Semua Bab Forbidden: My Bodyguard's Obsession: Bab 171 - Bab 180

Nancy’s POVIt had been five days since we landed in New York.The city felt louder than Paris and smaller at the same time, because my father was in it. He had not put us in the mansion. He had given us one of his apartments instead, high up, with a doorman who knew his name and a view that made the street look far away. I had not expected him to let Zade stay with me. I had expected a hotel for Zade and a room in the house for me, and a fight I was too tired to have. He had not done that. He had looked at me at the airport, tired from the flight, and said we could have the place on the east side as long as the nurse came every day and I answered when he called. Zade had thanked him. My father had not thanked him back. He had only nodded, which was as close to peace as we had gotten.The nurse came in the mornings. She was calm and quick and did not ask questions that were not about the baby. Today she had checked my pressure, listened to the heartbeat, and told me the numbers were g

Nancy’s POVHe stood long enough to take off his pants. I watched him, still shaking from his mouth, and the sight of him hard and bare made a fresh ache roll through me. He came back to the bed and settled between my thighs, careful, one hand braced beside me so his weight stayed off my stomach. The head of his cock slid through my wetness, slow, not pushing in yet. Up. Down. A tease that made my hips lift.“Look at me, sweetheart,” he said.I did. My eyes were already wet.“I love you,” he said. “I am going to go slow. You tell me if it is too deep. You just lie there, my love. I will do the work.”“I will tell you.” I touched his face. “I want you. Please. I have wanted you all week.”“I know, baby.” He kissed me, soft, and I tasted myself on his mouth. “I have wanted you too. Every night I lay on the other side of this bed and listened to you breathe. Now I get to have you. Nice and easy.”He pushed in.One long, careful stroke. I felt every inch. The stretch. The heat. The way he

Nancy’s POVZade didn't talk over me. He didn't try to perform being good. He just answered when he was spoken to and kept my glass filled and didn't reach for my hand until I found his under the table first.My father saw it. His jaw tightened. He didn't say anything unkind. He cut his chicken. He drank his water. He looked out the window at the city for a moment like he was asking it for patience.Then he looked at his plate."This is good," he said. He was saying it about the food. But it landed on Zade anyway, and I think we all knew it. "She needs meals like this.""She'll have them," Zade said simply.My father held his eyes for a moment. Then he looked at me, and some of the tension in his face went softer."Eat," he said. "Both of you. I didn't come all the way here to watch food go cold."I smiled. A real small smile.Zade's thumb moved once against my palm under the table.We ate. We talked about the doctor's next appointment, about the crib my father wanted to have delivere

Nancy’s POVMy father hadn't moved from the foot of the bed.He was looking at the baby. At her small face. At the dark hair. At her hand where it curled against the blanket.The anger he had carried for months couldn't survive it.His eyes filled. He wiped them once with the back of his hand, hard, and his hand came away wet anyway. A sound left him that was rough and happy and completely wrecked."She's perfect," he said. His voice cracked down the middle. "Nancy. She is absolutely perfect."He came closer. Zade shifted just enough to make room without being asked. My father touched the edge of the blanket with two fingers, very carefully, like she might shatter."Hello, little one," he said. "I'm your grandfather. You are so loved. You are so safe."Anya made a small sound and settled closer against me.The monitor kept its steady beat.Zade kissed my temple, still crying.My father stood at the foot of the bed and cried quietly with one hand on the rail to keep himself steady.Out

Nancy’s POVTen years later, The lake was the first thing I saw every morning.Our house sat above it on a small rise, white stone walls and wide windows that let the light come in from every direction. There was a path down to a dock that Alexei had built himself the second summer we lived there. He had taken his time with it, measuring twice, getting the boards level, spending a whole Saturday on his knees in the sun while Anya handed him screws and told him everything she had learned about docks from a library book.Anya's shoes were always by the front door.Two pairs, usually. The ones she wore to school, practical and already starting to fall apart from running everywhere in them. And one pair she refused to throw away even though the soles were going thin because they still had sand in them from Greece. We had taken her to the island in the spring. The villa. The beach. The olive trees that went silver in the afternoon light.She had run ahead of us on the path through the tree