Chapter 45
Zoya
"What time is it?" I mumble into the pillow.
"Early." He kisses my jaw, his dark stubble scraping my skin. "Go back to sleep."
"Hard to sleep when you're chewing on my neck."
"Is it a crime now to kiss my wife?"
I close my eyes and let him have his way for a while longer. The kisses get intense and unhurried, with his large hand cradling the side of my face. I kiss him back even with more passion. When he pulls back, his eyes hold a rare, unguarded softness.
"Good morning, Vedma."
"Good morning, Alex."
He kisses my nose before rolling out of bed to head for the bathroom. I stay under the covers and watch him walk away. The dark scars and tattoos shift under his skin with every step, the pink marks from Portugal still looking angry across his shoulder.
I drag myself up, scooping his shirt off the floor and tossing it on before heading downstairs.
I just want something easy to cook,, like eggs and toast, I’m pretty sure my stomach can handle that.
I dig out a skillet and turn on the heat.
The butter foams, and I crack the egg over it, letting out a proud breath as the edges start to cook.
Look at me acting like a chef, I praise myself as the egg crisps up in the butter. The good mood, however, is cut short.
Alexei strolls into the kitchen just as the room fills with a haze of thick smoke.
With his hair wet from the shower and dressed in fresh sweatpants, he stops in his tracks.
He stares at the burning pan, looks over at me, and then looks right back at the pan.
The eggs are a ruined, blackened mess, and the toast looks like actual charcoal.
He stands frozen in the doorway. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking."
He walks over to peer into the ruined pan. "It smells... interesting?"
I thud the plastic spatula onto the marble counter. "Why did you make that sound so much like a question?"
"I didn't. It was a sincere compliment."
"Alexei, it's burnt. I can see it. You can see it. Don't gaslight me in my own kitchen."
"I'm not gaslighting you," he counters, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I'm impressed. Making burnt eggs smell edible is a real skill."
I grab the spatula and hurl it straight at his head. He catches the handle mid-air without blinking and sets it on the counter. "No throwing weapons in the kitchen," he warns.
"Since when is that a rule?"
"Since you tried to hit me with a utensil." He grabs the back of my neck to pull me in for a quick kiss. "I love you too, Vedma."
I try to stay annoyed and fail. He scrapes my disaster into the trash.
"I give up," I sigh.
He laughs in a deep rumble. "Sit down. I'll handle it."
"But it's a woman's job to…"
"Sit your pregnant behind in the chair. I'm going to feed us before you burn the entire house down."
Alexei moves through the kitchen with fluid confidence, never having to search for a single pan or utensil. He melts a fresh pad of butter and cracks four eggs one-handed before pulling out fresh spinach and crumbles of feta.
"What are you making?" I ask.
"An omelet with vegetables, plus oatmeal and berries."
"That's way too much food, Alexei."
"You're eating for two." He chops the peppers with a fast, professional rhythm, the knife thumping against the wood. "The baby needs protein and iron. Try to get it from the food this time, not the burnt pan."
"Since when are you a nutritionist?"
"Last Tuesday. I fell down a rabbit hole of videos."
I blink at him. "What kind of videos?"
"YouTube. What to cook for your pregnant wife. Best meals for fetal development." He pauses, giving me a pointed look. "How to keep your wife away from midnight frozen pizza. The internet wasn't helpful with that last one, so I'm improvising."
"You watch pregnancy cooking videos?"
"Yes. I also learned how to install a car seat. How to change a dirty diaper in under thirty seconds. Why you should never microwave breast milk."
“When did you have time to learn this stuff?”
He looks almost embarrassed. “In my earpiece at work—turns out interrogations are incredibly boring, so I’ve been listening to pregnancy podcasts instead of music.
” A tender smile crosses his face. “There’s this one host who’s amazing at explaining everything, makes it all easy to understand.
I’ve been writing things down so I don’t forget, i thought we could listen together, you know? Learn about the baby as a team.”
He pours the egg mixture into the pan, the sizzle sounding perfect. "When the baby comes, I won't be useless."
He plates everything and sets it down in front of me. Fluffy omelet, sliced avocado, and a steaming bowl of oatmeal arranged neatly on the dish. He taps the fork with his finger, sliding it toward me.
"Eat."
I stare at the plate as my stomach begins to softly growl. “This looks like it came from a restaurant.”
“I made it with love and the internet.” He sits on the stool beside me. “Now eat before it gets cold. I don’t want to lecture you about wasting good feta.”
My stomach growls louder and I blush.
