Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
At fourteen, she’s valedictorian of her middle-school class, president of the art club, and president of the National Junior Honor Society. She definitely gets her smarts from her mother. And she probably got her love of art from her grandmother. But she’s still stubborn and tenacious as ever, and that is all from me.
She finds us easily in the crowd as she shakes her principal’s hand. She waves at us with a goofy smile on her face, and her mom and I wave back just as forcefully. We’re so proud of our girl, we’re nearly bursting with it.
“When she smiles like that, she looks just like you.” I lean over and whisper in Nicole’s ear.
“That’s funny, I was just thinking she looked just like your mother,” she retorts.
Nikolai leans against my arm, bored as hell and over all the pomp and circumstance. He’s only three years younger than Anya and always gets a little jealous when she receives more attention than him. Her eighth-grade graduation is no exception.
“Can we get burgers after this?”
“Only if you clap loud enough when Anya finishes her speech,” I tell him.
He sighs, slouching back in his seat with all the dramatics of an eleven-year-old who thinks the world owes him candy for breathing.
But then the room goes quiet as Anya steps to the microphone.
She clears her throat, lifts her head, and starts speaking. And my heart does that thing it always does when I look at her. It swells with a pride so deep it hurts.
I don’t hear all the words, but I don’t need to.
I see the girl standing up there, the one who used to climb into bed with me when thunderstorms scared her, who cried when she accidentally stepped on a ladybug, who once got into a fist fight with a boy in third grade because he made fun of Nikolai for having “a scary dad.”
She’s not just mine. She’s her mother’s, too. She’s a little piece of us both, Nicole’s warmth and my fire, and she’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
When the auditorium bursts into applause, I clap too, standing without even realizing it.
Outside the school, the sun is high and bright. Summer’s just around the corner, and the heat’s already creeping in, but I don’t mind it today. Our arms are loaded down with flowers and balloons, just waiting to pass them off to Anya.
Nicole talks softly with Tatiana, who’s already planning her own eighth-grade graduation and making her promise she’ll have at least as many flowers and balloons. Nikolai is back on his iPad, playing some kind of game with robots.
I watch them all and think about how much has changed in the last fifteen years. Once upon a time, I thought I was the kind of man who didn’t deserve any of this. I’d resigned myself to the fact that I would never have a family of my own. I had my mom, my brother, and my business, and that was enough for me.
Then a girl who got stood up on a bad date texted the wrong number, and everything changed. What would’ve happened if she hadn’t? God forbid, what if she’d texted the right number and that douchebag decided he’d made a mistake in running away from her?
I wouldn’t be here now. Hell, I’d probably be dead already, killed by Semion or one of our other adversaries. I wouldn’t have this beautiful family celebrating this beautiful day. I wouldn’t know the way it feels when three little voices shout “Papa!” the second I walk in the door after a long day.
And I wouldn’t have the most amazing woman standing at my side, telling me that I’m worth it, that I deserve to have all of it. She changed my life in so many ways with that text, and I’ll never be able to thank her bad date enough for ditching her that night.
“Hey.” Nicole’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
She’s smiling up at me now, eyes crinkled at the corners.
“You were off in space,” she says, rising to her feet. “Everything okay?”
I lean in and press a kiss to her temple, inhaling her intoxicating scent. “Perfect,” I murmur. “Everything is perfect.”
After the hugs, the tears, and what feels like a thousand pictures later, we finally pile into the SUV to head home. Nikolai’s got his earbuds in already, Tatiana is asleep with her head on Nicole’s shoulder, and Anya is texting her best friend about some post-graduation party. Nicole turns in her seat and catches me watching her again.
“You’re staring,” she says suspiciously.
I shrug. “You’re beautiful.”
She blushes, even after all these years, and it makes my heart do this weird flip-flop.
“You’re biased,” she mutters.
“But I’m right,” I argue.
Back home, the backyard is set up for a celebration. Streamers hang from the trees, the grill is smoking, and the scent of fresh bread wafts through the air, thanks to one of my men who insisted on baking something “special for the girl who made it to high school.”