Page 54 of Ivory Oath

At least, that’s how it was when I was pregnant with Dante. I was on edge all the time. It could have had something to do with being on the run and having no idea how I’d pay for my next meal, let alone afford diapers when the time came. But I’m pretty sure at least a portion of the extra anxiety was my raging pregnancy hormones.

Maybe the fact I’m not anxious now means I’m having a girl this time.

I slide my hand under the water and stroke my still-flat stomach. “Are you a little girl, hm? Is that why I haven’t been as sick?”

I’m hesitant to say my morning sickness is over since it’s still so early—and lest some goddess of fertility somewhere notices my lack of suffering and hits me with the kind of all-day, nonstop nausea I had with Dante—but the vomiting peaked and waned in a matter of a week. I haven’t been nauseous at all recently. The only nipple tenderness I’ve had has had a very direct link to Mikhail and all the naughty things he does to me when it gets late and we’re alone.

He’s been so gentle with Dante. I don’t know exactly what happened between them while I was away, but I noticed a little tension between them when I first got back. Dante kept checking to make sure I wasn’t going to disappear again and he narrowed his eyes whenever Mikhail walked into a room.

That’s all but gone now. Dante once again worships the ground Mikhail walks on and Mikhail seems to genuinely enjoy spending time with Dante. It’s the only reason I can think of for why they spend from breakfast to lunch every day tromping through the woods with nothing to show for it.

Last night, Mikhail told me he would have caught something by now, but Dante is a heavy walker for being so light and is scaring everything in a three-mile radius away.

I clicked my tongue and patted his shoulder condescendingly. “Sure. I bet it’s Dante’s fault. Whatever makes you feel better.”

“If all you care about is making me feel better…” Mikhail pushed me to my knees in the middle of the kitchen and fucked my mouth just like he swore he would the first night.

I bite back a smile and wonder if it will always be like this.

When the rest of the world settles down, will things with our little family always feel this easy? Or will having a little girl change things?

Mikhail has repeated to me over and over again the last few days that he is “all the way in” with me—and not just when he’s literally all the way in me. He’s showing me in every way he knows how that he isn’t going to send me away again. Our family is a priority for him.

But he had another family before. Another daughter.

What if our baby girl reminds him of Anzhelina? What if the reminders of the way his firstborn died make it hard for him to love our daughter?

I wouldn’t even blame him. How could I? If something happened to Mikhail or Dante, I’m not sure how I’d pick up and carry on. I can’t imagine a world without them in it. I’d die a thousand times over to save either of them. The fact that Mikhail has suffered the way he has and is still as caring with me and Dante as he is is a miracle. Or a testament to the strong man he is.

Being strong doesn’t make him impenetrable, though.

“Mama!”

The shrill voice echoing through the house is enough to send my heart lurching against my chest. I sit bolt upright in the tub, sudsy water sloshing over the sides as every thought in my head disappears, replaced by images of smoking guns and bloody limbs.

But before I can fully start to freak out, Dante yells again. “Mama! You gotta come look at this!”

I blow out a harsh breath and sink into the tub.

He’s okay. He’s fine.

“Just a second,” I call back.

“Hurry,” he repeats. “It’s so awesome!”

It better be awesome, considering I almost had a heart attack.

I do my best to work past the adrenaline Dante just unknowingly dumped into my system and step out of the tub. I dry off quickly and wrap up in a fluffy bathrobe before I head downstairs.

I’m only halfway down the stairs when Dante appears at the bottom, bouncing from one muddy boot to the other. A massive grin is spread across his face. I can’t find it in me to be annoyed with him for scaring me half to death or for tracking mud across the wood floor I swept and mopped less than an hour ago.

“What’s going on, bud?”

“I shot a deer!”

“You shot a deer?” I frown. “Like, Mikhail shot a deer? Or?—?”

“It was me!” He grabs my hand as soon as I touch the first floor and drags me to the door. “I pulled the trigger. I shot it. It was me.”

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