10. Maksim
MAKSIM
I wake up alone.
My hand reaches across the bed automatically, seeking the warmth of Aria’s body, and finds only cool sheets.
She’s been sleeping in my bed for weeks now and I’ve gotten used to her presence.
The scent of her shampoo on my pillow. The way she curls into me in sleep even though she maintains distance when awake.
The soft sound of her breathing in the dark.
Waking without her feels wrong.
I pull on sleep pants and a t-shirt and go looking for her. She’s not in the bathroom or in the sitting area. I check Daniel’s room and he’s still asleep, his rabbit clutched to his chest, one leg hanging off the bed. I gently fix his leg and re-tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his head.
Then I see her through the open door to what used to be her room.
She’s sitting in the window seat, knees pulled up to her chest, watching the sunrise. The early July morning light streams through the glass, illuminating her delicate features. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts and it hangs loose on her small frame, the neckline slipping off one shoulder.
Her dark hair falls in waves down her back and her face is turned toward the window, profile soft and unguarded in the quiet morning. One hand rests on her stomach. It’s still small but unmistakably rounded now at ten weeks.
She looks ethereal like something out of a painting.
And she’s mine.
The possessive pride that hits me is almost overwhelming. That gentle swell of her stomach is proof that she’s carrying my child. Another person made from our bodies, another tie binding us together.
I move quietly into the room, not wanting to startle her. But she must hear me because she turns, and for just a moment before her guard comes up, I see something soft in her eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
“Nausea.” She makes a face. “It’s worse at night for some reason. And I was too warm in bed.”
“Is that normal?” Concern flares immediately. “Should I call Dr. Petrov?”
“It’s completely normal.” A small smile curves her lips. “Just part of being pregnant. It’ll pass in a few weeks.”
“And you didn’t wake me?” I move to the window seat, and after a moment’s hesitation, she shifts to make room. “I would have wanted to know.”
“You were sleeping. And there’s nothing you can do about it except sit with me while I feel miserable.” But there’s no real complaint in her voice. “The sunrise helps.” At my furrowed brow she explains, “Focusing on something beautiful instead of how my stomach feels helps.”
I settle beside her, close enough that our shoulders brush. She doesn’t pull away. The sunrise continues to paint the sky in brilliant colors—orange and pink and gold bleeding across the horizon where it meets the ocean.
We sit in silence, and for once it’s not the heavy, angry silence that usually falls between us. It’s almost comfortable and dare I say peaceful.
I’m acutely aware of her beside me. The warmth of her skin through the thin t-shirt. The way she’s pulled her knees up, making the shirt ride higher on her thighs. The curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder, exposed and tempting.
I want to pull her into my lap and bury my face in her hair and hold her while we watch the sun rise together. But I don’t because this moment feels fragile, like any sudden movement might shatter it.
“It’s beautiful,” she says quietly. “The sunrise. I’ve been watching it most mornings since we got here. It’s different every day.”
“You should have told me. I would have watched with you.” I would have wanted to share that with her.
She glances at me, the sunlight reflecting off her brown eyes, highlighting the gold threads before she looks back out the window. “You’re always so busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re never a bother,” I say roughly. “You’re—” I stop myself before I say something I can’t take back.
You’re everything. You’re the reason I wake up. You’re the center of my world whether you want to be or not.
She’s looking at me now, her dark eyes searching my face. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat. The air between us feels charged and electric.
I lean in slightly, drawn to her like gravity. Her breath catches, and I see her eyes drop to my mouth.
“Mama! Maks!”
We spring apart as Daniel bursts through the door, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“I’m hungry,” he announces. “Can we have pancakes? Please?”
The moment is broken. Aria’s guard snaps back into place, and she’s already putting distance from me.
“Pancakes sound perfect,” she says, her voice steady. “Let’s go make some breakfast.”
The kitchen is bright with morning sunlight streaming through the windows. It’s already warm. July in the Hamptons means temperatures in the eighties, and the air has that heavy, humid quality that promises it’ll be even hotter by afternoon.
Aria moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling out ingredients while Daniel climbs onto a stool at the island. She’s still wearing my t-shirt, and I can see the gentle curve of her stomach more clearly now in the bright light.
