After over a decade, Royal still enjoyed the smoothness of her husband’s sensuous mouth. She kissed him passionately, trying to sate the hunger that grew in her belly for him.
“Good grief. Get a room,” Anya said flatly as she rolled her cool blue eyes in mock indignation. Picking up her tablet, she turned her attention from her parents back to the replay of the royal wedding to watch it again for the hundredth time.
Amused by the girl’s shrewd observation, both Royal and Dmitry had to laugh. Their little girl wasn’t as infantile as she seemed.
“That could be a good idea.” Royal bit on her lip, almost glad she didn’t have to cook tonight. There were always better uses of her time and she could think of one in particular that would be both gratifying and needed at the moment.
“Now you’re talking.” Dmitry grabbed Royal and pulled her to him. Happy to have any reason to feel her close. Nuzzling his nose behind her ear, he smiled at his daughter and felt suddenly much lighter. They had a way with him, an ability to do what no others could – make him happy. He squeezed Royal tight and had a fleeting idea as the endorphins rushed over him like goosebumps.
“Hey,” he said, getting Anya’s attention. “We have a chateau not far from where the new Duchess of Sussex is building their family house. Why don’t we make a trip across the pond by the end of the year? I could arrange something for you, especially considering I still technically have an official title myself.” He would do anything to make Anya happy, but this was something he really wanted to make happen. Meghan had become something of an icon for Anya because of their mutual multiracial background. He encouraged her continuously to be proud of that.
Anya’s eyes lit up. “You mean I’m going to meet Meghan…I mean the Duchess?” It would have been in poor form to admit she had posed the conversation knowing full-well that one of her parents would eventually cave, but she felt completely comfortable showing her gratitude.
Dmitry chuckled. “Da, da, baby. You’re going to meet her. If it’s the last thing I do, you’re going to get a chance to work on that curtsey you’ve been practicing in your dress mirror at night.”
How did he know about that? Anya asked herself. It didn’t matter right now. What did matter was that her daddy was going to make this happen. Dmitry Medlov’s word was as good as gold. Everyone knew that he never ever broke a promise. So, if he said it was going to happen, it did.
Anya raised her small arms toward the ceiling in true adulation. “YES!” she exclaimed. Victory was in hand. By spring, she’d be the most envied girl at her school, especially after she flashed a few selfies of her and the duchess.
Despite her sincere joy from her daughter, Royal could feel the air suddenly knocked out of her sails. She would not have been more breathless if Dmitry had punched her in the stomach. That little favor he was imparting right now was supposed to be her thing. But again, Dmitry has stolen her thunder. And he did it by doing something Royal hated. Promises were not meant to be given lightly. But he had just promised their daughter something. She knew he didn’t mean to, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Pulling away from her husband abruptly as she bristled to his promise, Royal fought to hold on to the weak smile across her lips.
“What’s wrong?” Dmitry asked, confused. Just a minute ago, everyone was happy. What the hell had happened in a millisecond? What was he missing? “Baby…”
Royal tried to play it off. “Oh, nothing,” she said with a shrug. “I just thought about the fact that I promised Valeriya I would help her with something.”
“You just thought about that?” Dmitry asked unconvinced. He had been with Royal long enough to know that she was lying, but he didn’t want to push her to say what was wrong in front of Anya.
“Want me to go with you?” Anya asked, putting down her tablet again. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Why don’t you two stay here, turn off my ovens. I’ll be back in just a bit.” Royal walked toward the entryway, dragging her pride behind her. She could feel both of them looking at her, quietly demanding an explanation, but she couldn’t turn around and face them in fear that her real emotions might show.
Chapter Six
Heavy is Her Crown, Too!
W ho said money could solve all the world’s problems? Royal had found even though she had more money than most of the people walking the earth, there were very few familial problems that could be remedied through a monetary transaction. Even as she walked through this palatial retreat that she had the privilege of calling home, as she passed art and furniture and roamed under first-class architecture, there was no answer to the question that lingered that had a dollar sign attached to it. At the end of the day, people were just people, no matter how much money they had. And the only currency that was truly priceless was understanding.
Will I always play second fiddle to my husband when it comes to her? Royal asked inwardly as she stalked toward the East Wing, where the other Medlov women were. There was no doubt in her mind that her question was a selfish one, but she also could not deny that the answer haunted her.
Anya was her crown jewel. She would do anything to make her happy, but the relationship that sought between her daughter and herself was based on more than just what she could provide. For nine months, she carried that precious little angel in her belly. The little kicks and movements were always welcomed. The pain she endured to bring her into this world was a small price to pay to be able to hear the pitter patter of her small steps or the jingle of her voice. The blood she had spilled to get Anya back when she was kidnapped was worth the sacrifice. Everything she had done up until this point and everything she would do well beyond it was all for her family, for her baby girl. But in a way, she felt like she was eventually going to lose her – not to death or to some tragic act but to her husband. Anya could be anything when she grew up. But the love that little girl had for her father, even more so than for her mother, made her worry that Anya Medlov would grow up and be the Czar that her father never could be. And Royal just did not want that for her little girl.
