Nikita wasn't allowed to leave the grounds without escort. It wasn't quite like being a prisoner, but then again…So she enlisted Declan's aid, swore him to secrecy, and prayed. A lot.
Michael slammed the front door behind him and pulled off his black leather gloves. It was almost October. Autumn was nearly upon them. The weather was clear, but growing a bit chillier each day. He spied Nikita sitting in the overstuffed chair they once favored above all else. When they were together… He forced himself not to think like that. But it was getting harder not to do so.
He slapped the gloves against each other as he walked towards her. His voice low and terse, he said, "I'm going upstairs."
The implication was that she should join him. But though she'd been oddly acquiescent up until now, that was going to stop. If she had no other way to get his attention, so be it. He could not run roughshod over her feelings. He wasn't the only one hurting.
"That's nice," she said, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"You're not coming?" He didn't mean to say that, but he couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth. It was the only thing he lived for now, that physical connection between the two of them.
"No." She stood up and moved away from the chair, intending to enter the kitchen. "Declan has dinner almost ready."
"I'm not hungry," he said, abruptly grabbing her arm, effectively staying her retreat.
"Fine," she replied, wrenching her arm away and rubbing the spot he'd grabbed.
"Come upstairs," he commanded, not a hint of entreaty in his voice.
"I'm not tired." She deliberately misunderstood what he was implying, and she hoped it would get a reaction. An emotional reaction.
He stared at her, his eyes like frozen jade, but he didn't break. "I see."
"Do you, Michael? I don't think you do."
He blinked indifferently. "Whatever."
Nikita wasn't a bit hungry. But she wasn't about to give Michael the satisfaction of performing like a trained seal. She smiled her way through dinner, and everyone pretended not to notice how desperately unhappy Nikita was. Or that Michael was missing from the table.
Michael closed the bedroom door and crossed the room. Ripping off his jacket, he flung it across the room. Dragging the rocking chair behind him, he stopped by the large window, overlooking the grounds. He noted the waning light of day. He absently registered the incredible coloration that Nature had given the sunset. He plucked nervously at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt altogether too tight. He couldn't breathe.
The sunset was so beautiful. He wished that Nikita was there to share it with him. The spectacle before him was truly breathtaking. Was that why he couldn't breathe? His vision blurred. Why he couldn't focus his eyes?
He sank down into the rocker, holding his hand over his mouth, lest he actually cry out. He needed his wife. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this. Walking wounded. Incomplete. Without the half of him that still mattered.
Unaware that he was imitating Nikita's earlier actions, he leaned forward and pressed his palm against the window pane. The coolness of the glass felt good against his fevered skin. His tears fell unnoticed. He was trapped inside himself.
And he had no idea how to get out.
Nikita trudged wearily upstairs, pausing outside the suite she shared with Michael. She knew he was inside. She felt her heart race, her nerves fray. She clutched her cat, Josephine, in her arms, and knew she was holding her too tightly when she meowed. Placing Josephine on the floor, she watched as the cat ran off, undoubtedly bound for happier territory.
She opened the door and stood in the doorway. Michael's body was silhouetted against the window. He was resting his face on his hands on the windowsill. She entered quickly, before she could lose her resolve, locking the door behind her.
Michael turned to look at her, but she couldn't read his expression. The darkness of the room made that impossible. Michael probably liked the way the darkness hid him.
She could feel his eyes on her. She couldn't quite make him out in the dim light, but she could feel him watching her. Making believe he wasn't there, Nikita forced herself to walk casually into the bathroom. Primping at her face in front of the mirror, she could feel him approaching.
His hands found her shoulders and rested there. There was a fine tremor in his hands that only someone who knew him as well as she did would notice. In the mirror, she could see that he was looking at her intently.
"Did you want something, Michael?"
"You." He couldn't utter another word if he tried.
She turned slowly to face him, and his hands dropped off her shoulders, falling limply to his side. She stared, quite deliberately, at his mouth, feeling an almost tangible chemistry arc between them. "Sorry, I'm not ready for bed yet."
At first, he didn't react. Then he looked wounded. But only for a second. Within moments, Michael tapped into that huge reservoir of anger. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. "You don't want me?"
"No," she forced herself to say, aware that it was perhaps the greatest lie she'd ever told.