He grins. "That engine sounds broken. Should I call a mechanic to look at it?"
"Shut up."
I take a bite and groan at the perfect texture. I hate that he’s this good at everything. “When did you learn how to cook?”
“When I was sixteen. My father always told me that any man who couldn’t feed himself deserved to starve, and any man who couldn’t feed his family wasn’t worthy of being called a man.” He shrugs slightly. “So I learned.”
“Sounds like your father was right about at least one thing.”
"He was right about many things. He was just a shit father." He pushes the bowl of oatmeal closer to my plate. "Eat the oats. The berries have antioxidants."
“Let me guess, you watched another video?”
“Three videos, actually.” He takes my hand and presses a warm kiss against my knuckles, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I’m taking this seriously, Vedma, because you’re carrying my child and I’m going to make sure both of you stay healthy.”
I look at him for a long moment, studying the earnest expression on his face. “You’re going to be a good father.” His eyes go soft. “I’m going to try.”
I finish every bite while we sit in silence. When I set the fork down, his expression shifts. The warmth pulls back and something harder takes its place.
“I have to get ready.”
“For what?”
He doesn’t answer and just heads upstairs with me trailing behind him. In the bedroom, he stops at what looks like a blank wall and punches a code into a hidden keypad, then a concealed door clicks open to reveal his weapons locker.
Black body armor hangs next to thick Kevlar plates and a tactical vest, with steel-toed boots lined up neatly on the floor below.
Two handguns rest in leather shoulder holsters while a massive rifle sits broken down on the top shelf beside rows of loaded magazines.
Three knives are stored in there too, including one with a serrated edge that looks designed to do maximum damage.
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him gear up, disappearing under heavy layers of war.
Alexei turns around and takes my hand to lead me out, guiding me down a hidden staircase that drops far below the basement level into what looks like a concrete bunker.
Thick steel walls box us in on all sides while heavy crates of water and medical supplies stack near the corner, and a bank of monitors shows live security feeds covering every inch of the estate.
Two of his men already stand inside with their rifles held at attention, waiting.
“Stay here until I come back,” he orders.
“Alexei…”
“The walls are reinforced steel and nothing gets through them, and Viktor stands right outside the door so don’t leave this room until you see my face.”
I look at the glowing screens and then at the armed guards standing nearby. “Okay.”
He turns toward the exit.
“Wait.”
Alexei stops in his tracks.
“You better come back to me,” I say, and my voice trembles in the cold air.
“I will.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear on our baby that I’m coming home.”
He takes a step forward, pauses, then turns back around to hold his large hand out with the palm facing up. “Hand it over.”
“What?”
“My armor.”
“You’re already wearing it.”
“My other armor.” He wiggles his thick fingers at me. “Your panties. Hand them over.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Alexei, what the hell?”
“I’m heading out to a war. I need a good luck charm. My charm is your underwear, so hand them over, Vedma. I’m on a clock here.”
“My panties are not a good luck charm.”
“They are starting today. It’s a new Romanov tradition. Hand them over right now.”
“You have loaded guns strapped to your body. You’re wearing thick Kevlar plates. Why do you need my underwear to survive?”
“The vest stops the bullets. Your panties stop the bad luck.” He snaps his fingers impatiently. “This is not up for negotiation.”
“That makes zero sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. Now stop stalling.” I reach under the hem of his t-shirt, hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties, then slide them down my legs.
I step out of the fabric, dangle them from one finger for a moment just to make him wait, then drop them into his waiting palm.
He takes them from me with a satisfied smirk.
He brings the silk to his face and inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back like he’s getting high off my scent.
When they open again, something feral and unhinged burns there.
“If my men weren’t watching, I’d tie these over my face like a fucking mask and go kill people while breathing in your pussy. ”
“Jesus Christ, Alexei, we need to book you for a psychiatric evaluation when you get back, it’s not normal to talk like that.”
“I’m dead serious. I’d suffocate myself in this before I let a bullet take me down.” He tucks the fabric deep into his vest pocket right over his heart, then pats the heavy material twice. “Right here, exactly where they belong.”
Grabbing the back of my neck, Alexei pulls me into a hard kiss. His armored chest crushes against me while the cold metal of his weapons presses into my skin, but I kiss him back with everything I have left.
He pulls back to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing jagged. “I love you, Vedma.”
My throat tightens with emotion as I grab his tactical vest with both fists. “I love you too. Now go kill them and come home.”
He offers a rare smile before turning to walk out. The heavy steel door seals shut with a loud thud that vibrates deep in my bones.