Page 57 of Porcelain Vows

“I’m sure you can pump enough for a couple of feedings. If she needs more, the nurse will wake you.” I press my advantage. “One night, Stella. Six straight hours of sleep.”

The hesitation in her eyes tells me I’m winning. “She won’t take her from the room?”

“No. She’ll stay right here. You can check on them whenever you want.”

Stella runs a hand over her face, fatigue finally overcoming resistance. “Fine. One night.”

Victory, small as it is. I pull out my phone and send a text to the nurse waiting downstairs.

“She’ll be up in ten minutes. You can show her Polina’s routine.”

Stella nods, already looking relieved despite her reluctance. “Thank you,” she says stiffly, the words clearly difficult.

I take a chance. “When you’ve handed her over to the nurse… come to my room. I want you to stay with me tonight.”

Her head snaps up, eyes suddenly alert, wary. Why does she look at me that way these days? “What?”

“Not for sex,” I clarify, noting how her body has tensed again. “I know your body is still healing. Just… to talk. To be together without a crying infant between us.”

“Are you saying you have a problem with Polina?” Her tone is sharp.

“Of course not. She is my life.” As I say it, I realize, yet again, how true that is. “But that shouldn’t mean we can’t spend time together without her.”

The silence stretches long enough that I think she’ll refuse. Finally, she asks, “Why?”

Because I miss you.

Because I don’t understand what’s happened between us.

Because the distance is driving me fucking insane.

“Because we’re parents now,” I say instead. “We should at least be able to have a conversation.”

She studies me, searching for some hidden agenda. Finding none, she nods once. “After I’ve shown the nurse everything.”

“I’ll be waiting.” I turn to leave, pausing at the door. “Wear something comfortable. This isn’t a formal invitation.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in her posture— a slight relaxation. “Okay.”

I close the door behind me, exhaling slowly. Not exactly enthusiasm, but it’s the first time she’s agreed to be alone with me since Polina’s birth. Progress, however small.

Back in my wing of the manor, I make arrangements. Champagne on ice— alcoholic for me, non-alcoholic for her since she’s breastfeeding. Two glasses. Dim lighting. Not seduction, but not clinical either. A middle ground where we might find our way back to something resembling normal.

Whatever the fuck “normal” means for a BratvaPakhanand the mother of his child.

I shower and change into comfortable clothes— dark lounge pants and a black sweater. Casual but not sloppy. I check the security feed on my phone, watching as the nurse arrives at Stella’s room. Stella greets her, expression guarded but polite.They disappear into the nursery, presumably for instructions about Polina.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a soft knock at my door.

“Come in,” I call, setting aside my phone.

Stella enters hesitantly, hovering near the doorway as if unsure of her welcome. She’s changed into leggings and a loose sweater that slips off one shoulder. Her hair falls in waves around her face, freshly brushed. She’s applied a touch of something to her lips.

The effort, small as it is, gives me hope.

“You came,” I say, moving toward her.

“I said I would.” Her breath catches as I lean in and graze my lips over hers. It’s featherlight, barely a fleeting touch, but it’s enough to make my balls pull tight. She stands motionless, not responding but not pulling away either. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

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