Without a moment's thought, Michael thrust his hand down the front of her jeans. Pushing aside her panties, he held her in his hands. She gasped, and her mouth opened unconsciously. She was wet, wanting, and all too willing. Despite her plan to thwart this attack on the essence of their love.
"Liar," he whispered. "You want me."
Gritting her teeth with the effort not to move against his hand, Nikita said, "What does that prove?"
"Nothing. Everything."
"How cryptic. Well, screw you and your air of mystery, Michael! I don't want to make love to you right now!"
He withdrew his hand and slowly backed up, but he licked his fingers, tasting her. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever done to her.
And she couldn't respond to it. Not if she wanted to put a few cracks in that wall he'd built.
Nikita pushed at Michael, forcing him to back up even further. Again and again, her hands slapped lightly at his chest. "I said, no!'
"I could take you right where you stand."
"What makes you think I'd let you?"
"You wouldn't stop me." Michael's eyes narrowed, his focus totally on Nikita.
Nikita breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't much, but it was something. At least, he was talking to her.
Now for the next step. In her continuing attempt to keep Michael off-balance, she switched strategies again.
"Maybe not. But you've been doing all the taking all week long. When do I get to…be on top?"
That did surprise Michael. He blinked, his eyes involuntarily changing to a much darker green. That didn't sit well with him. He was hanging on to his control by tooth and nail. If Nikita became the aggressor….
Nikita knew Michael could easily take her by force. But she didn't think he would do it. Even in his current frame of mind.
She pushed Michael one last time, and he fell back onto the bed. She knelt at his feet and started to pull off his boots. He frowned and tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let go of him. Slowly but surely, she undressed him, removing and folding each item of clothing neatly in a pile beside the bed.
When he was naked, he tried again to sit up, but she ran her hand down into his groin, feeling his arousal jump to life beneath her hand. "If you don't want me to hurt you, lie back."
He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Nikita's behavior. It made no sense to him. He felt her hand on him, and he groaned. She was going to be merciless. She knelt on the floor between his knees, thinking the submissive posture would totally confuse him, especially given the way she'd been beating him back. It did.
She sighed happily as she rubbed her face against the inside of his knee. She felt like Josephine, greeting her master with a purr and a brush against his leg. She was marking her territory.
He wanted her. But he wanted her on his terms. Quiet. Passive. No words of love passing between them. Passion without a trace of affection. Well, she would show him what was wrong with that. In a manner he would never forget. And if it didn't bring him back to her, she would truly be desolate. For there was nothing else.
She stood up and slipped her shoes off her feet. Very slowly, she stripped off the rest of her clothing. Michael watched and waited. Without a word. Sensual creature that she was, Nikita arched her back and thrust her breasts against his leg, enjoying the feel of the hair on his legs gently abrading her skin.
Moving inexorably towards her ultimate goal, she lapped at the inside of his thigh. Sliding her wet tongue closer and closer to his groin, she felt him tense. No, make that, go rigid. He'd become a statue, carved of stone. Clearly intending to push her away, his hand met only with the top of Nikita's head as she bent over him.
Her tongue stabbed at something inside of him. He felt aflame…then his whole body became ash. "Kita, no."
"Please."
It was over moments later. He couldn't hold out against that type of sensual onslaught. She took the love he gave her gratefully, laying her face on his flat abdomen. A moment passed, then two…
He sat up, grabbing her by the shoulders, his green eyes blazing. With what, she still couldn't tell. "Why did you do that?" he ground out.
"Because I love you, Michael." He was holding her so closely, he couldn't miss the love in her eyes. He froze for a second, then his fingers clenched her arms so tightly, she knew she would have bruises.
"What?"
"You heard me. I love you, Michael."
"Don't." The anguish in his voice was real. He couldn't bear to make their connection emotional again.
"I have to."
"Why?" he asked bleakly.
"I'm fighting for both of us. And the children."
He winced at the thought of the twins. He hadn't spared a thought for his children in days. What kind of father did that make him?
He released her arms. "I'm sorry."
"For what, Michael? For being human? Like the rest of us?"
"Everyone I care about gets hurt. You should be running the other way, Kita." He was dangerously close to breaking down now. All he needed was one more good push.
"I can't, Michael."
"Why? Cause you love me?" he asked bitterly.
