Page 174 of Filthy Lies

Vince freezes mid-step. His entire body goes rigid against mine. For one terrifying heartbeat, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated, if he’s not ready, if?—

Then his mouth comes down on mine, social niceties forgotten as he claims me in front of everyone. He makes Daniil’s kiss with Anastasia on the altar look like a schoolyard peck on the cheek.

When he breaks away, his eyes blaze. “You’re sure?”

“Doctor confirmed it yesterday. Twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks?” His brow furrows. “And you’re only telling me now?”

“I wanted to be certain. After last time, with the false positive…” I trail off, remembering the devastation, the complicated grief of mourning something that never existed. “I couldn’t go through that again.”

Understanding softens his features. His palm slides to my stomach. There’s nothing to feel yet, no external sign of the life forming inside me, but the weight of his hand there feels like an anchor.

“Another warrior for the Akopov legacy.” Pride suffuses his voice, but there are other things, too—wonder, humility, gratitude.

This pregnancy feels nothing like my first. Then, I was terrified, alone, convinced Vince would see our child as an inconvenience at best, a liability at worst.

Now, standing in his arms as he looks at me like I’ve hung the moon and stars, I feel only joy. Fierce, all-consuming joy.

“You’re happy?” I search his face for confirmation.

His laugh is incredulous. “Happy doesn’t begin to cover it, Rowan. I’m fuckingtranscendent.”

We dance through three more songs, lost in our private bubble of exhilaration. When Anastasia finally interrupts to return a fussy Sofiya, Vince takes our daughter with gentle hands and hoists her high overhead.

“Sofi,” he asks, “how would you like to be a big sister?”

She blinks at him and smiles. She doesn’t get it, but she will soon enough.

Vince’s eyes meet mine over Sofiya’s dark curls, and the raw love I see there nearly brings me to my knees. This man who has killed without remorse, who has built and destroyed empires, looks at his daughter and wife with such tenderness that it fractures something inside me.

“I need air,” I say suddenly. “Watch her for a minute?”

I don’t wait for his response. I’m already pushing through the crowd toward the terrace doors. Outside, the night air hits my lungs like salvation, cooling my flushed skin. The Hudson River stretches before me, dark and silent, carrying secrets to the sea.

“Hiding from your own party?”

I turn to find Natalie standing in the doorway, champagne flute in hand. She looks beautiful in deep burgundy, her hair longer than I remember.

“Just needed a moment.” I gesture for her to join me at the railing. “Congratulations. The event planning is flawless.”

She smiles, taking the compliment in stride. Not that long ago, the sound of her voice would have sent rage spiraling through me—my closest friend, paid by Vince to spy on me for years.

But time and shared trauma have tamped down the edges of that betrayal. When she stood by me after Andrei’s death, helping fabricate evidence to protect Vince, she proved her loyalty ran deeper than money ever could.

“I have something to ask you,” I say, diving straight in. “Something important.”

Her eyebrows rise. “I’m listening.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Her smile is immediate, genuine. “Rowan, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“And I want you to be the godmother.”

Natalie freezes, glass halfway to her lips. “What?”

“You heard me.” I turn to face her fully. “I want you to be this baby’s godmother.”

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