Page 165 of Desperate People

He looked at me one night, wrapped in a throw blanket with my bare feet tucked under his thigh, and said, “I want you to change it. Make it ours.”

And I did.

Velvet drapes, jewel-toned accent pillows, curated art, vintage books I love and he now pretends to read. I made it warm. Made it us.

He let me mark it the same way he marked me.

Now, in the backyard, with its fairy lights and custom pergola strung in warm golden bulbs, with the scent of jasmine wafting from the garden and soft music playing beneath the laughter and clinking glasses—it feels like the heart of something beautiful.

Of us.

Because we rise up together.

It’s like our whole family motto now. And I love it.

It’s late September. The air holds a hint of chill, but I had outdoor fans and discreet heaters placed to keep the temperature just right. I didn’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable—not tonight.

A massive outdoor screen glows near the back fence, looping a muted behind-the-scenes montage.

Waitstaff glide past carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and signature cocktails.

There are sparkling non-alcoholic options, too, which I’m secretly thrilled about since, well.

There are kids running around the grass with glowing sticks and popsicles, and my cousins are already arguing near the fire pit over who makes the best empanadas.

Volkov Clan parties are never just for adults.

They’re family events, through and through—chaotic and loud and full of love.

And tonight? This one is extra special.

Because my husband—my Balor—and I are about to show the world something we built together.

And still, I’m holding onto my secret like it’s a glowing ember beneath my ribs.

He came with me to the doctor this morning.

Sat beside me, his huge hand wrapped around mine, thumb stroking little nervous circles over my pulse point while we waited.

When the ultrasound tech smiled and nodded, I swear time froze.

“You’re giving me a baby?” he asked, voice breaking like he couldn’t believe it.

Like I’d handed him the entire world.

I nodded. “Are you happy?”

He cupped my face with both hands, kissed me like we were alone in the universe.

“You crazy, beautiful girl,” he whispered. “I’m over the fucking moon. I love you. Thank you, Angel. Thank you for giving me a family.”

His eyes—those hauntingly mismatched eyes, one deep as the ocean and the other burning like embers—shone with so much love I almost broke right there.

God, I hope our baby gets his eyes.

But that announcement? That’s not for tonight.

That’s just for us—for now.

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