Page 74 of Forced Marriage Vows

Especially not when her view on that is based on her experience with a psychopathic murderer. Her eyes narrow into a glare, which makes me feel bad because I never meant to upset her. I need her right now. I’m about to apologize when the doorbell rings.

“Breathe, Mikhail,” my wife says to me. “It’ll be okay.”

And then she opens the door. They walk in, and as soon as I catch sight of him, I’m completely floored. My first thought is that he’s so tiny. He’s holding on to his mother’s hand, wearing a green T-shirt and jeans with black sneakers.

He looks exactly like me, so much that it almost hurts. Jalen has short, thick black hair, and his eyes are the exact same shade of blue as mine. He has his mother’s nose. He looks healthy, strong—maybe a little small for his age, but what do I really know about kids?

I plan to learn, though. It only takes a couple seconds in his presence for me to decide that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

Both mother and son take light tentative steps toward me. Anastasia stays against the wall, offering me encouraging smiles.

“This him?” Jalen asks once he’s in front of me.

I’m startled by the sound of his voice. Actually, I think I might be feeling a little lightheaded.Get it together, Morozova.

“Yes, this is your father, sweetie,” his mother replies. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” he says dutifully.

I swallow all my feelings of trepidation before slowly lowering myself down onto one knee in front of him.

“Hey, Jalen. My name’s Mikhail.”

His face scrunches up as he tries to pronounce my name.

“Mik.. Mikhi.. Mikey?” he finally settles on, making me chuckle. “Your name is hard.”

“It’s Russian,” I tell him.

“Russian?”

“Yeah, it’s a country in Europe. My family’s from there. You’re Russian too, little man.”

He looks up at his mother, “Mommy, I’m Russian?”

“Yes, you are, honey.”

“Cool,” he says before his blue eyes come to rest on me once again. “I can call you daddy?”

I think something inside of me melts. I can’t remember the last time I shed a tear but I’m damn near close to doing so as I look at my little boy.

“You can call me whatever you want, Jalen,” I tell him, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He grins. “Cool.”

I think he likes that word. He takes a look around the penthouse.

“Your house is cool.”

“Thank you. Would you like a tour?”

He frowns, thinking something over. “What’s a tour?”

I smile. He’s absolutely adorable. “It means I’m going to show you around the house. I have an even bigger house, as well. You’ll get to see it soon.”

We should have moved into the mansion by now. Everything is set, except for the fact that its original owner is still on the run. It doesn’t feel right moving in until Igor’s been found.

“Okay. Mommy, can Daddy take me on the tour?” he says, tugging on his mother’s hand.

---