Submitting to the Billionaire(42)

I smile to myself. A secret smile.

We get out of the shower. I wrap myself in a bathrobe and pad into the bedroom.

"I've got a present for you." I hold out the silver bag.

His hair is wet, plastered to his head. How is it possible that I still want to have sex when I have just climaxed twice?

He takes the bag. My mind records the moment. I watch him avidly. He  takes the silver package out. He unties the yellow ribbon. He tears the  silver packaging. He opens the plain grey box. He takes the bottle out  and looks at it. Then he looks at me.

"Huile Douche?"

"Huile Douche."

He nods a few times and I know what it is. He is speechless. Nikolai Smirnov is speechless.

"Hey, are you going to say something?"

"Do you feel all right?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"I'm not," he confesses. I realize that he does look a little pale around the gills.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid for you. It will hurt you."

I grin. "There are seven billion people on this earth and each one was born to a woman. I'll be fine."

I take the oil from him and pour a little on his hand. I rub it into his skin and take his hand up to his nose.

He inhales. "My god, you're right. It does smell of fields of flowers, fresh air and sunshine."

I laugh. "Told you so!"





Chapter Fifty-Seven





Nikolai




Seven Months Later





"Say hello to your son," the nurse says, and puts the naked, mottled creature into my arms. I stare at him in amazement.

My son.

The noises around me blur.

He is so tiny I can almost fit him inside my cupped palms. His eyes are  shut and his face all wrinkly and red. His hair is still wet and  plastered to his head, but it is fair. His little fingers curl and  uncurl. He opens his little mouth and makes a soft mewling sound  …  and  my breath stops.

God, so much could go wrong.

A protective instinct so shockingly ferocious fills my chest. My heart  feels as if it could burst with love for this helpless little thing.

"Nikolai," Star calls.

I look up from my son's face and gaze into the flushed face of my wife.  She is exhausted, but triumphant. At that moment I love her more than  I've ever done.

"You did it," I say. "You actually did it."

"We did it," she says softly.

I look into her beautiful blue eyes. "No, my little butterfly. We didn't  do it. You did. You made this amazing boy inside your body."

She bites her lower lip. It's an old nervous gesture. I haven't seen it  in years. "Nikolai, you know how we said we were going to name him  Mason?"         

     



 

"Don't tell me you've changed your mind again."

She gives her head a slight shake. "I haven't changed my mind. I've  never changed my mind. I've always known the name I want for our son."

I gaze at her, bewildered. We have been back and forth with a hundred names ever since we knew we were having a boy.

"I want to call him Pavel."

The sound comes from somewhere deep inside me. I didn't know I could  make such a sound. It's like a cry of terrible pain. But the pain is  cathartic. Like the sharp pain of a boil being lanced. Afterwards there  is relief and healing.

She looks at me worriedly.

Oh Pavel. All these years I wanted to call your name but could not.

"Pavel," I whisper.

The child in my arms opens his eyes and looks at me. There is no proper  focus. Just an innocent, utterly blank gaze. Then his lips move. Someone  else will think it was a twitch. I know it is a smile.





Epilogue





Nikolai




Five Years Later



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tS26xch5U24

Coming Home





I lift my son from his horse and set him down on the ground. I smile at him. "Ready?"

"Ready."

I tie our horses to a tree and pull the bunch of flowers from the holder  on the saddle. I give him the flowers and we walk to the iron gate. He  opens it and we go inside the tomb. Our boots echo in the still air.

I watch him walk to the grave and carefully put the flowers into the  vase of water. He turns his fair head to look at me, and I am reminded  of the first time I brought Star here. Life takes, and it gives. Life  took Pavel away and left me wandering in the dark for years, but then it  gave me Star and another Pavel.

"Daddy, can you tell me that story again?"

"Which story?"

"The baked apple story."

"Ah. That one."

