Epilogue
ROMY
Five Months Later
“You’re doing incredible, Romy. Just breathe.
The next contraction is coming up,” Dr. Charles says calmy at the end of the bed, where my legs are propped up in stirrups.
I’m currently on display, spread wide the fuck open.
I can’t answer. I can’t even nod, let alone give a hand gesture.
My entire universe is pinned to the massive, immovable presence standing right beside me.
Vik’s hand is locked around mine, his knuckles white, his grip the only thing keeping me from floating away into the pain.
It wasn’t my intention to have our first child without an epidural, and it’s my fault entirely for waiting until the last minute to come to the hospital.
I’d been here two times already in the past month, thinking it was time only for it to be Braxton hicks.
By the time we got here, Dr. Charles was thankfully here, but it also meant the contractions were coming fast and increasingly rapid, and I was dilated well beyond being able to receive an epidural.
My fiancé, yes, fiancé, because I refused to get married until our daughter could be a part of our wedding, remains stoically quiet.
A silent fortress of a man, keeping his emotions under wraps, he knows I need him to be my rock.
He doesn’t offer empty platitudes. He isn’t telling me it’s fine. He’s just holding me.
“Alright, Romy,” Dr. Charles breaks through my fog, her tone shifting into gear.
“The baby is peaking. I need a deep breath, chin to chest, and push.” I squeeze my eyes shut and push with every single ounce of strength I have left in my aching muscles.
A low guttural groan tears through me from the back of my throat at the end.
“Good girl,” Vik rumbles near my ear, his voice rough and low, breaking his silence right when he knows I am about to drop. “I’m right here with you, beautiful. Give it everything.”
“I can’t,” I choke out, collapsing back against the pillow, sobbing for air the instant the ten seconds are up. “Vik, it hurts. It hurts so much. I can’t do it anymore.”
“You can,” he counters, dark eyes locking on mine with an intensity that practically forces life back into my body. He leans over, pressing his damp forehead against mine. “You are the strongest woman I have ever known, Romy. Look at me. We’re getting our girl today. Together. Another one, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” The next wave hits me, a brutal tightening that leaves me with no choice.
“Deep breath, Romy. Push for me,” the doctor orders. When I do, it feels like I’m being torn apart. I give it a third, desperate, agonizing heave, my vision blurring around the edges. My body is shaking, sweat is soaking through my hospital gown, and every muscle in my body is begging me to stop.
“We’re crowing, don’t stop!” Dr. Charles calls out, her voice rising with excitement. My grip on Vik’s hand tightens, nearly bruising him, but I can’t focus on that now. I keep bearing down, doing what my body is meant to do naturally.
“I see her, Romy,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
His free hand lifts to my face. I see the trembling, and he frames my sweat-slicked face.
“I am so damn thankful for you, so incredibly proud of you. I love you. I love you so damn much.” Hearing his words, the absolute devotion he has for me vibrating in his hoarse voice, slams a sudden surge of adrenaline straight into my veins.
The exhaustion evaporates, as does the doubt.
“Alright, big push for the shoulders.” Dr. Charles looks up at me with a soft smile and a nod. I gather every remaining shred of energy, bury my chin in my chest, and push with a fierce, unrelenting determination.
“She’s here, Romy,” Vik says.
“Congratulations!” Dr. Charles says at the same time. The immense pressure inside my body vanishes, and then I hear it: my baby’s cry. “Look at your beautiful daughter.” A sob tears from my chest as the nurse lays our child on my chest.
“Help me take this gown off, please.” I look at Vik, wanting to be skin on skin.
He pulls at the tie, the side drops, and he makes sure I get what I want.
She’s tiny, her little fists flailing against the air, golden-blonde hair plastered to her head.
Vik looms over both of us, his massive shoulders shaking as he lets out a breath that sounds more like a cry.
“Christ, she’s beautiful.” He doesn’t look at the doctors. His gaze is locked on our daughter’s, eyes wide and completely captivated.
“Dad, do you want to do the honors?” a nurse asks, holding a pair of sterile medical scissors. Vik blinks, swallows hard as he looks down at the umbilical cord and afterbirth.