Playing the strong, silent type, simply didn’t always get the job done. Right now, she needed comfort – the kind that a husband couldn’t give and a child could not understand. It was also times like this when she was truly grateful for Dmitry’s decision to house the entire family together in the same complex.
The adage, it’s lonely at the top, was one of the truest statements she had ever heard after becoming the wife of the underworld Czar. Considering their riches and their status, making friends outside of their circle was nearly impossible. There was no meeting a yoga classmate afterward for coffee, or happy hour after work. They were not millionaires like most of the wealthiest two percent of Memphis. They were multi-billionaires – a completely different animal. People at their level were paranoid and with good cause.
Nevertheless, having the women of the family in the house with Royal allowed her an opportunity never to be lonely. The women of the Medlov family were more like sisters than other title. After all they had gone through together and before they met, they understood each other – the struggles, the rules, the vision – all of it. And together, they helped each other keep the peace. They also had formed the Medlov Women’s Council in an effort to help the men of the family understand just how much power the crime family had and how they could do a bit of good even during the course of their illegal activity.
True, it was not an easy task to manage so many families under one roof. But Dmitry’s estate was no regular roof. Over the years, he had purchased several of the mansions around their own and used the space to expand the property well beyond the mansion she had first visited when they met.
The sprawling space kept everyone from feeling as though they were living on top of each other, but it also ensured everyone’s safety.
Their sprawling estate had become a small world for them to all occupy without the prying eyes of the public or the worries of attack on their children.
Dmitry had spent millions to fortify their property. He had paid high-ranking military officials, contractors and assassins to survey every inch of their home to look for weaknesses and when breach points were discovered, he immediately had them remedied, no matter the cost.
And she had loved him for it, even though she was angry at him at the moment. The kids could play carefree on the grounds, often with the staff’s children. The garden was a true place of reflection where people went all the time to unwind.
And when the space still wasn’t big enough, they all had plenty of other real estate to sneak away to when they needed privacy and time alone.
But today, she did not need space. She needed her friends. It was time to vent, and in the entire world, there were only three women she trusted to truly do that with unabashedly: Renee, Lily and Valeriya.
However, her bestie, Renee, was pregnant with her stepson Anatoly’s second child and resting in her private quarters before she began her late evening nausea. Lilly was tutoring Dylan in math in the second-floor library. It seemed the logical choice to speak with Valeriya about her problems. Not only was she wise beyond her years, she was also the least bias and prone to telling Royal the blunt whole truth when asked.
Valeriya Nenya had changed dramatically since the day she had become Valeriya Medlov. Before she was a warrior, fighting for the revolution and freedom of Ukraine and its people. Now, she was a mother. The thought still blew her mind. Never in a million years did she ever think she would live long enough to not only find love, but to create something bigger than herself – not through violence but through hope.
But somehow, even though the former certified badass was short-sighted about her own life’s expectations despite her transcending vision for her war-torn country, God, he blessed her with something more intimate than all other relationships in the entire world.
Twins. One boy and one girl.
After all the heartache she had been forced to endure, including the loss of her parents and her big brother, after being betrayed by a man she trusted with her life and would have died for, after almost losing her soulmate to the Nazi regime, and after finally being removed from her country – a place that did not even recognize her enormous contribution because of her skin color, her truest dream had come true through divine redemption.
Alas, Valeriya Medlov was now a mother. It was the most coveted title in the world of women, the world over since the beginning of history. That title transcended all languages, religions, socioeconomic debates or reason. A mother was a gift to humanity. Without it, mankind would cease to exist. And somehow, she had been chosen to serve among the ranks. Who said fairytales were not real? Miracles happened every day. She had survived all her trials with one brother still safe and alive, and through her husband, Gabriel, she had inherited a new family who loved her despite her many shortcomings.
It was a blessing. One that she didn’t feel worthy of but surely appreciated.
Andrei, named after her late brother, slept in his bassinet in the corner. Stroking a thumb over her daughter's, Emma, cheek as she held her in her embrace, she watched the precious little being suckled on her nipple.
It was nearly time to take both babies off the breast and convert them to whole milk. And while she was grateful physically, she stressed at the idea of losing the bond she shared with them.
Emma had placed a soft hand on the globe of her mother’s breast as she fell into a deep sleep. She tugs on her mother’s nipple became sporadic as she moved in and out of a dream state.
“My sweet little baby,” Valeriya said with a smile. Running a hand over the child’s head, she bent and kissed her cheek. “That’s it. Go night-night.” If she could get both of them asleep at the same time, she could actually get some things done tonight, including her newest letter to the U.S. ambassador to Ukraine about the adoption agencies and orphanages in Ukraine who were blocking American families from acquiring multiracial children. She had been advocating from afar since she left, hoping that with her husband’s political influence she might actually be able to curtail their current biased practices.
In the corner, Andrei moaned in his sleep as she shifted to his side and grabbed his teddy bear. For a second, Valeriya snapped a glance over to make sure he wasn’t waking up.
Please let him rest for a few hours, she prayed quietly.
