Page 26 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
“Did you miss me?”
They both nod enthusiastically, and the latter wastes no time nattering on about the decorations and something Dima did earlier.
Then, once they’ve had enough of me, they hurry back to the others, with Dima asking to hold his sister, and Anya pestering her Uncle Wyatt.
Everyone’s here—even Artem, who flew in just a day ago for the occasion.
And of course, as the dust of the initial greeting starts to settle and the focus returns to us, I can hear what they’re all thinking loud and clear.
Ivan doesn’t bring guests. He doesn’t bring women to family things.
It’s true. I don’t.
I don’t have the best track record when it comes to investing my time and energy into relationships, and even if I’m entertaining someone in particular, I sure as hell don’t mix them in with my family. I don’t like complicating things, especially when it comes to things I don’t see lasting.
As if sensing the tension, Elena stands with Wyatt’s assistance, and she approaches wearing a long, flowing dress to match the decorations. She smiles and leans in for a hug.
“You came.”
“I said I would,” I murmur, returning the gesture. “Besides…I wasn’t dealing with your wrath for missing it.”
Her expression turns a bit devious at that when she pulls back. “Good choice.”
When her gaze slides to Mila, she looks vaguely curious, but not unkind. Of course, she’s been caught up to speed, too, given how the recognition settles in her features.
“You must be Mila,” she says, as warm as ever, regardless of the politics surrounding everything. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Mila blinks, clearly caught off guard by her outward acceptance, but she nods. “Thank you…and congrats.”
Elena’s smile stretches, still just as genuine, and she wastes no time reaching for her hand gently. In her social-butterfly way, she has always been disarming, and this is no different. “Come meet the others. I’ll get you a drink.”
Despite the slight startle, Mila nods, coming to terms with her fate surprisingly easily. Little does she know, my sister’s about to learn every single thing about her, and not give her up until she has been thoroughly chatted with.
The girls swarm her in their warm way, showing their polite interest and questions while passing a glass to her without hesitation. They’ll want to know what kind of woman I’ve brought into the fold, and even if it’s a bit grating, it’s also a good thing.
I’d rather they make her feel comfortable than not.
Though my brothers aren’t as enthusiastic, and while they’re introduced, I can feel their hesitation, given her name.
And just when I think I’m in the clear, my greeting isn’t quite as bubbly.
The second Roman’s hand lands on my shoulder, my stomach drops, and I brace myself.
“We need to talk,” he says quietly, but the firm way he stares at me makes one thing abundantly clear: he hasn’t forgotten.
The others join us, leaving the girls to talk with Mila, and soon enough, I’m ushered into Roman’s office, face to face withmy unimpressed brother while Artem flanks him, just as big and menacing as always. Wyatt lingers back with Nikolai and Sergey, while Mikhail rocks Kira off to the side, not concerned about her hearing, given how young she is.
The sounds of the party dim, now drowned out by the heavy silence of family business, and Roman turns on me first.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Attending a baby shower,” I say plainly, masking my irritation and sheepishness by leaning back against the desk. “As demanded.”
“And you thought it was smart to bring a Grimaldi into my house.”
I hum. “Yes.”
“I wasn’t asking for confirmation,” Roman utters, all softness from before gone.