“Yeah. Yes, I mean.” One hand stays on me. This time, it’s my thigh as he takes the metal instrument with his right, carefully lines it up between the two clamps, and severs the cord.
“We’re going to take her for just a few minutes.
We need to take her to the warmer to weigh her and check her vitals.
Then, if you’re nursing, we’ll help you get her latched, or if you’d prefer to formula feed, we’ll set you up with bottles,” another nurse tells me before lifting her up off my chest.
“Thank you,” I tell her. Vik immediately shifts, staying rooted to my side.
“Go with her, Vik.” My hand flutters in the air.
“I’m not leaving your side, Romy.” I cut my eyes toward the warmer across the room, where two nurses are wiping down our baby. My protective, maternal instincts flare to life, overriding my exhaustion.
“Vik, go over there.” My voice is raspy, but it’s not laced with weakness.
“No, the nurses have her. I’m staying with you,” he doubles down.
“Viktor Orlov, I swear to god, if you don’t get over there right now and watch over our daughter, I will personally rise from this bed and castrate you,” I threaten, narrowing my eyes through tears. “Please, don’t leave her alone.”
“I’m going. We’ll come back to you threatening castration, too,” he murmurs, quickly kissing my lips before turning and striding across the room. He parks his massive frame right next to the small plastic bassinet, looming over the nurses like the dominating billionaire he is.
I watch him from the bed, a soft, tired smile spreading across my face as I see his large hand reach into the carrier, his massive index finger completely disappearing as our tiny daughter’s hand wraps around it.
I close my eyes and my legs, resituating myself since the doctor and nurse are now down there taking care of the afterbirth, cleaning me up, and helping me into what I can only assume is a period-type diaper contraption.
A few minutes later, Vik is wheeling the bassinet back to the side of my bed. Our girl is wrapped tightly in a pink striped hospital blanket. The slip of paper on the outside states her weight, seven pounds and four ounces, and she’s twenty inches long.
Once Vik has it parked, he carefully scoops her out and transfers her back to my waiting arms. He moves into the bed next to us when I scoot over, his arm going behind my back, his other holding our daughter beneath her rump right along with mine.
“She feels so light,” I whisper as she starts to root at my breast. I’ve read so many forums and so many books that I know this is a natural instinct, and I let her take charge.
“She’s tiny and she’s already got your stubborn streak, that’s for sure. She was fighting the swaddle,” he says his eyes staying on our daughter.
“Well, would you want to be wrapped in a fake cocoon when you’ve been inside your mommy for nearly ten months? How do you feel about élodie for her first name, and you can pick her middle name,” I murmur, my finger tracing the incredible, velvety soft skin of her cheek.
“I like that, and it is your grandmother’s middle name. How about we use Anastasia, my mother’s middle name. It means resurrection, a new beginning,” Vik agrees. We’ve been waffling over which names to use and where, but holding her in my arms, seeing her facial features, the name fits.
“élodie Anastasia Orlov. It’s perfect.” A few tears blur my vision again as I look back down at the tiny miracle resting on my chest.
“It’s perfect because she’s yours,” Vik whispers, pressing his lip in a long, deeply devoted kiss to my bare shoulder. “Because we made her. I love you, Romy.”
“She’s perfect because she’s ours,” I fix his statement. “And I love you, too, Vik,” I breathe.
“Next up is changing your last name.” My eyes were almost closed, when he opens the can of worms.
“And we will, once I lose the baby weight.” I want élodie to be a part of our ceremony. I also don’t want to be worried about fitting into a dress and feeling unconfident.
“You’re perfect the way you are, Romy. I’d marry you right now if you’d let me.” He absolutely would. He’s tried multiple times to get me to the courthouse at every turn possible.
“November seventh,” I tell him as I close my eyes, his words wrapping around me, completely cementing our future right here and now.
“Perfect, both of you.” He presses a kiss to the crown of my head. I settle deeper into our family hold, happy and content.
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Coming Next is Tell Me You Want Me, Alex and Dante’s story