Page 32 of Inked Athena

Like she can still sense the wall between us, Nova crashes through it. She stands up and settles herself on my lap, her legs wrapped around me, her hands hooked behind my neck. “We can’t allow our pasts to get in the way of our future, Sam. This is our chance to do better—tobebetter—than our parents were.”

Her words settle deep in my chest, taking root there.

We have a chance to learn from our traumas. We have a chance to turn our pasts into something beautiful for the children and family we’re going to build together.

And just like that, I can see the picture again: Nova and I, surrounded by our children and a mess of dogs.

Happy.

Whole.

Together.

She laughs, shifting her hips against the erection growing between us. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

I pull the transparent fabric over her shoulder to admire the scraps of the bikini she’s wearing beneath it. “It’s hard not to feel better when you’re wearing this.”

“It’s my last chance before I’m too big to pull off the outfit.”

I shake my head. “You’ll always be able to pull this off, Nova. Watching you grow my child is only going to make me want you even more.”

I slide my hands down her back and squeeze her waist. Her body rocks against me, and we both groan.

Surely nothing that feels this good could be wrong.

I’ve made mistakes before. I married the wrong person, trusted the wrong people.

But Nova is therightwoman.

A woman I know will go to any lengths to protect our children and love our family. And if she believes I can do this, then damn me to hell if I don’t do my best to prove her right.

12

NOVA

After weeks on the ocean, with nothing but the gentle wash of the waves against the sides of the yacht and the hum of the engine, I’m used to quiet. Serenity.

Helicopter blades don’t fall into that category.

The roar of the chopper wrenches me out of bed. I’m on my feet before I know what’s happening, a hand flying to my belly. That reaction already feels natural. Ever since the test, I touch it again and again, all day and all night, like this baby might disappear if I don’t check on them often enough.

Samuil’s side of the bed is empty. Cold. The sheets still hold the ghost of his warmth, but he’s been gone long enough for anxiety to spider through my veins.

The noise grows louder. Metal against metal. Men’s voices. Heavy boots on deck.

I force myself to breathe. To think. But memories of Ilya flood back—the warehouse, the blindfold cutting into my skin,his voice promising my death. The nausea isn’t just morning sickness anymore.

“Eat your crackers first,” I mutter in a poor imitation of Samuil’s command voice. But my hands shake too hard to reach for the ginger cookies he insists will settle my stomach.

Instead, I press my forehead against the cold porthole glass, watching black helicopter blades cut through the purple dawn sky.

The door opens behind me. I whirl, smacking my head against the metal frame hard enough to see stars.

“I’m so sorry!” Louisa struggles to keep her tray of tea and cookies steady. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

I can barely hear her over the sound of the helicopter. “Who is here? What’s going on?”

She sets the tray beside the bed with practiced care. “Men are coming aboard. Mr. Litvinov is greeting them above deck. He said he’d check on you soon.”

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