15
Kira woke slowly, a bit disoriented as she looked around the unfamiliar room. Then she remembered: the Mandarin, New York City, Lyon.
She smiled into her pillow thinking about the way he’d sat across from her while they’d feasted on a room service meal of filet mignon, lobster tail, twice-baked potatoes, and chocolate soufflé. He’d seemed more relaxed away from Chicago, and she couldn’t help wondering if it had to do with more than just business.
Aksana was a poison in their household. That much was clear. What Kira didn’t know was what she was going to do about it, what Lyon wanted her to do about it, if anything.
But here in the suite far above Manhattan, those worries all seemed very far away.
She was disappointed Lyon had left her bed — his insistence on not sleeping with her felt like the final wall between them — but their relationship was shifting in all the right ways.
She could feel it.
She got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and took her prenatal vitamin with a glass of water. She’d been careful to tuck them into her toiletry case, not wanting Lyon to see them, but the necessity of doing so only highlighted the fact that something had to change.
And soon. She didn’t like keeping secrets from him, especially this one.
She turned sideways and looked at herself in the mirror. From this angle, a slight swell was visible under her navel, but it almost disappeared when she was lying down.
It was probably the only reason Lyon hadn’t noticed. She was only naked with him in bed, and there she was either under him, on top of him, or on her knees, all angles that would make it hard to notice such a subtle change.
Her breasts were another story. She cupped them in her hands in front of the mirror, marveling at their new heaviness. How Lyon hadn’t noticed was beyond her. Maybe he simply thought she’d gained weight. Maybe he simply didn’t care, preferring to enjoy them rather than analyze their new fullness.
And enjoy them he did.
Warmth flooded her sex as she thought about him moving inside her while he bent his head to suck on her sensitive nipples, a sensation that almost caused her to climax on its own.
She turned away from the mirror and pulled on the hotel robe, then walked into the living room.
She wanted to see her husband, but he wasn’t there. The door to his room was open, the bed unmade but empty.
“Lyon?” Her voice sounded strange in the empty suite.
A knock sounded at the door and she opened it to find a bellhop pushing a cart heaving under the weight of the covered dishes piled on its surface.
“Oh! But… I didn’t order anything,” she said to the young man. “I’m afraid you must have the wrong room.”
“Mr. Antonov ordered for you,” he said, handing her a creamy envelope. “He wanted you to have this.”
She opened the envelope and removed a sheet of the hotel’s stationary.
Refuel so I can take you shopping and fuck you again.
And again
— L
Her cheeks turned hot.
Lyon Antonov was a criminal and a scholar. A rogue and a gentleman.
He was maddeningly determined and entirely too confident.
She loved him with a fierceness that took her breath away.
She folded the piece of paper and stood back to let the bellhop into the room.
* * *
Later, after she’d stuffed herself full of French toast, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and one precious cup of coffee that made her moan with pleasure (of all the things she’d had to limit for her pregnancy, coffee was the one she missed the most), she got dressed and took the elevator to the lobby.
She made her way through the throng, tourists and business people all in a hurry, and into the city. She’d always loved New York. All the great cities had energy, but New York’s was special, frenzied in a way that was exciting and energizing.
The sun shone overhead, the sky a clear blue beyond the skyscrapers that stretched toward it. It was warm, whether because spring was truly on its way or because they weren’t in Chicago, where the wind blew off the water and lowered the temperature in virtually every season, and Kira sighed with pleasure as she made her way around Columbus Circle toward Central Park.
They would only be in New York until tomorrow — Lyon couldn’t afford to be away from the bratva in such uncertain times — but Kira had needed the break more than she’d realized. The last time she’d been away from Chicago had been their trip to Prague, but that had been so soon after her return from Washington that things had still been tense between them.
The damage she’d caused by leaving wasn’t entirely repaired, but for the first time, she felt like they might be on their way to seeing it done.
Carnival music drifted toward her on a light breeze and she followed the sound to a round brick building open on all sides and nestled in the trees. She followed a family of four into the building, the music growing louder with every step, and realized she’d come to the Central Park carousel.
The massive structure whirled in circles, an organ waltz playing from its center while young children clung to painted horses and sat with their parents in chariots as the carousel turned.
She made her way to an empty bench against one of the walls and settled in to watch. Her parents had taken her to the carousel at Navy Pier when she’d been a child, and she remembered the freedom of sitting atop the tall horses, spinning round and round, catching glimpses of her parents when she passed them sitting on a bench just like this one.
Sadness settled over her like a cloud. Her parents would never meet the child growing inside her. They would have been so happy to be grandparents, but her child would never know the joy of her mother’s laughter. He or she would never know the comfort of her father’s arms, the smell of his pipe lingering on the thick cardigans he wore around the house, the boom of his voice so strong they could feel the vibration of it in their small bodies. They wouldn’t work with her father in the garden or learn about politics and art and music at his knee.
She drew in a breath, trying to keep the melancholy at bay. It was something no one had ever told her about grief: that it didn’t go away, that months (years?) later, you could still miss someone so much you felt it like an actual hole in your heart, that you could be heavy with it.
The carousel slowed and a little boy with brown hair and serious eyes waved at her as it came to a stop on her side. She waved back, forcing a smile for the boy. His parents rushed to greet him, freeing him from the belt that tethered him to the horse before his father lifted the boy into his arms.
Her parents couldn’t be here for her child. Lyon’s father was dead, and his mother could clearly not be counted on as a loving presence.
But the child would have Kira. And they would have Lyon.
Lyon would be a wonderful father. She knew it even as her stomach clenched with worry at the thought of telling him. Even if he wasn’t happy at first, he would warm to the idea, would rise to the occasion to give their baby the childhood he hadn’t had.
She drew in a breath and stood, making her way out of the building and down the pathway leading from the park.
There was no more time to waste. They needed to make preparations for the baby, and while her relationship with Lyon wasn’t back to the way it had been before she’d fled to Washington, she saw glimmers of it like a promise on the horizon.
She would tell him tonight.