-wife.
Our daughter chooses that moment to run toward us with a play sword in hand, more frosting on her cheek, her hair wild. I wouldn’t doubt that my mother put the sword in her hand herself. She stops short when she sees my father. Her eyes go wide in blunt curiosity.
“For me?” she asks loudly, eyeing the gift.
“Yes,” my father says.
She steps forward, sword still in her hand. My father kneels slightly, careful with his suit, and holds the bag out. Our daughter reaches in immediately, no hesitation, and pulls out a small stuffed bear. She squeals, loud enough that half the room turns.
“Bear,” she announces, as if she’s discovered a rare artifact.
My father’s mouth twitches. “Smart kid.”
She hugs it immediately, then looks at my father again. “You can stay?”
My father looks up at me, and for a moment, something real shows on his face. Surprise, maybe. Something like pride. He blinks and composes himself again.
“I will stay for a while,” he says.
After that, I’m able to relax a little more. I greet our guests and play with my daughter, and help her manage a tantrum when all the people and the gifts and the sugar rush become too overwhelming.
I’m not sad to see the end of the party. I visibly relax when my father leaves, and Viktor notices.
“He doesn’t have to come, you know,” he says diplomatically. “If you don’t want him here, say the word. Annetta won’t miss him. Your mother will be much happier knowing she doesn’t have to see him.”
I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy, but he’s still my father,” I say hesitantly. “A long time ago, he was the most important man in my life. I don’t want our children to miss out on knowing him.”
“Children?” he asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.
I blush, cursing myself internally. This isn’t how I wanted to tell him. I was planning a whole dinner and a card with the ultrasound inside. Marriage to Viktor has turned me into a sap. So telling him like this feels a bit like a letdown. The proverbial cat is out of the bag, though.
“I found out last week,” I tell him, beaming.
His face immediately breaks out into a smile as his hands move to my flat stomach.
My own hands press against my shirt, and I marvel at how different this experience is the second time around.
No one is threatening my life or my child’s.
I’m married to their father, and I’ve never felt happier in my life.
Viktor rests his forehead against mine and wraps me in his arms. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers.