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My hand pauses. “Yeah?”
“It’ll arrive next week.”
My heart skips a beat, and the smile on my face doesn’t waver. “Amazing.” My eyes flick up to Alena, who gives me a little wave from where she’s waiting.
“Alena is going to go insane.”
22
ALENA
“That was amazing,” I groan, leaning back against Kristof’s chest with my hands on my swollen belly. I rub them in a circle, massaging slowly as we settle together after a hearty dinner filled with all of our favorite things.
“Have you got room for dessert?” Kristof teases gently, slowly but firmly massaging my bare shoulders.
My head rocks back and forth. “Not a chance.” I pause. “Well, maybe in a little bit. Depends on what it is.”
“I think they made three or four desserts, so you’ll have your pick.” Kristof chuckles. “I wasn’t exactly specific when I told them to make everything you liked.”
I groan low in appreciation, the taste of the wonderful dinner still singing on my tongue. There’d been enough meat, veggies, and spicy sauces that I could die happily.
Figuratively, of course.
“Do you think the baby can tell?” I ask, glancing down at my growing belly. We are approaching the three-month mark, and each day, I wake up with new questions that rarely have an answer.
“You think she can tell you just ate a meal fit for a king?”
“Yeah? I mean, she feeds from me, right? If we keep eating like this, she’s going to grow up with a taste for finer things in life.” The smile on my face refuses to fade. “As she should.”
“Indeed,” Kristof says, his thumbs pressing firmer into the muscles near my shoulder blades. “She deserves all the finer things in life.”
“Mmmhmm.” My head falls forward as tight muscles slowly relax under Kristof’s skilled hands and tension melts away from my back. I already know his hands will be a gift in the later stages of pregnancy, given everything I’ve read about how much pain a mother finds herself in.
“Although…” Just like that, my happy thoughts of our child growing up turn sour as the visage of my father flickers into my mind. “Do you still see a good future for us?”
Kristof’s hands pause. “What do you mean?”
“My father is still a threat, right? Are we just stuck here until he’s taken care of?” Lifting my head, I half-turn in Kristof’s lap so I can gaze up at his handsome face. “Do you think we will ever return to America?”
“Alena.” Kristof catches my chin between two fingers and shakes my head lightly, then he presses a soft, slow kiss to my lips. The only sound is from the nearby fireplace crackling and spitting as logs shift and break.
“Your father will be taken care of. Trust me when I say things are already in motion. He won’t be a problem for much longer.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, opening my eyes and studying his.
“One hundred percent.”
That is the surest I’ve heard him in a while, and my heart skips a little.
Excellent.
“Do you want to return to America?” Kristof asks, resuming the massage.
I settle back in his hold and chew slightly on my lower lip in thought.
“Maybe? I think it would be nice to go back. Should our baby be born there? Or here? I don’t know what would be easier.” There’s so much we still need to think about and plan that the list feels endless. Would the end ever be in sight?
“What would you prefer?” Kristof’s hands move down my lower back, kneading deeply into my spine so my entire body bends forward, relaxed.
