The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

      On the officiate, she’d agreed to have Demyan’s family Orthodox priest perform the service so long as the pastor from the church she’d attended since childhood, a man who had known and respected both her father and grandfather, led them in their personally written vows and spoke the final prayer.

      Her dress she wasn’t compromising on at all. Chanel and Laura had spent three weeks haunting eBay, vintage and resale shops, but they’d finally found the perfect one.

      An original Chanel gown designed by Coco herself.

      Because while her mother had named Chanel after her favorite designer, she’d also named her after the designer she’d been wearing when Chanel’s dad proposed. Chanel had wanted a link to her dad on her wedding day and wearing the vintage dress was it.

      The rayon lace overlay of magnolia blossoms draped to a demure fichu collar. However, the signature Coco Chanel angel sleeves with daring cutouts gave the dress an understated air of sexiness she liked.

      The dress was designed to enhance a figure like Chanel’s. Clinging to her breasts, waist and hips only to flare slightly from below the knee, the gown made her look and feel feminine without being flouncy and constrictively uncomfortable.

      Buying it had nearly drained Chanel’s savings account and she really didn’t care. Her job paid well and Demyan wasn’t exactly hurting for cash.

      Demyan’s mouth covered Chanel’s and she was kissing him before she was even conscious he’d played his usual get-Chanel’s-attention-when-her-mind-is-wandering card. She had to admit she liked it a lot more than the sharp rebukes she got from others because of her habit of getting lost in thought.

      After several pleasurable seconds, he lifted his head.

      Dazed, she smiled up at him even as she was aware of her brother making fake gagging gestures in his seat across the aisle.

      Perry shushed him, but Chanel paid neither male any heed.

      She was too focused on the look in Demyan’s eyes. It was so warm.

      “That’s better,” he said.

      “Than?”

      “You thinking about something else. You’re only thinking about me, now.”

      She laughed softly. “Yes, I am.”

       CHAPTER NINE

      “WHAT PUT THAT stubborn look on your face before?”

      She had to think and then she remembered. “You said you worked twelve-hour days, usually.”

      “I did and you said that was okay.”

      “No, I said okay in acknowledgment.”

      “You do not approve of twelve-hour days.”

      She shrugged. “That’s not really the issue.”

      “It’s not?”

      “No.”

      “What is the issue?”

      “Children.”

      His brows drew together like he was confused about something. “We agreed we wanted at least two.”

      He’d figure it out. He was a smart man.

      “We also agreed that because of health considerations and family history, I wouldn’t get pregnant after thirty-five.”

      “So?”

      “So, we may have to adjust for an only child, or no children at all.”

      “Why?” he asked, sounding dangerous, the expression on his gorgeous face equally forbidding.

      “Children need both parents’ attention.”

      “Not all children have two parents.”

      “But if they do, they deserve both of those parents to make them a priority.”

      “I will not shirk my responsibility to my children.”

      “A dad does more than live up to responsibilities. He takes his kids to the beach in sunny weather and attends their soccer games. You can’t do that if you’re working twelve-hour days five days a week.”

      Something ticked in his expression.

      Her heart sank. “You work weekends.”

      “Thus far, yes.”

      Was this a deal breaker? No.

      But she didn’t like figuring it out now, either. “I’ll volunteer with after-school programs,” she decided. “I don’t have to have children to have a complete life.”

      “You are threatening not to have children if I do not cut my hours?”

      “I’m not threatening. I’m telling you I’m not bringing any children into this world who are going to spend their childhoods wondering how important they are to their dad, if at all.”

      “And you accuse me of seeing the world in only two colors.”

      “I see lots of shades and shadows. That doesn’t mean my children are going to live under one or more of them.”

      “Have you never considered the art of compromise?”

      “I suck at it.” Hadn’t he realized that already?

      She gave in on what didn’t matter, and on what did? Well, she could be a bit intransigent.

      “This may be a problem. I am not known for giving in on what matters to me.” He said it like she might not know.

      “It’s a good thing we agree on this issue, then.”

      Demyan didn’t look comforted. “How is that?”

      “You said you wanted to be the best father possible, that you never wanted your children to doubt their place in your life.”

      “Yes.”

      “Then you agree it is better not to have them if your work schedule isn’t going to change.”

      He looked tired suddenly, and frustrated. “It is not that simple.”

      “It can be.”

      “What do you suggest? That I let Yurkovich Tanner run into the ground?”

      “I suggest you hire three assistants, one for each major market, men and women who know the company, who care about it and that you trust to make minor decisions. They’re the first line for policy and decision making, leaving you open to spend your time on only the most high-level stuff.”

      “And if that’s all I work on already?”

      “It’s not.”

      “You told me you tuned out my calls.”

      “That doesn’t mean I can’t access the memories.”

      “You’re scary smart, aren’t you?”

      She shrugged, but they hadn’t even bothered finishing her IQ test in high school after she completed the first three exercises before the tester even got the timer going. The teacher hadn’t wanted her to feel like a freak.

      If only he’d been able to coach her parents.

      “You just found out what my job is and you’re already giving advice on it.” Far from annoyed, Demyan sounded admiring.

      “I’m a quick thinker.”

      “You’d be brilliant in business.”

      “No interest.” Much to both her mother’s and Perry’s distress.

      “I’ll talk it over with my uncle.”

      “Is