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24. Viviana

The heat is biting, but it's a delicious kind of pain. I sink lower into the tub until the water laps against my chin.

We've been at the cabin for days and this is the first time I've been able to relax in the tub.

To be clear, I've been in the tub plenty of times. The moment I saw the claw-footed beauty nestled in the corner of the bathroom, a huge skylight in the sloped ceiling above and a ring of candles around the rim, I knew me and this tub were going to get very close and personal.

The trouble is that the tub and I haven't had any alone time. Every time I start running water, Mikhail appears in the doorway with eager eyes and grabby hands.

Last night, Mikhail fucked me over the end of the bed until I couldn't stand. Then he dropped to the floor and ordered me to sit on his face. I fell off of him, every muscle in my body quivering, and begged him to run me a bath so I could recover.

But halfway into my soak, he slipped into the tub with me. He was all innocent eyes and raised, Who, me? hands, but within ten minutes, he was finger-fucking me under the water while I lathered his cock in honey vanilla body oil.

When I remember the way he pumped his dick into my fist and his fingers into my pussy until we both fell apart, panting and limp below the bubbles, I can't even be mad at him for interrupting my tub time.

I never knew a person could be sore from too many orgasms, but here I am. Sore and sated in all the best ways.

None of that means I'm not enjoying this alone time, though.

Dante loved going hunting with Mikhail the other day—even though "hunting" for him consisted of wearing a camo sweatshirt and standing behind Mikhail as they stalked through the woods—and he's been begging to go again every morning when he wakes up.

The thought of my little baby boy anywhere near a gun sends a dagger of panic into my chest. Then I remember he's with Mikhail and the worry eases.

I trust Mikhail.

If I didn't trust him, there's no way in hell I'd be casually sipping sparkling cider and shriveling my skin beyond recognition in this soapy water right now. Especially because being pregnant usually makes my anxiety unmanageable.

At least, that's how it was when I was pregnant with Dante. I was on edge all the time. It could have had something to do with being on the run and having no idea how I'd pay for my next meal, let alone afford diapers when the time came. But I'm pretty sure at least a portion of the extra anxiety was my raging pregnancy hormones.

Maybe the fact I'm not anxious now means I'm having a girl this time.

I slide my hand under the water and stroke my still-flat stomach. "Are you a little girl, hm? Is that why I haven't been as sick?"

I'm hesitant to say my morning sickness is over since it's still so early—and lest some goddess of fertility somewhere notices my lack of suffering and hits me with the kind of all-day, nonstop nausea I had with Dante—but the vomiting peaked and waned in a matter of a week. I haven't been nauseous at all recently. The only nipple tenderness I've had has had a very direct link to Mikhail and all the naughty things he does to me when it gets late and we're alone.

He's been so gentle with Dante. I don't know exactly what happened between them while I was away, but I noticed a little tension between them when I first got back. Dante kept checking to make sure I wasn't going to disappear again and he narrowed his eyes whenever Mikhail walked into a room.

That's all but gone now. Dante once again worships the ground Mikhail walks on and Mikhail seems to genuinely enjoy spending time with Dante. It's the only reason I can think of for why they spend from breakfast to lunch every day tromping through the woods with nothing to show for it.

Last night, Mikhail told me he would have caught something by now, but Dante is a heavy walker for being so light and is scaring everything in a three-mile radius away.

I clicked my tongue and patted his shoulder condescendingly. "Sure. I bet it's Dante's fault. Whatever makes you feel better."

"If all you care about is making me feel better…" Mikhail pushed me to my knees in the middle of the kitchen and fucked my mouth just like he swore he would the first night.

I bite back a smile and wonder if it will always be like this.

When the rest of the world settles down, will things with our little family always feel this easy? Or will having a little girl change things?

Mikhail has repeated to me over and over again the last few days that he is "all the way in" with me—and not just when he's literally all the way in me. He's showing me in every way he knows how that he isn't going to send me away again. Our family is a priority for him.

But he had another family before. Another daughter.

What if our baby girl reminds him of Anzhelina? What if the reminders of the way his firstborn died make it hard for him to love our daughter?

I wouldn't even blame him. How could I? If something happened to Mikhail or Dante, I'm not sure how I'd pick up and carry on. I can't imagine a world without them in it. I'd die a thousand times over to save either of them. The fact that Mikhail has suffered the way he has and is still as caring with me and Dante as he is is a miracle. Or a testament to the strong man he is.

Being strong doesn't make him impenetrable, though.

"Mama!"

The shrill voice echoing through the house is enough to send my heart lurching against my chest. I sit bolt upright in the tub, sudsy water sloshing over the sides as every thought in my head disappears, replaced by images of smoking guns and bloody limbs.

But before I can fully start to freak out, Dante yells again. "Mama! You gotta come look at this!"

