Page 123 of Royal Bargain
We keep going—sticking out our tongues, making ridiculous noises, clicking our mouths, puffing our cheeks. Lily tries to mimic every single one, more invested than I’ve ever seen her. Ana makes a long 'brrrrr' sound, and Lily’s eyes go wide as she tries to copy it, spitting all over Ana’s shirt.
Ana giggles so hard she nearly drops her. “Oh, she’s definitely yours.”
The two of us dissolve into laughter, helpless and delirious, our daughter cackling along with us like she understands every bit of it.
And for a little while, it’s enough.
No Russians. No politics. No secrets.
Just the three of us, cocooned in this tiny stolen moment of joy.
We play with her a little longer, letting her babble and mimic, her little hands clumsily patting our cheeks as she experiments with sounds and movement. It’s wild, how fast she’s changing. Two weeks ago, she could barely hold up her head. Now she’s sticking her tongue out on command and blowing spit bubbles like it’s her full-time job.
Ana's eyes are brighter now, her laughter coming easier, more freely. It does something to me—watching her like this. Whole and glowing, with Lily cradled in her arms like she was made to be there. Like she finally belongs somewhere.
Eventually, Lily starts to rub at her eyes and give those soft, pitiful whimpers that mean nap time isn’t far off. Ana carries her back to the nursery and settles her into the crib with practiced ease. I stand behind her, watching her sway side to side and hum softly as she runs her fingers through Lily’s curls.
And in that quiet, something tightens in my chest.
I want to believe this is our life now. That we’re past the worst of it.
But I know better.
Trouble’s still circling. Dariy doesn’t give up. Anatoly’s out now, and God only knows what that means for us. And Miranda—whatever game she’s playing, it’s getting more dangerous by the day.
I glance at Ana as she brushes a kiss to Lily’s forehead, the lines of exhaustion and stress softened for once.
I’ll protect them both. I don’t care what it costs me.
But some part of me—the part that knows how these things usually go—can’t stop wondering just how long this little slice of peace is going to last… and what’s waiting to rip it out from under us when it’s gone.
Once Lily’s settled and the white noise machine hums softly through the nursery, Ana turns to me in the hallway, her fingers lacing through mine.
“Come to bed?” she murmurs, barely louder than a breath.
I nod.
We slip into our bedroom, quiet and dim, the door clicking shut behind us. Only the amber glow of the bedside lamp cuts through the shadows, softening the edges of everything—our movements, our fears, our truths. Outside these walls, the world is still dangerous. But here… here is calm.
Ana sits at the edge of the bed, messing with the hem of her sleep shirt. She’s quiet. Not tense, just… worn out. I stand there for a second, watching her. Her hair’s a little messy, falling over her shoulder, and there’s this look in her eyes—tired, but steady.
She looks up at me, and I don’t need her to say anything. I already know.
I walk over. She lifts her arms, and I pull the shirt off her, slow and careful. I let it drop, then rest my hands on her waist. Her skin’s warm. Familiar. My thumbs move without thinking, brushing her sides.
“You okay?” I ask, pressing my lips to her forehead.
She nods, but her voice is rough. “I just need to feel like something’s real. That there’s something mine.”
“You’ve got me,” I say. “I mean it.”
She leans in and kisses me slowly. Her mouth tastes like lip balm and something sweet. Her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, pulling me in.
We fall back onto the bed together, bodies finding each other without trying. The sheets are a little cold, but she’s warm against me. I run my hands down her back, over her sides, just taking her in. Like I haven’t already a hundred times. Like I’ll never get tired of it.
She lets out a soft breath when I kiss her neck. Her fingers tighten in my hair. There’s no rush. Just us. Just this.
She touches me like she’s trying to stay grounded. I hold her like I’m scared to let go.
