Chapter 29
AURORA
I’m sitting on the porch of the estate at seven in the morning, drinking decaf from the Marathon Half-Marathon Finisher mug I stole from the safe house, when Braden kicks me so hard I spill coffee on my shirt.
I look down at the stain spreading across my chest and address my stomach. “That was unnecessary.”
Diana responds by pressing what I’m fairly certain is an elbow against my bladder, and I set the mug on the railing before I lose the rest of it.
Thirty-seven weeks with twins means I’m carrying two active humans who have already divided the available real estate between them and seem to spend most of their time arguing about the border.
Adrian appears in the doorway with a fresh shirt in one hand and a warm washcloth in the other. He saw the spill on the security camera in his office, which means he was watching me drink coffee on a monitor instead of doing whatever Viktor sent him this morning.
“I’m fine. It’s just coffee.”
“I know.” He hands me the shirt and wipes the coffee from my collar with the washcloth. “Dr. Miller’s office called. Your thirty-seven-week appointment is confirmed for Thursday.”
“I confirmed it yesterday.”
“They confirmed it with me today.”
“After you called them, I’m sure.” I smile to show I’m not irritated at his micromanaging.
There’s not much he can do right now as we await the birth, so if it helps him fill the time, it doesn’t bother me.
I pull the clean shirt over my head and smooth it over the massive curve of my stomach.
“Did you also confirm the hospital bag, the car seat installation, and the playlist I made for labor?”
“The bag is packed and in the front closet. Fedor installed the car seats a few days ago in the Escalade, which will become the primary family vehicle because of its safety rating, and Viktor inspected them. I haven’t touched the playlist because you threatened me with bodily harm if I edited it.”
I nod in approval. “Smart man.”
He sits beside me on the porch. The estate is quiet at this hour, with morning light hitting the bay through the palms and over water so flat it looks like glass.
I picked this house. I chose the furniture, the paint colors, and the kitchen layout.
Irina made a few modifications to the kitchen, which means it meets specifications I didn’t know existed.
I’m completely flexible if it means borscht or pelmeni whenever I crave it.
I’ve discovered a love for Russian food that I hope remains after the birth, when my body changes once again.
“The hotel team sent the branding mockups.” He pulls up his phone and hands it to me. “They want your notes by Friday.”
I scroll through the designs for the lobby signage and guest materials I’ve been consulting on for the last two months. The work started as a favor (probably to me to keep me busy), but the team already treats my input like it matters because I’m competent, even if the job started as a distraction.
Six years of managing Echelon’s VIP floor taught me things about guest experience that hospitality textbooks haven’t caught up with yet, and Adrian’s hotel group is smart enough to use that.
“The typeface on the welcome packet is wrong. It reads corporate, not boutique. I’ll send alternatives this afternoon. ”
“You could tell them in person. The project meeting is at two.”
I shake my head. “I have a prenatal massage at two.”
“I’ll move the meeting to four.” He’s already reaching for his phone.
I put a hand on his wrist. “Adrian, stop rearranging schedules around me.”
“I’m rearranging the meeting, not you. You stay at two.” He takes his phone back. “I’ll tell them you’ll call in.”
I lean against his shoulder because arguing about scheduling has become one of our love languages, and he’s getting better at the compromise part even if he still leads with the solution.
That he cares enough to want me at the meetings in some form far outweighs how irritating he can be about getting his way.
“Remind me to send notes to Gallows on her latest sketches too.” I’ve commissioned her to do artwork for all the properties.
That’s enough to keep her busy for at least five years, and she doesn’t complain about charity because she’ll earn every penny of her commissions.
She’s good now, and I hope she’ll decide to use some of that money to take lessons that will make her great.
“I haven’t seen them yet.”
“They’re very good. They just need a touch more color and some softening.
” Her rough life on the streets is over for now, with her commission and hotel room provided for her long-term use as an office that just happens to have a bed she can use.
Her artwork just hasn’t completely caught up with her new reality yet.
Marisol arrives at noon with bags of groceries and a binder she’s labeled “Godmother Operations Manual” in gold lettering. She drops the binder on the kitchen counter and starts unloading produce.