"No…"
Slowly, she stood up, pulling Michael to his feet. When they were standing, nose to nose, cheek to cheek, she stared deeply into his eyes, not wanting to miss one single second of his reaction.
Gently she placed his hand on her still-flat abdomen. "Cause I love this new life you've given me, Michael."
He blinked uncomprehendingly. "What?"
"Our new baby," she whispered. "I'm pregnant, Michael."
He dropped his startled eyes to her abdomen. When he saw his hand there, he rubbed her softly. "Ki-ta…"
"What, Michael?" she asked.
It took a moment or two, but when her loving message finally penetrated his defenses and broke the chains that bound his heart, he gasped sharply, feeling a surge of emotion almost painful in its intensity. He raised his eyes to hers again, and he crossed his arms behind her neck, pulling her against him with a loud cry. "Oh, God…"
When the wall eventually crumbled, it came down completely, leaving Michael standing there, naked, his feelings written clearly across his tear-stained face. He buried his face in the silken curtain that was her hair, his fingers strumming restlessly against the side of her face. "I love…you…doucette."
Michael backed Nikita up against the bathroom door, his mouth plundering hers like some long-forgotten but desperately-sought treasure. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing at this point. His emotions were running him now, instead of the other way around, and from the way Nikita was responding, everything was as it should be.
Her hands raked his hair back, then crept through the curls at the back of his neck. She loved the way it sprung back under her fingers when she touched it. "Michael…" she whispered to him, and instantly, she had his full and undivided attention.
"What is it, doucette? Am I hurting you? Please say I'm not hurting you." He touched her with such tenderness, she would never have dreamed this was the same man she had slept with all week.
"No, love," she said, smiling against his mouth, because he just couldn't stop kissing her.
"Then what? You really don't want to make love?" He sounded like a lost soul in search of a reason for being.
In answer, she placed his hands on her breasts. "You can do whatever you want to me, Michael, as long as you always do it with love." He brushed her mouth with his. "I will…I do love you, doucette. Even if the words were trapped inside of me…"
He dropped his head to his chest, and she brought it back up, to make eye contact with her. "Michael…I knew that you still loved me. That was the only thing that kept me going. Otherwise…" Her own volatile emotions overwhelming her, along with the hormonal influences that accompanied pregnancy, she started to cry.
But Michael kissed both eyelids shut. "So you can't shed any more tears, love."
The remaining tears shimmered brightly in her eyes, like stars twinkling in an indigo sky. "I love you, Michael. If I'd lost you that night…"
"Ssh, my Kita. I know, I know. I wouldn't want to live without you either. But the children need us. They need both of us." Michael laughed softly as he slid his hand lower, tracing her abdomen. "This one needs us, too."
She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him. This was no gentle, come-hither-and-stay-awhile kiss, but a fullblown, heartfelt admission of undying devotion. "I will always, always love you, my Michael." She swiped almost angrily at the tears that blurred her view of him.
"Whether I'm with you or not…" she finished brokenly, trying not to cry anymore.
"Oh, doucette…you will always be with me. I will never ever let you go." Michael knew his own face was hopelessly wet now. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the two of them…and this beautiful new life they would soon add to the family.
"Please…make love to me, Michael."
He didn't wait for a second invitation. He plunged his tongue inside her mouth, and they kissed ardently, in between gasps for breath. This was what Nikita had been missing. Not the passion. But the unspoken undercurrent that was always there. That vibration that sang between their bodies like an electrical charge.
He dropped to his knees, a hand on each of her legs, while his mouth found the very heart of her. She nearly flung herself back against the door when his tongue pierced the core of her. Her hands moved restlessly through his hair as he kissed her there. Again and again. Until she sighed her completion.
Her legs suddenly weak, she slumped against the door as Michael ran his hand up the inside of her thigh. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. Lying beside her, he smiled almost shyly. "Kita?"
"Yes, Michael?"
She turned to lie on her side, facing him, and she played a finger over his lips, eventually reaching up to tug on his lower lip and tease it into her own mouth.
"Do you know…I mean, it's probably too early to tell, but…" he stammered uncharacteristically.
"Probably around April." She smiled at the way he'd taken the news of her pregnancy, knowing it was undoubtedly the only thing he loved as much as her.
