Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Leonid
Alexei looks up at us from the bottom step, eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?” he asks, voice small but bright as we tell him about Laurel’s and my relationship.
Laurel smiles, soft, the kind that reaches her eyes and makes everything in the room feel warmer. “Yeah, Alexei. Really.”
He blinks between us, processing. Then, in that direct way only six-year-olds have, he asks: “So… are you guys getting married?”
Laurel’s smile falters for half a second. She glances at me, cheeks pink. “Uhm… not really.”
I step in. “Not yet,” I say, keeping my tone even.
The truth is, I’d walk us both to the courthouse right this minute if she gave the word and make her mine on paper.
Alexei’s face scrunches. “Will you come back to teach my class?”
Laurel crouches to his level, one hand gentle on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. I won’t be going back to your school.”
His shoulders slump. “But I like you being my teacher.”
My chest tightens at the quiet hurt in his voice.
Laurel’s expression softens further. She squeezes his shoulder.
“Hey… you’re going to see a lot more of me now.
We can spend time after school. We can go for those ice creams you like, the ones with the cookie chunks and extra sprinkles. With your dad, too.”
Alexei’s eyes flick to me for confirmation.
I nod. “Yeah. We will.”
The smile that breaks across his face is the widest I’ve ever seen. Not the small one he saves for me on good days. This one lights up every inch of him, cheeks round, eyes crinkling, dimples I didn’t know he had. It’s pure, unguarded joy. My throat closes. I’ve never seen him look like that.
He bounces on his toes. “Can you read me my bedtime stories too?”
Laurel glances at me, amused. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Hey. I thought you liked it when I read them.”
Alexei answers in rapid Russian, too quick and too smug for his age. That little sucker.
Laurel tilts her head, waiting for translation.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “He says I don’t do the character voices right.”
Alexei shrugs, completely unapologetic. “You don’t.”
Laurel lets out a soft, delighted laugh, and touches his cheek. “Of course I’ll read you your bedtime stories.”
“Fantastic!” he shouts, then spins and bolts upstairs, footsteps thundering like he’s racing the moon.
Laurel stands slowly, watching the empty staircase with a fond smile. “He’s so happy.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that happy. All thanks to you.”
She turns to me, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”
I close the distance, hands finding her waist, pulling her against me. “Yeah, you did.” I dip my head, voice dropping. “You came into our lives. That’s everything.”
I kiss her, tugging on her lower lip as I pull back, and rest my forehead against hers.
“I’m happy we don’t have to hide anymore,” I murmur.
She smiles against my mouth. “Me too.”
Alexei’s footsteps have quieted upstairs; he’s probably already digging through his books for the longest story he can find.
I turn to Laurel, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We should go out to dinner. Just the two of us.”
Her eyes light up. “I’d love that.” Then she pauses, glancing down at her clothes, the simple blouse and skirt she has on. “After I read Alexei his bedtime story, I’ll go home and change.”
I shake my head. “No need.”
She blinks, brows drawing together. “Leonid, I’m sure wherever you’re taking me is fancy. They’ll have a dress code. I can’t show up like this.”
I step closer, letting my hands settle on her hips. “You look beautiful in whatever you wear. You could walk in wearing pajamas and I’d still think you’re the most stunning thing in the room. And no one would dare have any trouble with what you’re wearing wherever we’re going.”
She laughs, a little disbelieving. “Is that because you own the place?”
“No.” My voice drops lower. “That’s because you’re with me.”
She rolls her eyes, and I crack my palm against her ass, sharp enough to make her gasp and jump. “You know what rolling your eyes at me does.”
She pushes at my chest, half-laughing. “Behave. Alexei could walk out any second.”
I lean down and capture her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. When I pull back, I murmur against her mouth: “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
I take her hand and lead her upstairs. We pause outside Alexei’s door; his nanny is inside, helping him brush his teeth. I tug Laurel farther down the hall to the double doors at the end.
I push them open. She steps inside and stops dead.
The room is large, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights, dark hardwood floors, charcoal walls broken by matte black built-ins and a single abstract painting of a lion in deep crimson and gold above the bed.
