Page 108 of Under His Control
And as the city lights flicker on below us, I know something for sure—this is the life I want. The one I fought for. The one we built together.
A while later, Chris reappears in flannel pants and a hoodie. He’s brushing his damp hair with a fork, which I choose to ignore.
He pauses mid-step. “Okay, why are you two staring at each other like the cover of a cheesy romance novel?”
“Because we’re in love,” I say sweetly.
He fake gags. “Gross. Get a room. Just not this one.”
I laugh and toss a roll of paper towels at him.
Anatoly checks his watch and clears his throat. “It’s late. We should head home.”
“I’m fine here,” I say, still curled into the couch cushions. “It’s comfy.”
He raises a brow. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“I’m not sleeping. I’m resting.”
He walks over and holds out his hand. “Come on,solnishka.I’ll tuck you into our own bed.”
I groan but take his hand. “Only if you promise me a foot rub.”
He leans down and murmurs, “I’ll rub everything.”
Chris lets out a strangled sound from the kitchen. “Oh my God. Boundaries, people!”
I laugh so hard I snort.
It’s the kind of night I never thought I’d get with my brother.
Messy. Loud. Full of people who’ve hurt and healed and chosen to love each other anyway.
I rest a hand on my belly as we leave.
And feel a tiny kick.
Like it’s our baby’s way of saying they approve.
By the time we get back up to the penthouse, I’ve kicked off my shoes, peeled off my bra, and am two seconds from demanding foot rubs and pineapple sorbet from Oro Nero.
I drop onto the couch with a dramatic groan, one hand resting on my belly. Our baby gives one little nudge, like they agree it’s time to relax.
Anatoly pulls off his jacket and tosses it over a chair, then turns to me with that look—the one that says he’s got something on his mind.
“So,” I say, rubbing my foot over the velvet cushion in front of me, “what’s the plan with the other side of the floor?”
His brow arches. “You mean Damas’s penthouse?”
“Yeah, you know, the enormous void just sitting there doing nothing but creeping me out.”
He pours a glass of sparkling water and brings it to me. “Technically, it’s still in legal limbo, but I’m working on it.”
I take a sip and narrow my eyes. “Working on it, how? Please tell me that whatever you’ve got in mind, it involves a total interior makeover—meaning zero oil paintings of white tigers and absolutely nothingPeaky Blinders-related.”
He gives me that slow, sexy smile. “Something like that. I was thinking of knocking down the walls. Merging the two penthouses. Making one massive space. For us.”
That gets my attention.