"Do you want another boy or another girl, my Kita?" His eyelashes fluttered down to cover his bright green eyes briefly.
"As long as it's healthy, Michael, it doesn't matter."
"Well, this one should be named after you, doucette."
She laughed happily. "I think one Nikita to a household is about all we can stand, Michael."
He pulled her hair behind her ear, looping each pale strand carefully and precisely, until the side of her face was exposed for him to kiss. "There can never be enough of you."
"Oh, Michael." She blushed at the fervor with which he proclaimed his feelings now.
They lay on their stomachs on the bed, side by side, making plans for the new baby until the early hours of the morning. "Michael…you must be tired. We really should get some sleep."
He shook his head. "This has been the best medicine I could have gotten, Kita. Seems an extra-heavy dose of you was all I really needed."
She ran her hands over his taut buttocks, surprised to find that she could still become aroused, despite having been satisfied twice within the same day. "Mi-chael…" she said, her smoky voice sending shivers down his spine.
He stared at her for a moment. "Kita, I don't know if I can…" Suddenly he laughed heartily. "But I'm sure as hell going to try."
With that, he straddled her back, kissing the nape of her neck. "Mmm, I think you must be part vampire, Michael. You love my neck."
He rocked against her, slowly and gently joining their bodies, feeling himself sink into her warmth. "Ah, you feel so good, my Kita."
She lay her face on her crossed arms, relaxing completely as Michael moved within her. He reached around her and cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples into an upright position. He made love to her unhurriedly, and she could feel the difference in him, just in the few hours they'd been together.
His breath gradually grew hotter on the back of her neck, and he began to push harder against her. His hands slid lower down her body, pulling her closer to him as he increased the intensity of their lovemaking. When he touched the heart of her with his fingers as he surged into her body, she began to climax at last. The first waves of her climax sent him over the edge.
Gradually, he slowed down, finally coming to rest on her back, his head against the middle of her shoulders. He murmured to her sleepily in French. "Je t'aime, ma belle amante. Je t'aime." I love you, my beautiful lover. I love you.
He kissed the back of her neck, her hair, and her shoulder before giving in to the urge to sleep. Nikita's last thought before she finally fell asleep herself was, I love you, too, Michael.
Faith crawled out of bed, ready to go exploring. There was nothing she liked better than exploring. Even if the grown-ups occasionally cramped her style. She reached up and patted her brother's bed. "Chris! Chris!" she called.
Chris rolled over and stared at his sister sleepily. "Fee, not time to get up. Night time."
Faith pulled on her brother's arm until he yelped. "Come, Chris. Come with Fee."
Chris set his mouth in a tight, mutinous line. "No. Me sleep. You sleep, too. You get in trouble."
The look Faith shot her brother indicated that if he didn't get out of bed and accompany her wherever she wanted to go, he would be the one in trouble. With her.
Partners in crime. That's what they were. And that's how they came to be out of bed in the middle of the night. Far, far away from parental influences. Even godfathers dubbed uncles.
Declan finished putting the kitchen in order and turned out the lights. He had no idea that the twins were out scouting new locations for mischief and mayhem.
When he got upstairs, he tapped lightly on the door to his room, alerting Birkoff that he was ‘home'. Birkoff answered the door, clad only in an oversized T-shirt that came almost to his knees. Seeing it was Declan, he opened the door wider, allowing him entrance. Declan locked the door behind him from habit. He threw his keys onto the nighttable and stretched.
"Tired?" asked Birkoff.
"Yeah, a bit."
Declan pulled off his black T-shirt and threw it into the hamper. He sat down on the end of the bed and took his boots off. After kicking them into place, Declan stood to remove his faded blue jeans. These he folded and placed atop the hamper. He padded into the bathroom in his sock feet. A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway, his long hair loose around his shoulders. "I'm going to take a shower, Sey."
"Well, don't wash your hair this late. It'll never dry, and then it'll be wet all over the pillows."
"Not if you help me dry it." Declan said hopefully.
Birkoff sighed. "You want me to wait up for you then?"
"Don't you always?" Declan grinned. "I won't be long."
Birkoff watched Declan disappear into the bathroom again, and he lay on his stomach, hugging his pillow. He was just going to nap. He didn't intend to sleep long enough to dream. But dream he did.
He felt two strong hands on his shoulders first. Kneading the tension away. Massaging his skin until it rippled smoothly. "God, that feels good."
