Page 75 of Possessive Vows

Maksim rushes in for the snacks while Artur glowers at me from the hall until he sees the ice pack on Zoya’s arm, then he rushes into the room and stands on the far side of Maksim with his eyes roaming over his sister.

Emotionally spent and physically exhausted, I can’t muster up the strength for another battle, so I shift my gaze to Maksim and Zoya, watching in awe as Maksim unwittingly pulls Zoya out of her trauma.

“Why does Zoya have that on her arm?” Artur asks.

Maksim freezes mid chew. His eyes widen as he looks beyond the snacks for the first time.

“Why are you putting them on Mama Cams, too? Are they hurt? What is wrong?” he asks.

My heart leaps at Maksim’s nickname for me. I love the recognition and never in a million years thought Dimitri’s children would accept me so quickly.

“They will be sore tomorrow, but they are fine,moy syn,” Dimitri says as he slips off my shoe and sets it near the foot of the bed.

I bite back a sound of pain because, even though he removed my sneaker with skilled and gentle hands, agony spears through my ankle.

“What happened?” Artur demands.

He’s so much like his father my chest aches.

“Nanny Olga spanked your sister. Your mother took care of it,” Dimitri responds.

I cringe. Artur isn’t ready to call me his mama. He may never be. Dimitri trying to force it on him will only make it worse.

Maksim looks at Zoya, starts crying, and chokes on his chips. I snatch a juice box off the tray and push it to him. He takes several gulps before throwing his arms around his sister, spilling his chips and juice everywhere and sobbing his apologies for the horrors she endured.

“How did shetake care of it?” Artur asks.

His unimpressed once-over mocks me, and my mind pulls up a snapshot of Nanny Olga’s insulting stare.

“She slapped her. Twice. I am surprised you did not hear it,moy syn,” Dimitri says in a voice so cold chills race down my spine.

Artur stiffens.

“Why does she need ice?” he challenges.

“I was in a car accident a year ago and some things didn’t heal well,” I say.

Maksim surprises me by transferring his hug from his sister to me. Tears clog my throat, but I pat his back and pull Zoya tighter against my side.

“When will we get a new nanny?” Artur asks so quickly my mind struggles to keep up with his jump in topics.

“We may not,” Dimitri replies.

Artur’s face turns red with anger.

“We must!” he demands.

My husband—renowned Russian assassin—quirks his brow at his son in challenge, demanding he explain his outburst with a single chilling look.

“We mether—” he jabs his finger toward me—“less than two hours ago, but she has already infected my brother and sister. They cannot fall in love with her just so she can ditch us when she has her own children,” he sneers.

I silently curse the attention Dimitri gives me even though I relish every second. If he wasn’t this touchy-feely with his first wife, then it’s no wonder his son assumes we’ll have children.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Artur. I’ll never give you another sibling.”

When he deepens his scowl, I sigh and lean back just enough to shift Maksim aside, lift my shirt, and reveal the scars on my stomach. My fingers tremble from the cacophony of emotions barreling through me.

“I cannot physically have children. I don’t have the right parts for it anymore,” I say.

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