Page 238 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I know the route like the back of my hand, since Artem and I have taken this path tons of times in the last week alone. The drive down is slow, peaceful, meditative.

The town is quiet when I drive in. I go to the bookstore first and find Daria stacking books in the back when I walk in.

“Hola, Daria,” I greet, giving her my brightest smile. After months surrounded mostly by Russian men, it’s weirdly refreshing to speak my native language again.

Normally, she’s a bright spot in these little errand runs. But today, Daria’s smile is not as enthusiastic.

I sigh internally. Apparently, my scary Russian husband made quite an impression. Which means I have to do damage control.

“Hola, Esme,” Daria murmurs, sliding the last book into the compact shelves. “Cómo estás?”

“Bien, bien. The belly’s finally starting to come in.”

“I can see that.” She steps back behind her counter like she wants to keep something solid between us. “Did you like the book your husband bought for you the last time?”

“I did. It was very exciting.”

“Your husband could have been the protagonist in that book,” Daria comments wryly. “He certainly looks the part.”

I have to suppress a smile. The crime thriller novel that Artem had picked for me last time featured a burly, growly, overprotective antihero named Malcolm Wolf, an ex-cop who starts working with a notable crime family in order to bury secrets from his past.

Daria has no idea how on the nose she really is.

“He’s a little rough around the edges,” I admit. “But he’s a teddy bear at heart.”

Not exactly true, but Daria doesn’t know that.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, as long as he’s good to you.”

“He’s wonderful to me.”

At that, Daria’s smile softens to something more standard for her.

“How’s that sweet little angel doing?” she asks gently, gesturing to the small belly under my white sweater.

“Good.” I nod, patting my stomach affectionately. “I haven’t had a doctor’s appointment in a while, though. It’s the first thing on my to-do list when we get back home.”

I feel a strange tug at my chest when I say those last words.

Home.Where is our home? Do we even have one?

I’ve started to think of the cabin as our home, but I know in my heart that that’s not realistic. Not in the long run.

And even if it did make for a comfortable, long-term residence, Artem would never be content to sit up in the mountains for long.

He needs something to do. Somethingreal.

I’m all for that. His happiness is my happiness, after all.

I just don’t want that “something” to involve a return to the world we were both born into.

The world we were lucky to escape with our lives intact.

“Well, we do have a midwife in town, if you’re interested,” Daria tells me.

“Really?” I ask, perking up immediately. “You do?”

“Although,” Daria adds a little uncertainly, “I’ll be honest, she’s kind of a kook.”

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