I blow out a harsh breath and sink into the tub.

He's okay. He's fine.

"Just a second," I call back.

"Hurry," he repeats. "It's so awesome!"

It better be awesome, considering I almost had a heart attack.

I do my best to work past the adrenaline Dante just unknowingly dumped into my system and step out of the tub. I dry off quickly and wrap up in a fluffy bathrobe before I head downstairs.

I'm only halfway down the stairs when Dante appears at the bottom, bouncing from one muddy boot to the other. A massive grin is spread across his face. I can't find it in me to be annoyed with him for scaring me half to death or for tracking mud across the wood floor I swept and mopped less than an hour ago.

"What's going on, bud?"

"I shot a deer!"

"You shot a deer?" I frown. "Like, Mikhail shot a deer? Or?—?"

"It was me!" He grabs my hand as soon as I touch the first floor and drags me to the door. "I pulled the trigger. I shot it. It was me."

I make myself take a deep, deep, very deep breath. I wouldn't have let Dante go into the woods with him if I didn't trust that he would be safe. If he pulled the trigger, Mikhail must have thought he was ready.

I trust Mikhail. I trust Mikhail.

I repeat this to myself all the way through the house and out the front door. Then I see an ATV appear between two trees, a dead deer tied to the back of it.

The animal is at least three times the size of Dante and, suddenly, I can't believe I ever let my baby boy walk into those woods alone.

But I swallow all of that down when Dante jumps and cheers as Mikhail pulls to a stop, both of them wearing the exact same grin.

"Did he tell you the good news?" Mikhail hops out of the driver's seat. His pants stretch over his muscular thighs and there is something deep-seated and instinctual going on with the way my stomach flutters as he undoes knots and hauls the deer across the gravel towards the detached garage. I'm horrified, but I also can't stop thinking about how easily he is handling this massive animal and what it means for how easily he can handle me.

"That he killed the deer, you mean?" I ask.

Mikhail smiles wider and holds out his hand to Dante for a high-five. Dante jumps and their blood- and dirt-crusted hands slap together.

"Yeah, he told me." I consider holding my hand out for a high-five, too, but I'm not really in that kind of mood. I'd rather wrap my arms around Dante and hold him there, safe and sound, for the rest of time.

Maybe my pregnancy anxiety isn't as absent as I thought it was.

"How did this happen?" The question sounds like an accusation, so I try to reverse and try again. "Why did Dante have the gun?"

Somehow worse. Oops.

Mikhail drops the deer on the cement floor and Dante circles it, examining his catch from every angle. While he's busy admiring the dead animal, Mikhail eases over to me.

He takes in my wet hair and robe and his eyes darken retroactively. "Were you in the bath?"

"I was trying to relax." A feat that would have been impossible if I'd known my six-year-old was handling a weapon in the middle of nowhere. "You let Dante hold the gun?"

"He was ready."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I wouldn't put him in danger," Mikhail says confidently. He strokes a calloused knuckle over my cheek. He smells like sweat and fresh air. "And because he needs to learn how to protect himself."

"From deer?!"

"From everything."

I hate that soft resignation in his voice. Like we have no choice.

"That's what we're for," I argue. "We are supposed to keep him safe. He doesn't need to know how to use a gun."

Dante is behind Mikhail, toeing his boot at the deer. He's not strong enough to shake the animal, let alone roll it over.

Mikhail lowers his voice. "No, but he needs to trust himself. He needs to have confidence that he can take care of himself. It's the same thing I'm trying to teach him in the boxing ring."

My eyes snap to his. "Boxing? Since when does he box?"

"Since a couple weeks ago." Mikhail shrugs. "He had some frustration to burn. It'll be good for him to know how to use his body."

He does know how to use his body, I want to argue. Dante just learned how to skip a couple months ago. When he thinks really hard, he can roll his tongue into a burrito.

Those are good, useful skills. They're all his body needs to know, as far as I'm concerned.

But it isn't just up to me. Not anymore. Mikhail and I have to make these kinds of decisions together.

Before I can even pretend to reach a compromise, Mikhail curls his hand around my cheek. "I'll tell him this is more than enough meat and we don't need to go hunting anymore."

I nuzzle my face into his hand. "Thank you."

"But he isn't like other kids, Viviana. Dante is going to have to grow up sooner than you want him to."

I nod, but only because I don't know what else to say.

I was sitting in the tub this morning so worried about how Mikhail would handle raising a daughter that I forgot to be worried about how the two of us would handle raising any child together.

As Mikhail teaches Dante how to gut and clean the animal, to show respect for its sacrifice, it's hard not to think about how different we are. Mikhail wants to hand down the things he was taught as a child; all I want to do is run from my past.

I have no idea how we'll navigate any of it. All I do know is, right now, Dante is happy.

That'll have to be enough.

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