Page 75 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“What?” he says, all faux innocence. “Can’t a man show a little devotion to his beautiful, brilliant wife?”
“Devotion, huh?”
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
“Desperate, adoring, aching devotion.” He presses a theatrical hand to his heart. “I’m suffering, Nicole. Truly.”
I shake my head, grinning as my cheeks heat. “We don’t have long.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t waste another second.”
Before I can protest, he scoops me up in his arms with that signature blend of strength and grace, making me squeal. My arms go around his neck automatically, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Sergei! Put me down!”
“Not a chance,” he says smugly. “I have exactly seven minutes until dinner is served, and I intend to use them wisely.”
He starts walking toward the house, his long strides confident and unhurried despite the time crunch. Liliya watches us fromthe window with a familiar mix of exasperation and affection, shaking her head like she’s given up trying to wrangle either of us.
Inside, the house smells of rosemary and garlic, and my stomach rumbles. It’s Sunday night, which means the long dining room table is already set with mismatched wine glasses. Mom and Dad are on their way, probably running late like usual and complaining about city traffic. Mia will be here too, hopefully with her boyfriend in tow.
But for now, the house is ours.
He carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing, and I rest my head on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart under my palm. When we reach our bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind us and sets me down gently on the edge of the bed.
“I missed you today,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“We’ve been together for the last hour,” I tease.
“It’s not the same,” he says, leaning in to kiss my temple. “I miss you when you’re across the room. I miss you when I can’t touch you. I miss you when I can’t have you underneath me, squirming and writhing in pleasure.”
I smile, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Well, you have me now,” I challenge. “Put your money where your mouth is.”
The moment stretches between us, tender and unhurried. He touches my face like he’s still not used to having me here, still in awe that I chose him. And the truth is, I still can’t believe how lucky we are either.
His hands slide down to rest on my hips, and I let my forehead fall against his chest. “I love you,” I whisper.
He presses a kiss into my hair. “I love you more,” he murmurs.
And then his kisses trail lower and lower until he has me exactly where he wants me, squirming and writhing and crying out his name.
We’re a few minutes late to dinner, but we still beat my parents. Anya is happily chatting up Mia, who’s always so enthralled by Anya’s four-year-old speeches. She’s sans boyfriend tonight, and I make a note to bring it up at our weekly lunch.
When my parents finally arrive, we all sit down and happily eat the delicious roast chicken that Liliya made, a perfectly mismatched family.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
SERGEI
*Ten Years Later*
The auditorium is packed with parents who look bored and vaguely under duress. I can’t blame a single one of them. Since when do eighth-graders have formal graduations? Still, we’re here, cheering on our wonderful Anya.
She looks back at us excitedly from her place on the floor, waving at Nicole and me, and her little brother Nikolai and her little sister Tatiana. The two kids don’t wave back, both staring at their iPads, but Nicole blows her a kiss and pulls out her phone to take even more pictures. She must have taken at least a hundred already today.
We arrived early for front-row seats because Nicole insisted we couldn’t miss a second. I stare at my son’s iPad longingly, wishing it was socially acceptable for me to watch the game on it. After all, Volkov is all the way at the end of the alphabet. The ceremony seems like it lasts an entire decade.
But when Anya’s name is finally called and we get to watch our daughter step up to the podium, her long chestnut braidswinging behind her as she walks like she owns the place, Nicole and I scream like maniacs for her. She’s our eldest, the light of our lives, and we couldn’t be prouder.