He sits on the marble. "One day, Duscha made a tray of baked apples. She  put them on a wire rack to cool. These apples were very special. The  core had been removed and filled with Duscha's secret  honey-and-nut-filling recipe. Everybody in the family knew these were  Uncle Pavel's favorite treat. Like a bear that can't resist honey, he  couldn't resist them either. He used to sit at the kitchen table and  wait for them to cool. He knew he couldn't eat them because we were  supposed to have them for tea. Together. But that day, one of the baked  apples was missing. Duscha asked him if he had eaten the baked apple.

‘I didn't,' he said.

‘Don't tell lies. It doesn't matter if you did.'

‘But I didn't.'

‘If you didn't, who did?'

‘I don't know, but I didn't'

‘Did you eat them, Nikolai?,' Duscha asked me.

‘I didn't eat them.'

‘Did you eat the apple, Mrs. Smirnov?,' Duscha asked my mother.

‘No, I didn't eat them,' my mother said.

‘Neither did I,' my father said.

‘Tell the truth, Pavel. You won't be punished,' Mama said.

‘But I didn't eat it.'

‘Right. If you admit it you can have another one. If you don't, there will be no baked apples for you.'

‘Just say you did,' I whispered to Pavel.

‘But I didn't,' he insisted.

‘Just say you did it anyway. What does it matter?'

‘It does matter. I don't want to lie.'

‘You won't get any apple if you don't admit it,' I warned.

‘It doesn't matter if I don't. I won't tell a lie,' he said.

That day poor Pavel had to sit at the table and watch us all eating our baked apples."

My son nods solemnly at this point of the story. This is his favorite part.

"Poor Uncle Pavel," he says.

"Yes, poor uncle had no baked apple. He went to bed sad that no one  believed him. Then next morning Duscha was cleaning behind the oven and  what did she find?"

"She found the baked apple."

"That's right. It had fallen down and rolled under the oven."

My son grins. "Now is the best part."

"Yes. Now is the best part. Everybody felt so bad that we did not  believe Pavel, but Mama and Papa were so proud of Pavel because he was  so honest that they decided to throw him a big surprise party. So we  decorated the house with balloons and colored paper. Duscha made a whole  tray of baked apples. Mama and Papa went out and bought loads of  chocolates, sweets, biscuits and cakes. The table was so full of goodies  that it groaned."

My son makes a groaning sound.

I grin at him. "All the neighbors and all our friends came to the party.  Everybody hid, and when Papa brought him home, we all jumped out and  screamed surprise. It was a wonderful party. Everyone had a good time.         

     



 

Pavel even got a present. A toy he always wanted.

"I wish I had met Uncle Pavel," my son says wishfully.

"I wish you had too, little Pavel."

My son runs up to the marble and kisses the inscription. "Bye bye, Uncle Pavel. See you next week."

We go back out into the sunshine. In the distance, I can see Star riding towards us.

"There's Mummy," my son cries.

I watch her gallop towards us. The wind is in her hair and she is smiling. It is a good life.



The End





Author's Note





The following section is meant ONLY for those of you who require/want  more back story on Nikolai's journey from orphan to billionaire.





THE MAKING OF A MAFIOSO CRIME LORD

Nikolai





Afterword





Nikolai




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKSRyLdjsPA

The Greatest





I see a sign indicating that Moscow is 110 kilometers. Further up is a  gas station. I run across the carriageway to a lorry parked by the  pumps. I can see the driver paying for his gas inside the service  station so I quickly go around to the rear of the cab.

I untie one end of the canvas.

Checking that no one is looking, I haul myself in. It is only three  quarter's full of cardboard boxes. I find an area at the rear to hide  and move a few boxes around of me to conceal myself if anyone looks  inside.

I hope the driver's destination is Moscow, but anywhere will do. I will  find my way to Moscow one way or another. I am so tired that I fall  asleep almost immediately, and wake only when the lorry comes to a halt.  The next thing I know someone is inside the lorry with me. My heart  pounds as someone pulls one of the boxes that I am hiding behind. The  man jumps backwards in shock at seeing me.

‘‘Who are you? What are you doing here?" His face is tight and his voice frightened.