The hands were warm and soft on his skin. They moved under his thick, dark, shoulder-length hair, lifting the silky strands off his neck. One hand rubbed his neck while the other held his hair. Eventually the hands moved down the length of his back, massaging the middle of his back before moving down still further.
That was when he felt it. The touch of something other than hands. Something light and satiny that he could not immediately identify. He would have turned over then, to see what it was, but the hands gently held him down. A whisper of breath puffed against the nape of his neck, raising all the little hairs to attention. The touch of lips followed. A kiss so soft, he thought he imagined it. Until he realized it made him ache.
That aroused feeling persisted as the lips moved lightly down his spine. He hugged his pillow tighter. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up yet. The hands rested lightly on his buttocks, then moved down his legs. Just when he'd given up hope that the hands would return, they crept up the inside of his thigh, startling him at first. But gradually, he relaxed again.
That was when he felt it again. That light, satiny, other-than-hands feeling. It abraded his skin ever so softly as it drifted back and forth over his body. "Um…what is that?"
The lips went "Ssh…" as the hands turned him over onto his back, ever so slowly. His eyes widened, then slid shut of their own accord. It was the kiss he had waited for. Soft, gentle, but insistently tugging at his mouth. He opened his mouth and kissed back. His tongue found its mate. His hands moved against the lips and the cheek. He felt the lips part his, the tongue lightly licking at him.
When he dared open his eyes again, it was only to see that long red curling tendrils of hair were draped across his chest. The ends of the hair flicked at his nipples and he groaned in response. A tongue lapped at his chest, and erotic sensation swirled around him. The kisses, so tantalizingly brief, but wet against his skin, moved down his body.
Just as the lips were about to lay claim to his arousal, he woke up. "Declan?"
Declan smiled at his lover. Too shy to ask for what he liked sometimes. Birkoff stretched and yawned, his eyes meeting Declan's almost slumberously. "Hey…"
"Hey…" Declan responded.
"I just had the wildest dream about your hair."
"Really?" Declan leaned over him and let his long red hair lightly abrade his partner's skin. "Did it feel like this?"
Birkoff struggled to sit up, but Declan gently held him down. "Hey!" Birkoff said, "your hair isn't wet."
Declan kissed him, his lips soft and warm. "I know."
"You mean I wasn't dreaming?"
In answer, Declan intentionally draped his hair over his lover's arousal. He rubbed his hair back and forth, the ends gently catching the little hairs. When he heard his partner groan, Declan knew he was getting to him.
Declan's head bent over him, laying claim to his arousal. Birkoff raked his hands through Declan's hair, pulling on the long red strands. "Your hair is so…damned…beautiful…Declan."
"All of you is beautiful, Sey."
Declan moved up Birkoff's body, nudging his lips apart with his tongue. "See how good you taste," he whispered.
Birkoff pulled Declan closer, and Declan settled his body on top of his lover's. "God, I love you."
Declan brushed Birkoff's hair back from his face. "I love you, too, Sey."
Madeline sat bolt upright in bed. "Neil! What was that?"
Neil glanced at her blearily. "Huh? What was what?"
"That noise! Didn't you hear it?"
Neil laughed. "No, Maddy, I was asleep. So is everybody else, I imagine."
Madeline paled. "There it is again. Are there ghosts here?"
"I wouldn't know, Maddy. Not my castle. Ask Michael. In the morning." With that, he pulled the covers over his head.
A moment later, both of them heard a noise. Neil flicked the light on. "What the— ?"
They'd just discovered Faith's newest place to explore.
"Mamie! Mamie! Came see you."
"Yes, you little minx, you certainly did." Madeline turned to Neil and said, "I don't know if my nerves can stand living here, Neil. This is much more chaos than I'm used to."
Neil grinned. "Chaos doesn't have to feel threatening, Maddy. Just learn to go with the flow."
Madeline snorted. "Now you sound like Walter."
Neil smiled innocently. "Oh, and what was that Faith called you? Doesn't sound like English to me."
"It's not. It's French."
"So what did she say?"
Madeline looked like wild horses couldn't drag it out of her, but Neil merely waited patiently. "Oh, all right, Neil, I'll tell you, but don't you breathe a word to anyone else."
Neil waited.
