Page 2 of Tattooed Vow

“Busted,” I mutter, accepting a glass. “This party is amazing.”

“I wanted it to be special,” she says, following my gaze. “We needed this. A reminder of how far we’ve come.”

I nod. “You’ve built something beautiful, Tal. You, Aleksandr, the kids… It’s like something out of a storybook.”

She smiles, soft and full of pride. “It wasn’t easy.”

“I know.” I hesitate, then add, “You’re happy.”

“I am.” She smiles softly. “Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I’m not. Not really. But how can I put it into words?

I watch Dimitri from the corner of my eye. He has Angelina now, balanced on his hip like it’s second nature. She giggles, patting his chest, and he whispers something in Russian to her with that husky, low voice that usually makes my spine tingle.

He doesn’t look like a man comfortable with babies. And yet…

“He’s good with them,” I say quietly.

Talia follows my gaze. “He’s better than people think.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She sips her champagne, then nudges me. “Nick would’ve hated this party.”

I roll my eyes. “Nick hated anything that wasn’t about him.”

“He wasn’t right for you.”

“I know.” I sigh. “He’s…safe. Predictable. And I needed that after everything.”

“But you’re not the same girl you were before.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “No. I’m not.”

I turned twenty-six two months ago, and for the first time, I started thinking about things I never used to, like family, kids, and roots.

I’m always a free bird, traveling everywhere and anywhere whenever I get the chance. I never wanted children. My parents were drug addicts, and I grew up in the system. Bounced between homes. I saw too much. Survived too much. I don’t want to pass that brokenness on to anyone else.

But watching Talia now with Aleksandr and the kids, something in me shifts.

Could I have that? Do I want it? Do I even deserve it?

“You don’t have to decide today,” Talia says gently as if she can read my thoughts. “But don’t close yourself off just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” I whisper, jutting my chin.

Lie.

She doesn’t call me out on it. She just smiles and loops her arm through mine.

Silverware clinks against a glass, and everyone turns toward the courtyard’s center. Aleksandr stands tall, champagne in hand, his presence commanding.

“I want to thank everyone for being here today,” he begins, his Russian accent thick and voice smooth. “A year ago, I almost lost everything. My family. My children. My wife.”

His ice-blue gaze finds Talia, and something unspoken passes between them.

“But today,” he continues, “we celebrate life. Our daughter’s first year. Our strength. Our unity. And the people who stand by us when things are darkest.”

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