Page 95 of Defiled Innocence

“Having kids hasn’t slowed Charlotte down and she’s a wonderful mother.”

“Yes, and my cousin is getting grayer by the day.”

She tousles my hair. “Then I guess it’s good you’re already in your salt and pepper stage.”

“You’re poking fun at my age again.”

She forces a stoic expression. “I would never.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You do all the time.”

“Do you really think my working will be bad for the baby?”

“No. It may take some time, but we’ll find the right balance.”

“And the baby will always be with me, so there’s that.” She rolls to her back. “Speaking of the baby. He wants more cake. There’s still some in the kitchen, right?”

“Ah, you stay here. I’ll get the cake.” I pull her back into bed when she tries to climb out.

“You’re the best.” She sighs happily and rests her head against the headboard.

“I am. I know.” I kiss her forehead as I slide my arms into my robe.

“I love you, Dmitri,” she says as I open our bedroom door. “A big piece!” she adds before I can respond to her first comment.

I laugh. “Of course. A big piece.”

If she asked me to bring the baker over to make her a brand new cake, I would have her here within the hour. Nothing my wife asks for will be denied.

And in all things, I will protect her and cherish her.

Not just because she’s my wife, but because she’s my everything.

And I will get to spend the rest of my life proving it to her.

Because I’m the luckiest monster in the world.

Kost

“Sorry.” A man scrambles past me after bumping into my shoulder.

He’s gone in the next moment, hurrying off to catch up with his family that is already at the customs line.

A quick scan and I find the chestnut-haired mark scooting her way into line behind a woman that’s shuffling three kids in front of her toward the desk.

I take my time making my way into line behind the tired and weary travelers who want nothing more than to get out of this airport. There’s no rush on my account.

The hunt is the best part for me.

As the mark reaches the desk, she drops her passport. Bending over to retrieve it, her backpack slips off her arm, smacking her in the face as she gets back up.

She takes a moment, inhales an angry breath before turning back to the desk and thrusting her passport at the attendant.

He does his best to hide the smirk, but I see it. He’s laughing at her. My fingers curl into a fist as I move up a spot in my own line.

After collecting her stamp, she adjusts her backpack again and forges through the double doors into the baggage claim along with the horde of people from our flight from Moscow.

“What brings you to the United States?” the attendant at my custom desk asks, dragging my attention from the doors to him.

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