Page 168 of The Wrong Brother

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and open the door, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“What happened?”

He stands perfectly composed in the hallway, dressed in slacks and a pressed button-down despite the hour—4 a.m., according to the alarm clock.

“Roman is hungry.”

I blink.

“What?”

“You appear to have slept through it.”

For the first time in years, I have no response. From somewhere down the hall comes the unmistakable cry of a two-month-old with very strong opinions about his empty stomach.

Stepan inclines his head toward the nursery.

“I considered allowing you to keep sleeping, but he has admirable persistence. And I’ve done my time when it comes to night feedings,Shef.Sorry.”

Behind me, Emma lets out a sleepy groan.

“Who’s talking?” She squints toward the doorway before bursting into quiet laughter. “Stepan.” She doesn’t ask what my head of operations is doing here, in our house, waking us up for our son’s feeding.

“I’m afraid your son has declared an emergency.”

Emma pulls the blanket over her head. “Oh, no.”

“Unfortunately,” Stepan says with complete seriousness, “your empire’s youngest shareholder cannot be negotiated with. And I need to be in Colorado by ten a.m., so if you’ll excuse me.”

I laugh despite myself, then clap him on the shoulder. “Of course. Thank you. And safe travels—you’ll let me know how things are going there?”

He nods, and it’s then I noticed the packed bag near the staircase. This has been in the works for months. I realized not long into Emma’s second trimester with Roman that it was unrealistic to move us. Kate, and a newborn, all back to Colorado.

And without resenting Andrei, who is now serving six years, a short sentence in my opinion, the drive to return to Denver is also gone.

Emma peeks out from beneath the blanket. “I can’t believe he woke us up,” she murmurs, a sleepy grin on her face.

“You both appeared remarkably committed to remaining unconscious.” Stepan is half-turned away, looking tired but content. His wife and kids are excited about the move, the new house, and the ski lessons. If they weren’t, I never could’ve convinced him to go on my behalf.

Still smiling, Emma climbs out of bed and slips her hand into mine as Stepan disappears into the dark of the first floor.

“Come on.”

We follow the sound of Roman’s increasingly impatient cries into the nursery.

The room glows softly beneath a small lamp beside the rocking chair, moon-and-star decals scattered across the pale blue walls. Emma gathers Roman into her arms before I can reach the crib, and almost instantly his cries soften into tiny hiccupping sounds as she settles into the chair.

“There you are.”

His tiny fist curls around one of her fingers.

She smiles in that exhausted, impossibly beautiful way that has become so familiar these past two months. Motherhood looks like it was always meant for her.

I settle into the chair beside her.

“I can’t believe he didn’t sleep through till five, at least.”

“I can.”