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48 STEFAN I’m still sitting in my office, staring at the dregs of my scotch long after Taras has left, when there’s a knock at the door. “What is it?” I ask without looking up. Arkady clears his throat as he shuffles on the threshold. “It’s Iakov, sir.” That gets my attention. I set down

47 OLIVIA I’m still standing outside Elena’s hospital room after talking over the doctors doing evening rounds when I hear the clatter of heels on the floor. That particular rhythm—sharp, precise, painfully impatient—can only belong to one person. “Olivia!” I turn and, sure enough, it’s her. My mother strides down the corridor like she owns

45 OLIVIA I’m reading an article on my phone about prenatal vitamins when I hear a soft groan. My head snaps up to see that Elena’s eyes are open. Not the foggy, medicated half-consciousness from yesterday, but actually open. Clear. Focused. Alive. “Elena?” I set my phone down and lean forward. “Elena, can you hear me?”

44 STEFAN I park in the hospital garage and take the elevator up to the ICU. My phone is humming constantly with updates from Taras—shipment schedules, security reports, questions about the new surveillance system at the manor. I answer them all mechanically. My mind is already in Elena’s room. It’s been two days since we

43 OLIVIA I hate hospitals. Always have. Even before I became a doctor, the fluorescent lights and sterile hallways made my skin crawl. That was probably my mom’s doing. Now, walking through the ICU at Mass General with Stefan’s hand gripping mine, I hate them even more. We’re directed to a private room at the

42 OLIVIA I stand in front of a three-way mirror, squinting at my reflection. The dress is perfect. Soft and romantic, with layers of silk chiffon that float around my legs like clouds. No corset, no boning, nothing constricting. It’s just gentle draping that skims over my body and the small bump of my belly.

41 STEFAN I wake before Olivia. The weight of the ring is no longer an anchor in my pocket, but after days of touching it constantly and feeling it around the clock, the ghost of it is still there. So is the edge of it, actually. It’s digging into my shirtless torso just slightly, since

40 OLIVIA The cobblestones of Florence are murder on my feet. The literal millisecond we get home from our day of sightseeing, I collapse onto the villa’s terrace sofa with a groan that wakes half the countryside. Is it a little melodramatic? Just a teensy-tiny bit? Yes, but Stefan doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already

39 STEFAN The villa is perfect. I knew it would be when I booked it, but seeing Olivia’s face as we pull up the winding drive makes every euro worth it. And believe me, it cost a lot of them. “Stefan,” she breathes, “this is…” “Too much?” “I was going to say ‘incredible.’” The driver