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Summary
Roman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold in the living room. The twins—his twins—were a blur of dark hair and sharp blue eyes as they chased each other, shouting in Russian and English, laughter echoing through the house.
On the couch, Luke sat with their daughter nestled against his chest, her tiny fingers curled into his shirt. She had his hair, his mouth, his softness—and Roman hated how much it made his chest ache.
“She looks like me,” Luke whispered with a sleepy smile.
Roman stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the baby. “She looks perfect.”
Luke’s grin widened. “Admit it—you’re already wrapped around her little finger.”
Roman didn’t answer. He only leaned down, brushing his lips over Luke’s temple, before taking his daughter into his arms with a gentleness that still startled Luke even after five years.
Family. His family. Something Roman had never thought he deserved—until Luke had forced him to believe otherwise.