The world was warm and soft, like the gentle hands that cradled me. I squinted my eyes open, catching my first glimpse of the glowing room. Everything was fuzzy, but the familiar voice I’d been hearing for months soothed me. “There’s my beautiful girl,” it said, low and deep like a lullaby. That voice belonged to my papa, Zhenya.

I felt his arms wrap around me, lifting me gently from mama’s chest. His touch was big and strong, yet I was safe. “Look at you, darling,” he whispered, brushing a finger against my cheek. His eyes, filled with love and a glint of pride, were the first thing I saw clearly. “The sweetest little angel I’ve ever seen.”

Mama’s voice, soft and tired, reached my ears. “Isn’t she perfect, Zhenya?”

I felt myself being drawn close again, tucked under papa’s chin as he rocked me back and forth. “You are perfect, my pretty girl,” he murmured to me. “Papa’s little nymph.”

Even though I was so tiny, I felt something special in papa’s arms—like I belonged there, and I knew right away that I’d always be his little princess.

“Arabella” He whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like a sacred promise. “Arabella Evgeniia Viviekya Romanova."