"Grandma! She called me…Grandma."
Neil burst out laughing. Madeline was not amused.
When he woke up, the first thing he wanted to talk about was Nikita's pregnancy. Michael waited impatiently for his wife to join him. She was just beginning to stir, but it was taking so long for her to open her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her.
"Mmm…" she said, her blue eyes surprisingly warm for first thing in the morning. "What a nice way to wake up."
"No morning sickness yet?" He inquired solicitously.
She shook her head. "Maybe I'll be lucky this time."
"You're already lucky, Kita. You've got me." He kissed the side of her face tenderly.
Nikita giggled merrily. "My husband. Mr. Modesty."
He looked deep into her eyes, his expression just as tender as his earlier kiss. "You wanted me to think better of myself, Kita. I'm trying."
She fixed her gaze on his mouth, wondering how long she could resist the urge to kiss him. "I think you're wonderful…but then, I'm prejudiced."
Their lips met softly, once, twice, three times. He nuzzled her neck until she groaned contentedly. "I love you." She stroked his hair as he buried his face against her neck.
When he resurfaced, his green eyes shining brightly, he said, "So tell me, when did you find out?"
"Yesterday. Right before I told you." She kissed him lightly, remembering how happy she'd felt when she saw the test results.
"No one else knows then?" His eyes danced with the thought of springing the surprise announcement on everyone.
"Just Declan."
Michael blinked. "Declan?"
"Your rule. About not being allowed to leave the grounds without an escort? He was with me when I bought the pregnancy test."
"Oh." He smiled beatifically. "He doesn't know how it turned out, though."
She shook her head. "No, no one but us knows." Her fingers caressed his face.
"Do you want to tell everyone at breakfast?"
"Well…" She smiled secretively. "I was hoping we could keep it our little secret for a while longer."
Michael frowned. "How long? I mean, you should see Neil right away, shouldn't you? Get the test confirmed? Start taking your vitamins? Start eating right?"
"Michael!" she chuckled. "Would you like to have this baby for me?"
He grinned and kissed her. "I would if I could, doucette."
"Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking that if we held off the news another month, we could make the big announcement at the Halloween Party."
"What Halloween Party?"
"The one we're having here at the chateau. Costumes, candy, spooky music."
"Is this for us or for the kids, Kita?"
"Both. I think we all need to kick up our heels a bit, Michael. Celebrate being alive. Being together."
"Look to the future? Instead of behind us?" Michael commented wisely.
"Yes, that, too." Nikita sighed, content to stay in her husband's arms as long as he needed her there.
Michael covered her body with his, managing to fit himself into the notch between her legs without help. He licked her mouth before swooping down to kiss her ardently. Without releasing her from his embrace, he buried his face between her breasts.
"Mmm…can I stay right here?" he asked impudently.
"Aren't we going to get up? Eat something?"
He raised an eyebrow, a devilish glint in his changeable eyes. "I'm already…up." He nudged her lower body with his, as if to prove his point, and Nikita hid her face in her hands, peering mischievously through her fingers at him.
"And?"
"You do look good enough to eat." She had to give in. Her husband had indescribably good taste.
They were in the shower together when the royal summons came. There was a peremptory knock at the bedroom door followed by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. However, since the door was equipped with a deadbolt, using the key did absolutely nothing. Someone muttered in frustration.
With the water running, neither Michael nor Nikita responded to the royal summons. Unable to gain entrance, whoever knocked went away.
Nikita found herself reluctant to leave the bedroom. Now that Michael was behaving so affectionately towards her again, she was a trifle worried about how he might react when he rejoined the rest of the family. But she needn't have bothered. Unlike other crises they had survived, this time Michael felt no desire whatsoever to dwell on the past. His entire focus was on the future. His kids. His baby-to-be. Their baby-to-be, he corrected himself.
Michael came up behind Nikita and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands proudly on her abdomen. "Michael," she warned, "if you do things like that, you'll give away our secret."
He kissed her ear. "I know. I'll try to remember."
"Try harder."
"Yes, Mrs. Samuelle," he drawled, deliberately emphasizing his accent. Nikita smiled. She wasn't used to being addressed that way. Because there was little reason for them to interact with anyone outside of the family circle, Nikita rarely met anyone who called her by her married name. She rather liked it. It made her feel like she belonged to Michael. Even if that wasn't particularly politically correct.