Ten weeks. We’re ten weeks into this pregnancy, and I’m still discovering new things every day. The way she craves orange juice in the morning or how certain smells make her nauseous. She’s beautiful in a completely different way than before. She’s softer, more luminous, and carrying my child.
“Can I help?” Daniel asks eagerly.
“You can measure the flour,” Aria tells him, setting out measuring cups. “But be careful—”
“I know, I know. Don’t spill it everywhere.” Daniel grins at me, his eyes alight with mischief. “Mama says I’m messy in the kitchen.”
“You are messy in the kitchen,” Aria says in exasperation, but there’s affection in her voice. “Last time you helped, we found flour in places we didn’t even know existed.”
Daniel giggles and starts measuring carefully. Aria stands beside him, guiding his hands, and I lean against the counter watching them.
“Breakfast foods are the food Mama can make,” Daniel stage-whispers to me, loud enough that Aria definitely hears.
“Excuse me?” Aria’s eyebrows rise. “I can cook.”
“Uh-huh.” Daniel’s skepticism is clear. “What about the chicken?”
“That was one time! The oven was broken!”
Daniel looks at her like she’s crazy. “It was on fire, Mama.”
“The oven was on fire. Not the chicken.” But she’s laughing now, and so is Daniel. “That doesn’t count.”
“What about the pasta that was so hard we couldn’t eat it?” Daniel asks innocently.
“I was distracted!” She swats at him playfully with a dish towel. “And you’re being very rude, young man.”
Daniel ducks away from the towel, still grinning. “I’m just being honest. Maks should know what he’s getting into.”
The comment is so perfectly timed and sarcastic in a way that’s pure me that I can’t help but laugh. Aria chases him around the kitchen island, both of them laughing, and I watch this glimpse of what our life could be.
Should be.
Daniel runs behind me for protection and Aria stops, slightly breathless. She’s smiling and in this moment she looks like the girl I fell in love with eight years ago.
“Traitor,” she hisses to me but her bright eyes belie the words.
“I’m Switzerland,” I tell her, holding up my hands as Daniel peeks around me. “Completely neutral.”
“Switzerland gets invaded sometimes.” But she’s already turning back to the stove, pulling out a pan.
I help where I can—setting the table, pouring juice, watching as Aria teaches Daniel how to crack eggs without getting shell in the bowl. She puts on soft music from the kitchen speaker, something classical and gentle that fills the kitchen with warmth.
The domesticity of it all hits me hard.
This is what I’ve been missing. Not just the sex or having Aria in my bed. This. Morning pancakes and easy laughter and Daniel’s chatter filling the space while Aria hums along to the music.
A family.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Nikolai. I slip into the hallway to take it.
“We need to meet,” my brother says without preamble. “About the investigation. This afternoon.”
My heart seizes. “What’s happened?”
“Alexander found something. More irregularities.” He sounds tired. “Two o’clock. The beach house.”
He hangs up before I can respond.
When I return to the kitchen, Daniel is attempting to flip a pancake. It goes flying and hits the ceiling, before it splats onto the floor. Both he and Aria dissolve into giggles.
“I told you to use less force!” Aria is laughing so hard tears spring into her eyes.
“I thought it would work!” Daniel is staring at the pancake on the floor with a mixture of horror and delight. “Like in the videos!”
“Those are professionals, baby. You need practice.” She’s already grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess.
I lean against the doorframe, watching them, and my chest goes tight.
This. This is what I’ve been searching for all along.
Not just answers about why Aria ran. Not just my son. Not just solving the mystery of the embezzlement.
This family. This feeling of being home.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.
The beach house is one of Nikolai’s properties. It’s a sprawling modern structure right on the water made of all glass. It’s cooler here than at the estate, ocean breezes taking the edge off the July heat.
Nikolai is on the deck when I arrive, and I’m surprised to see him dressed down. He’s wearing linen pants and a lightweight button-down with the sleeves rolled up. No tie or jacket. It’s the most casual I’ve seen my brother in years.
The heat must be getting to him too.
Alexander is already there, sitting at the outdoor table with files spread out in front of him. He’s in similar attire, his burn-scarred hand visible without the usual gloves.
“Maksim.” Nikolai greets me with a brief embrace. “Thanks for coming. I know you wanted to stay with your family.”
“What’s so urgent?” I ask as I pull away from my brother.