Royal had explained when the twins were born that the best way to get them to rest was to feed them back-to-back no matter how sore her nipples were in order to get a few minutes of peace. Considering her new-found friend had done so with her own boys, Valeriya had taken heed to the advice and so far, it worked most times.
“Trump and his tweets are going to get us bombed to hell,” a woman said as she pointed toward the screen. The smartly-dressed black woman from one of the country’s most respected newspapers appeared to be infuriated as she spoke. Her perfect bob haircut jerked with her strained head motions.
The news of the day was focused on North Korean dictator Kim Jung Un and his cancellation of the summit meeting with the current U.S. President..
Valeriya raised a brow as she slowly trailed her gaze from the corner of the room, willing her son with her mind to stay asleep.
“Is it so hard for Trump to stay off Twitter?” the woman asked. “He is the President of the United States. I mean, doesn’t he have something else to do?” she asked sardonically.
Valeriya had to admit that the woman had a point. Unnecessary war was never the answer. After all, she hadn’t survived bullets and mortars in Ukraine to get blown to bits in the comforts of a mansion in Memphis, Tennessee by a North Korean dictator with a Napoleon complex and an obvious obesity problem. At the rate that the current president of the United States was going, he would incite a nuclear war not through improper negotiations at an official summit, but through divisive Twitter usage during one of his late-night rants. What a trip?
“Why should Rocket Man set the terms of this summit,” the opposing guest asked, tilting his head as he glared into the camera with a reddening face and a possible impediment in his left nostril. Aside from his dried snot, he was a neatly dressed in a drab blue suit, a red tie and an American flag pendent. He was a middle-aged white man with dark brown hair plugs and too much make up. She had seen him before, spewing his madness. A few weeks ago, he was demanding NFL players kneel for the American flag or else in a country that touted the First Amendments like Catholics touted confession.
“Well, in that same spirit, why should our duly elected President, who only won because of an archaic law that was imposed to oppress slaves, be allowed to provoke a war that he clearly won’t have to fight himself?” the woman countered.
Ahh, the drama.
In between her nightly feeding, Valeriya faithfully watched the American news on the television mounted across from their king-sized bed. Even though she wouldn’t admit it, she had gotten addicted to the propaganda. It was very dramatic, like a Latino soap opera with all the theatrics. It was full of sound bites and half-truths that very few citizens chose to fact-check themselves.
Commentators screamed at each other on television, attacking policy and politicians in an effort to glorify their political preference while those on the Hill filled their coffers with lobbying money, book deals and the like.
For entertainment, she often jumped from CNN to Fox News to see how different reporters covered the same stories. The stark difference was amazing. The bigotry was even more amazing.
In truth, it made her feel right at home. Ukraine had been a nightmare since well before the first bomb was dropped by Putin and being in a place with so many faults made her breathe the air a little easier. At least here, there was no chance of the President declaring his loyalty to the Russian president and running to hide under his red iron skirt.
She paused in thought.
Okay, maybe that was an overstatement. But the point was while the United States was not perfect, it was still Disneyworld in comparison
to any other place on the planet – at least for her, a woman who had never really known anything but pain before falling in love with her royal-born, millionaire.
A soft knock on the door drew her attention from her show. Who could that be at this time of night? Getting up with reluctantly with the baby still clutched in her arms and donning a white cotton night dress, she walked over to the door and opened it to find Royal standing outside.
The look on her face said a million words. She needed to talk.
Royal was a beautiful woman, stunning to most, breathtaking to others. When she dressed up, her style made other women feel shabby to be in her presence. Men pined after her. And her husband, alpha as he was, still worshipped at her feet. Most days, she was a diva – veins full of ice, the poise of a queen. But on the occasion when she was having an off day, the statuesque beauty could never hide her poker face.
As she stood at the door, long black hair pulled up in a bun, makeup flawless, Royal had a sister-girl twisted lip and narrowed eyes that said one thing. She was pissed.
“Hello,” Valeriya said in a hushed tone as she stepped to the side to let Royal inside.
“Hey,” Royal said, equally as quiet as she stepped inside her black leather flats, making little if no sound with her light foot falls. There was no doubt that she was interrupting, but she appreciated her friend giving her an audience anyway. “You got a minute?” she asked, admiring Emma from afar.
“Of course,” Valeriya mouthed. She knew that tone. They had all had it at some point. A Medlov woman in distress was hardly indistinguishable. She nodded and put her index finger over her lips. “Follow me.”
Royal nodded and followed Valeriya obediently through the dark spacious room. She remembered this space when it was just an extra guest room for VIPs, lacking in personality and warmth. Now it reminded her of sneaking into her sister’s bedroom when they were kids to steal her lipstick when she was gone. It was familiar – more than that, it was home. Even though it wreaked of pretentious wealth with the expensive furniture, vaulted ceilings with chandeliers and artwork, there was still a hint of shea butter and coconut oil. Suddenly nostalgic, she felt like eating sour pickle and braiding someone’s hair.
Dmitry's Redemption: Book One (The Medlov Men 7) Page 8