She shrugged. She didn't want to be anyone's property. She just liked the idea of belonging to Michael. And she had a feeling…he liked it, too.
Michael and Nikita surprised the family by joining them for breakfast. Though no one commented on the change in Michael's demeanor, everyone noticed. They also could not miss the glow on Nikita's face. This they attributed to her reunion with Michael. In the furious action that filled their lives for the past few weeks, no one remembered that Michael and Nikita were trying to have another baby. In another month, it was going to be a memorable Halloween. One none of them would forget.
Declan kept Nikita's secret, and his silence, but he ensured that she ate her entire breakfast. Unable to argue with him, in front of the others, she found herself consuming two Pop-Tarts with strawberry filling and vanilla icing, two scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon, and an English muffin, loaded with real butter in all the little nooks ‘n' crannies.
Madeline, the original author of the royal summons, swallowed what harsh words she might have directed at her adoptive daughter. She was irritated because her sleep had been disturbed. She was irritated that the twins somehow found their way into her room, of all places. And, finally, she was irritated because she didn't feel old enough to be called a grandma. Dammit.
But when she saw the way Nikita glowed, the way she positively basked in Michael's love and affection, and put that together with the way she ate breakfast, she guessed Nikita's secret. She had no idea that Nikita was planning a big announcement in another month. She just hugged the thought to herself that Nikita must be pregnant again. It wasn't her place to interfere in such things. Royal personage or not.
Neil was completely oblivious to the undercurrents. He rarely got to eat at home except for dinner. Therefore, he was already enjoying his ‘vacation' at the chateau. Courtesy of Declan's cooking.
Zero huffed and puffed under the table, instantly wolfing down the scraps that Birkoff fed him. Josephine regarded the young dog imperiously. As long as he remembered who was in charge of the household, they would get along just fine, Josephine thought as she groomed her silky coat with her rough little tongue.
Walter regarded his Sugar with the kind eyes of age and experience. He knew that whatever had been wrong was now very definitely right, but beyond that, he had no need for specifics. His wife, Miranda, anticipated his every wish, not that he was a demanding person, to begin with, and her own take on Michael and Nikita's situation was that they evidently never ate cookies in bed. Of course, she was dependent upon Madeline, the sole arbiter of such details, and had she but known of her royal fancy, she might have enlightened her that clinging to such titles was both futile as well as vaguely out of touch with reality.
A much better choice, thought Miranda, was Mamie. Though Miranda did not in fact speak French, she heard Faith call Madeline Mamie so many times, she went right to the source and asked Faith what it meant. Faith, definitely her mother's daughter, said "Daddy said…" She was sure it was one of the only times Michael was quoted and would soon wish he hadn't been.
Birkoff, who was now measuring everything in terms of Declan, admitted that Nikita might just be a trifle happier than Declan and him right now, but then again, his and Declan's parental responsibilities were at best temporary.
Faith loved the way her Mommy looked. She was laughing at something Daddy said, and her eyes sparkled. She wished she had sparkly eyes like her Mommy. Only she loved Daddy so much, and his eyes didn't always sparkle. They changed colors like hers. She chortled. Maybe that was better. Changing the color of your eyes was cool.
Chris was happy. His Daddy was happy. So was his Mommy. Enough said. Chris didn't see the need for getting bogged down in the petty details of life.
Connor was too young to do more than appreciate the circumstances he'd been born into. Which were pretty damn good, if he were only able to comment.
Nikita was thrilled that she was pregnant again. She refused to look back, except to remember good memories. The future was irresistible to her. They had more to look forward to than ever before. She and Michael were together, and their bond remained unbreakable. She could not possibly want for anything more.
Michael looked at his wife and saw their future together reflected in her brilliant blue eyes. He saw their happiness written in the faces of their children and their adoptive family. Uncaring if it was tempting fate, Michael felt truly blessed. Any misgivings he had were forgotten, any worries inconsequential.
All in all, a very good year for all concerned, despite the inevitable conflict that shaped their lives. Conflict was not always a bad thing, especially for this family, and when they drew together, they were all the stronger for having passed through its ritual fires. Measured by the love of its children, indeed, this family had perhaps more than its share of happiness, and every reason to be deeply satisfied.