The bed dominates the space: king-sized, low platform frame in ebony wood, black linen sheets turned down, pillows stacked military-neat.
Laurel turns in a slow circle, taking it in. “Is this your bedroom?”
“Yeah.” I almost correct her, our room, because it’s going to become our bedroom.
“It’s… huge. And beautiful.”
She stops facing the bed, biting her lower lip. “That’s a very wide bed.” Her voice is teasing, but there’s heat under it. She turns to face me. “But you didn’t bring me up here just to show me your room, did you? Mr. Volkov, are you trying to seduce me?”
I close the distance in two steps, crowding her against the edge of the mattress.
“As much as I’d love to rip these clothes off you right now and fuck you into that mattress until you can’t move by morning…
” I trail a finger down the side of her throat, watching her pulse jump.
“I brought you here for a different reason.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “Mr. Volkov,” she breathes, mock-scandalized. “The manners on you.”
I smirk, take her hand again, and lead her through the arched doorway to the left.
The walk-in closet opens up, long and dimly lit. I lead her past the rows of black suits on one side, shirts on the other, shoes polished and lined up. Shelves of watches, cufflinks, ties in neat rolls.
She stops short when we reach the opposite wall. The section is full. Dresses on padded hangers, silk blouses, tailored trousers, folded cashmere sweaters, rows of heels and flats lined up below, lingerie folded in glass drawers, even a small rack of loungewear. Everything sized for her.
Laurel turns to me, brows knit. “Those… are female clothes?”
I shake my head once. “No. Those are yours now.”
She blinks. “I didn’t bring anything over. Those aren’t mine.”
“They are.” I lean one shoulder against the built-in shelf, arms crossed. “I had the section built for you. Personal shopper filled it. Everything here is your size, your style, or close enough to what I’ve seen you wear.”
Her mouth parts. “How? When did you get this done?”
“Immediately after we got back from Paris.” I keep my voice even. “I hired a personal shopper to get it done the very next morning.”
She stares at me for a long second. “What?”
Laurel steps forward, fingers trailing over the fabrics—silk slip dresses, wool coats, a row of delicate camisoles. “This is… a lot. Dresses, shoes, loungewear… everything.”
“I want you to have what you need,” I say quietly. “Whenever you’re here. You don’t have to pack a bag.”
She turns fully to face me, eyes searching mine. “So you were that sure I’d keep dating you after Paris?”
I give her the look, the one that says don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.
She laughs under her breath, cheeks flushing. “Don’t answer that.”
I don’t. Instead I nod toward the far end of her section. “Open that.”
She hesitates, then reaches for the slim glass-fronted cabinet.
When the door swings wide, the interior light flicks on automatically.
Rows of velvet-lined trays: diamond studs, sapphire drops, delicate gold chains, a pair of emerald earrings that match the green dress hanging in the closet, several pieces of jewelry to go with the dresses.
Her breath catches. “Leonid…”
I close the distance before she can finish the sentence, cup her face, and kiss her, swallowing whatever protest was about to spill out. My teeth catch her lower lip, tug gently. “No arguments,” I murmur against her mouth. “If you don’t like the dresses, we can get new ones.”
She exhales shakily, eyes glassy when I pull back. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” I brush my thumb over the lip I just bit. “How about you go read Alexei his story? I’ll book us a table. And when we come back here, I’ll make good on that promise from earlier.”
She smiles, a little breathless. “Yes, sir.”
She rises on her toes and presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Thank you.”
Then she slips past me, heading back toward Alexei’s room.
The restaurant is quiet tonight, low lighting, soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers. We’re tucked into a corner booth with a view of the city’s skyline. Laurel sits across from me, candlelight catching the gold flecks in her eyes.
She chose a nude silk dress from the closet. It skims her body like liquid, with a high neck in front and a back dipping low enough to show the elegant line of her spine. She paired it with a thin gold chain necklace and matching bracelet.
The only thing missing is a ring on that middle finger of her left hand.
Fuck. What is happening to me?
