Page 120 of Bride of Vengeance
He places his hand on my belly, and I swear both babies respond, settling as if recognizing their father's touch.
"Two more months," he says, part plea, part command. "Stay put for two more months."
But as another contraction rolls through me, I have a feeling our twins have inherited more than just their father's impatience.
They've inherited our inability to do anything the conventional way.
Epilogue
Ever After
Mikhail
"The babies are coming."
Four words. Four simple words that transform me from a man who once killed without hesitation into someone who can't even remember how to breathe.
Mariana stands in our bedroom doorway at three in the morning, two weeks before her due date, water pooling at her feet. Her face is calm, but I can see the pain building in her eyes.
"Now?" My voice cracks like a teenager's.
"Now."
I've planned for this. Rehearsed it. The hospital bag is packed, the route mapped, Boris on standby for traffic assistance. But all preparation evaporates as I stare at my wife, who's gripping the doorframe through another contraction.
"Mikhail," she says patiently. "We need to move."
Right. Move. I can do that.
Twenty minutes later, we're speeding through Manhattan while Mariana breathes through contractions that are coming fast. Too fast.
"Seven minutes apart," she pants. "The book said first babies take longer."
"The book didn't account for Kozlov twins."
"Our children are already overachievers?"
"Our children are impatient." I take her hand, letting her squeeze through the next contraction. "Like their parents."
At the hospital, everything becomes controlled chaos. Nurses, doctors, monitors beeping. They tell me the twins are coming quickly, that there's no time for the epidural Mariana wanted.
"I can't do this," she says, tears streaming down her face. "Not without drugs. I can't—"
"You can." I brush hair from her face, using the calm voice that once talked to associates through dangerous operations. "You're the strongest person I know. You survived Pavel, Harrison, being married to me—"
She laughs through the pain. "Being married to you is the easy part."
"Liar."
"Only sometimes."
Dr. Martinez checks her again. "First baby's crowning. Ready to push?"
"No," Mariana says.
"Yes," the doctor counters.
What follows is the longest and shortest hour of my life. Mariana pushes with determination that reminds me why I fell in love with her. She curses in Spanish, English, and the little Russian I've taught her. She threatens my manhood, promises divorce, then begs me never to leave her.
