Chapter 49
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Thank you, dork, but i have my own plane. She walks over to the end kisses my cheek. “Beodes, you’ll ward your alone time”
me or
fia the first time www I’ve met him, Pedia baka mpletely bewildered
good, and Shaps her son’s party be good to her the’s done a marvelous job cooking you a warm meal. The least you can do is be far ***** ****** when you fire about her new
“Enjoy, man deti! Call me if you need anything, yes?”
And just like that, Asys Chekhov whirls out of the penthouse and leaves us to each other.
Pasha watches the door closed for a while, breathing softly, before his gaze swings to me. He says nothing, just looming and looking and smelling way more intoxicating than is fair, in my opinion.
He glances into the pan. “Is that?”
“Pierogies. There’s a side salad ready on the table; I just need to grab the dressing from the fridge.”
He nods and turns to go get it, then changes his mind. “How exactly did you get a hold of my mother?”
“I didn’t, I came home with Viktor and she was just here. Made me tea and fed me cake. Said she wanted to get to know me better sooner rather than later.” I flip another pierogi onto the platter so I won’t have to look at him, though I can still feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. “She also said she has her own key, for emergencies.”
Pasha just stands there for a tense, silent moment. Then, to my surprise, he bursts into laughter. “I should have known better.”
“Did you give her a key?”
“Hell no. She must have slipped a copy from me during my last visit to her place.”
“That sounds…” How do I say it?
Pasha answers for me. “Like the wife of a Bratva pakhan. The widow of one, anyway. If you think I’m tricky, just remember: I learned it from somewhere.” He plucks a dumpling from the platter and takes a bite.
I suck in a breath. Moment of truth.
Pasha’s jaw drops. “Fuck. This is amazing.” He looks at me, and I swear I haven’t seen that gleam in his eyes since the auction. “You made this?”
“I had help. Lots of it.” I blush and my eyes fall to the floor. “But yeah, I made that one. The fancy–looking one is your mom’s.”
He stands there and watches me fry up the last of the dumplings in the butter, holding the platter for me as I set them in. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t know if that is a good thing or if I should be worried.
When the last dumpling is fried up and ready, Pasha takes the platter into the dining room while I untie my apron and wash my hands. I don’t know
why, but I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach that isn’t our daughter tap–dancing in my uterus.
The flutter grows stronger when I join him in the dining room. Not only did Asya set the table with the nicest set of plates and silverware, she lit a few candles and turned on some classical music at low volume for ambience.
Someone–not me, but someone, a total third–party stranger who doesn’t know any better–could easily mistake this to be a romantic 1.
My place setting is next to Pasha’s, not on the other end of the table like usual. Should I move? Is this weird for him? For us?
Doufriond Lot His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets
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Chapter 49
Pasha pulls the chair out for me. Ite’s composed, elegant, so I guess this fort as weird for him as I thought. I sit down, he pushes me in, then goes back to his own seat and sinks into it slowly.
I wait nervously for him to make the first move. I expect him to zero in on his mother’s perfect pierogies, but he completely ignores them and piles up my humpy ones instead. “She used to make this for me whenever I had a bad day”
“Did you? Have a bad day. I mean?”
He pauses, thinks about it, then shrugs. “Things didn’t go like I planned. I guess you could call it a bad day, but…” He raises his eyes to meet mins. “It doesn’t feel like one anymore.”
“Oh?” I take the platter when he hands it to me and pluck the two his mother made for myself. “What made it better?”
“I came home.”
Our eyes lock. He’s smiling–genuinely smiling, which, wheeew, buddy, that is a deadly weapon–and it’s infectious. Beyond infectious.
I can’t help but smile, too.