I’ve had the thought of making her my wife more than once since we left the house. I’ve never been this guy. But tonight? Every time she smiles, every time she reaches for her wine glass and the light catches the bracelet, the urge hits harder. I want the ring. I want the world to see it.
She turns her head, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city sprawled below us.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say.
But I’m not looking at the skyline.
She glances back, catching me staring. A small laugh escapes her. “You’re not even looking outside.”
“Don’t have to.” I lean forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice low. “The most beautiful, breathtaking thing in this city is sitting right in front of me.”
Her cheeks flush that soft pink I love, the one that starts at her throat and climbs. She shakes her head, eyes dropping to her plate for a second before lifting again. “You have a way with words, Mr. Volkov.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Just facts.”
She’s different tonight. No tense shoulders, no quick glances around the room checking for familiar faces. No pulling her hand back when I reach for it. She’s relaxed, really relaxed for the first time since we started this.
No more hiding. She’s here as mine. And fuck if that doesn’t settle something deep in my chest I didn’t realize was still restless.
I reach across the table and take her hand. Her fingers slide easily between mine. I lift her knuckles to my lips, press a slow kiss there.
“I love you,” I say against her skin.
Her eyes soften, glistening a little in the candlelight. “I love you too.”
The waiter approaches with the next course, but I barely register him. Yeah. I’m going to marry this woman.
The next morning sunlight slices through the half-open blinds, painting gold stripes across the sheets. Laurel is still half-buried under them, hair spilled across the pillow, when I walk in with the tray containing breakfast.
She’s sitting up against the headboard, phone in both hands, staring at the screen like it just bit her.
“So, I’m kinda popular now?” she says, voice caught somewhere between shock and bewilderment. “Have you seen this?”
I set the tray on the nightstand, lean over the bed, and kiss her. “Already seen it,” I murmur against her lips. “Ignore it. It’ll blow over in a minute. They’ll find something else to chew on by lunch.”
She turns the phone toward me. Grainy paparazzi shots from last night: us leaving the restaurant, my hand on the small of her back, her laughing at something I said.
Blogs already have headlines. Billionaire Volkov’s Mystery Woman. Who Is the Woman Who Stole His Heart? Comments sections exploding.
“They’re talking about us,” she says, eyes wide.
I slide into bed beside her and pull her into my arms so her back rests against my chest. “I’m sorry.” My chin settles on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to drag you into the media shit-show.”
She leans into me, exhaling. “It’s okay.
I’m dating a public figure. It was always going to happen eventually.
” A small, wry laugh. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the limelight.
I had maybe two hundred followers on Instagram.
Now?” She tilts the screen so I can see the notification count. “Over a hundred thousand. Overnight.”
I press my lips to her temple. “I’ll make it go away.”
She shakes her head. “No. Let it run its course. I chose this.” Then she reaches for the tray. “Being woken up with mind-blowing orgasms and now breakfast in bed? I could get used to this.”
“You should.” I pick up half a bagel, spread cream cheese and salmon, and hold it to her lips. “Eat.”
She takes a bite, chews slowly, eyes on mine. Then she catches my wrist, brings my fingers to her mouth, and licks them clean, tongue curling around the pad of my thumb.
The things this woman does to me.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I glance at the screen: Igor. I answer, bringing it to my ear.
“Your face and Laurel’s are all over the internet. I take it you’re no longer playing secret lovers?” Igor says without preamble.
“Yeah.”
A pause. His voice drops. “You know what going public means. Enemies notice. Someone might decide she’s the easiest way to get to you.”
My jaw tightens. “I’d never let that happen.”
Igor exhales. “I know. Just… be careful. She’s not built for this world.”
“I know.” I end the call without another word.
Laurel watches me set the phone down. She picks up a forkful of scrambled eggs and holds it to my lips. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I take the bite, chew, swallow.
She feeds me another forkful, then leans back against my chest again. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, nothing to worry about.” I wrap my arms tighter around her.
I press my mouth to the side of her neck. “How about shopping after breakfast?”
She turns her head and kisses the underside of my jaw. “I’d love that.”
I’d never let anything happen to her. But deep down, I can’t get what Igor said out of my head.