Chapter 168 Chapter 168 Last Names
I’m sitting poolside with Tiana and Stanislav, the sun beating down in that lazy, expensive way that makes everything feel slower than it actually is. Tiana already knows what happened—I texted her the second I could think straight. We had lunch about an hour ago, but I barely remember what I ate. My head has been somewhere else ever since.
I’m not getting in the pool. I’ve got shorts and a tank top on, keeping it casual, keeping it safe. It’s strange having both families here together like this, like some twisted version of normal. My father and Illia Sr. are off to the side, already drinking like they’ve got something to prove. Across the pool, the Pavlov sons are stretched out on loungers looking ridiculously hot as ever.
Illia Jr. is curled up with his wife, the two of them wrapped around each other in a way that looks easy, natural. Jax, on the other hand, keeps looking at me like he’s about to cross lines he drew himself. His longtime girlfriend notices—of course she does—and she looks irritated, like she’s one second away from snapping at him. Their kids are splashing in the pool, completely unaware of the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
Constantine sits beside me in his tiny board shorts, the ones with little chicks printed all over them. He looks ridiculously adorable, legs swinging as he watches the older kids in the water.
“Mamma, can I go swim?” he asks, tugging at my arm.
Tiana and I are mid-conversation about Gemma. She called me earlier, practically buzzing, telling me the penthouse in my building just hit the market—and at a price that almost feels like a mistake. The market has gone to shit, which makes it tempting. More space, more bedrooms… room for more kids.
“Yeah, go,” I tell him, barely missing a beat.
Constantine shoots up like a rocket, running straight for the pool and jumping in without hesitation, mimicking the older kids like he’s one of them.
My father and Illia Sr. immediately lose their minds.
“Relax,” I call out, not even bothering to stand. “Unbunch your panties. Constantine can swim like a little fish.”
Right on cue, he pops up, grinning, then dives back under like he’s proving my point. I taught him to swim as soon as he could walk. We have a lake on the property—it wasn’t optional.
“We have hot springs at the villa,” I add, glancing at them. “He’s been swimming since he could walk.”
They still look uneasy, but they sit back down, pretending they’re not watching him like hawks.
“You’re such a good mom,” Tiana says, smiling at me in that soft way she does. “Are you going to have more? Adopt again?” She hesitates, her expression shifting slightly. “Can you have biological kids?”
Stanislav squeezes her hip, a quiet warning, but I just shrug it off. It’s not a sensitive subject anymore. Not really.
“Actually, I can,” I say. “I had some eggs frozen before the partial hysterectomy. Or whatever the hell it was they took out—since it wasn’t an actual uterus anyway.”
“Then a surrogate and sperm is all you need,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Actually…” I lean in closer, lowering my voice.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father subtly paying more attention. Ivan shifts too, sitting up slightly, like he’s trying not to look interested but failing. I can hear my sister and Gabby gossiping somewhere behind us. Boriana is passed out in the sun, her boyfriend adjusting the umbrella so she doesn’t burn. Prince Oliver glances over at me while holding his sleeping son, and the way he looks at me still makes my skin crawl. It’s probably because I look too much like my sister.
“When Constantine was one,” I say quietly, “Mason and I talked about maybe having kids together.”
Tiana’s face freezes like I just told her I lost my mind.
“Not dating or anything,” I add quickly. “Just… sharing a child.” I take a sip of my smoothie—Jax makes the best ones, annoyingly enough. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s a friend.”
“Whose last name does Constantine have?” Illia Sr. cuts in, his voice slicing through everything.
“Mine,” I answer simply.
“Why? He is a Pavlov.”
I let out a short breath, already feeling where this is going.
“Because his father didn’t want him,” I say, my tone flat. “He wasn’t at the birth to sign the certificate, and he definitely wasn’t there for the adoption. The only name on my son’s birth certificate is mine. He has three different citizenships, though, so he’s covered.”
I brace myself, expecting the next question. It doesn’t come from Illia—it comes from my father.
“So what would someone have to do to add the father to the birth certificate?” he asks.
I glance at him, then back at the pool, watching Constantine resurface.
“We’d have to go to court,” I explain. “There’d be a DNA test. Then I’d have to update everything in the other two countries. It’s a process… a long one.” I pause, then add, “And honestly, I don’t know who his dad really is. The birth mother was not sure about paternity.”
My father laughs immediately—like it’s a joke—but it dies quickly when he realizes I’m serious.
The mood shifts.
Constantine is still playing, diving in and out of the water, so I’ve been careful to keep my voice level, controlled. But that doesn’t stop the ripple effect. Illia Sr. looks like he’s about to shit himself. Ivan sits up fully now, his jaw tight, irritation written all over his face—but there’s something else there too. Something sharper.
My father looks between us, then at Illia, and I can practically see the realization hit him as Illia’s face drains of color.
Damn. Another bomb dropped.
Everyone is on edge now, the air thick and uncomfortable.
“Illia,” my father says slowly, his brows pulling together, “you slept with a girl that young? One your son was sleeping with?”
Ivan stands abruptly.
“He’s mine,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Everything goes quiet.
Sal, who had been half-lounging this whole time, suddenly sits up, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“We can find out in a few hours,” he says, glancing between us. “If anyone really wants to know. I have a friend—we can have results within twenty-four hours.” His eyes land on me. “If you want, Elle. You’re his mother.”
The weight of that settles on me instantly.
Because at the end of the day, no matter what they say, no matter what they want—
This decision is mine.
How would Ivan feel is Constantine is his father’s, would he still want to be with me like he says or will he finally let me go.