“Viktor tried to argue seniority again.” She arranges avocados in a bowl with more precision than the task requires. “I told him godparent status isn’t determined by length of service, and emotional intelligence outranks operational experience. He conceded.”
“Viktor conceded?”
“He nodded once and walked away, which I’m counting as a formal surrender.” She looks at my stomach. “How are my godchildren?”
“Active and running out of room.” I lower myself onto a kitchen stool, which now requires strategic planning and upper body strength. “Braden kicked hard enough to make me spill coffee this morning, and Diana has been sitting on my bladder since Tuesday.”
“Braden.” Marisol tastes the name. “Braden Kuzma Bugrov. It’s strong.”
“Adrian chose Kuzma after his grandfather. I chose Braden because it means ‘broad valley,’ and after what I went through to get here, a wide open space sounded right.”
“Why Diana Avrora Bugrova?”
“Diana for independence. Avrora is the Russian version of my name.” I pause. “Adrian suggested it, and I cried for ten minutes, but we don’t need to discuss that further.” I hope the crying jags will taper off once my hormones return to whatever new normal looks like after the babies are born.
Marisol smiles and slides a glass of water toward me. “Your acceptance letter came through, right? FIU?”
“Yes, for the fall semester at Chaplin School of Hospitality and Tourism Management.” I drink the water because hydration is important.
“Classes start eight weeks after my due date, which is ambitious, but the nanny Adrian hired is actually competent, and the hybrid format means I can do most coursework from home.”
“Look at you.” Marisol leans against the counter. “Consulting for a hotel group, accepted to a degree program, and about to deliver twins. It’s so different from when you first met Adrian.”
“Yeah.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “I never imagined how it started could lead to being so happy.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I know, mija, but you deserve it.”
Mom and David arrive Saturday afternoon with homemade arroz con pollo and a bag of baby clothes from a consignment shop Denise discovered in Coral Gables.
She unpacks the clothes on the living room floor and holds up each piece for inspection while David sits quietly on the couch, comfortable with silence that doesn’t feel disengaged.
“This one has ducks.” She holds up a onesie. “Babies love ducks.”
“Do they? Or do adults love putting ducks on babies?” I tease.
“Same thing.” She folds the onesie and adds it to the stack. “How’s school prep going?”
“Adrian sent the check last week, and I finalized my course load. I’ll take four classes the first semester, and three have online options.”
Mom doesn’t look happy about me going to school so quickly after the birth, but she keeps any criticism to herself, besides tiptoeing around the subject. “Is Adrian supportive of you going back to school so soon?”
“He built me an office in the house with a desk, bookshelves, and a whiteboard. Then he asked if I needed anything else, and when I said no, he went and added a mini-fridge because he decided I might get hungry while studying, or I might need somewhere to store pumped breastmilk.”
Mom frowns for a second, clearly having hoped Adrian would side with her so she could press the issue to convince me to wait longer.
After a moment, she just gives me a bland smiles and nods.
We still have some work to do, but we’re both avoiding topics that lead to disagreements until we reach a point where we can handle them without damaging our relationship again.
It’s not ideal, but we’re closer than we’ve been in years, and we’ll get there eventually.
David laughs from the couch, and she smiles at him. This is a real smile that carries an ease I haven’t seen from her with any man in my memory. She reaches over and squeezes my arm above where Eric’s bruise faded months ago. “I’m proud of you, baby.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“I’m also terrified for you, because twins are going to destroy your sleep schedule, and you were always cranky without sleep.”
I laugh. “I’m aware.”
Labor starts at two in the morning, because my children have already inherited their father’s preference for operating under cover of darkness.
The first contraction wakes me from a dead sleep, and I lie still for thirty seconds to confirm it’s real before I reach for Adrian.
He’s already awake, watching the ceiling, which means he either never fell asleep or he woke up when I shifted.
“It started.” I say it calmly because panic serves no one, and his version of panic involves mobilizing an entire security apparatus, which I don’t need right now.
We probably don’t need any guards, but we maintain a few to prepare for every precaution, and because Arseny and Fedor have become family.