Page 102 of Beautiful Agony

"Definitely not. " I wrinkle my nose. "It sounds way too similar to Sayanaa."

His hand stills on my back for a moment before a smile ghosts his face. "Fair point."

"Elena?" I offer.

"I knew an Elena once. She tried to poison me."

I pull back to stare at him. "You're joking."

"I wish I was."

"Victoria?" I offer.

"Too English."

"Katerina?"

"Too Ukrainian."

I can't help but laugh. "You're impossible."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'particular,'" he says, but there's a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. His hand drifts to my belly again. "We still have plenty of time to decide."

I cover his hand with mine. "She needs the perfect name."

"She'll have it," he promises. "When we know, we'll know."

My thoughts drift to another name, though I hesitate to say it out loud.Irina.

The weight of it sits heavy in my chest. Her sacrifice made this all possible—my freedom, my life with Vadim, this child growing inside me. But speaking her name still feels like touching a fresh wound.

Maybe it's too soon. Maybe it will always be too soon.

Besides, would naming our daughter after her honor Irina's memory, or would it be a constant reminder of the guilt we both carry?

"We should choose a name that has meaning for you too,zvyozdochka," Vadim says, breaking into my thoughts. "Not just Russian names."

I try to lighten the mood. "Well, we definitely can't name her Megan. She'd never let us hear the end of it."

But something shifts in Vadim's expression, his gray eyes turning serious. "I was thinking Lauren. To honor your Mom."

My breath catches. For a moment, I'm transported back to lazy Sunday afternoons in our kitchen, Mom humming "Moon River" as she taught me how to whisk eggs into chicken broth for the perfect egg drop soup. The way her eyes crinkled with smile as we tried my first attempt—with way too many handfuls of salt.

The suggestion brings tears to my eyes again, but these are different from before. These aren't tears of fear or uncertainty. They're tears of remembrance, of love, of the ache that never quite goes away when you lose someone who shaped your whole world.

"I'd prefer something meaningful to both of us," I whisper, watching his expression carefully. "A name that honors everything we've been through together."

Understanding breaks across Vadim's face like a sunrise. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I know we're thinking the same thing. Together, we breathe out: "Irina."

The name hangs in the air between us, heavy with memory and meaning. I can still see her radiant smile, hear her infectious laugh. The way she believed in me, in us, in everything we could become.

But before the familiar weight of grief can settle over us, Vadim's eyes light up. "I have a better idea," he says, his voice soft but excited. "What if we combined both names? Lauren and Irina..."

Something clicks into place.

"Larina," I say.

My hand drifts to my belly, testing the name. "Larina," I whisper again, feeling how it fits in my mouth, how it carries the echoes of both women who shaped our lives so profoundly. Mom's warmth and strength, Irina's fierce spirit and determination.

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