Page 25 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
The urge to snap at him again rises to the surface, but before I can, he turns away, leaving the kitchen behind.
“You should eat something,” he calls back to me as he strides away like this is a normal thing in completely average circumstances.
Left alone in the kitchen, I stand there for a long, stupid moment, feeling as if everything twists into a knot inside me.
A baby shower. He expects me to go to a baby shower and to blend in with his family, like it doesn’t scare the absolute shit out of me.
He’s delusional, yet I already know there’s no changing his mind.
Chapter 9 - Ivan
By the time the baby shower arrives, there’s no use pretending any of this is a secret. News travels fast in my family, especially when it involves one of us doing something questionable. Something Roman would wring our necks over.
He hasn’t called me yet, and I haven’t either. Though even if he hasn’t confronted me outright, that silence is deliberate. He’s choosing to wait and letting me stew in it before walking into a room full of witnesses, before he tears me a new one.
And what better place to do that than at a nonnegotiable family get-together?
Roman made it clear that attendance is mandatory, especially since it’s for Elena, and if you don’t show up, you'd better be dead or dying.
For a moment, I consider leaving Mila behind. It would make things a little less awkward for both of us, and it would spare me being ripped to shreds in front of her, but the thought doesn’t last long enough to take root.
At the present time, I don’t love the idea of leaving her alone in the apartment. Eventually, I won’t be able to help that, but for now, I’m not leaving her the chance to break everything I own out of spite.
This way, I know where she is, and I don’t need to spend the whole afternoon questioning what she’s doing or checking the cameras like a desperate idiot.
Mila doesn’t look happy in the passenger seat, wearing something from the clothes I had delivered. The sweater is simple and understated, yet expensive without screaming it. Shestill hasn’t said thank you for everything I got her, and I don’t really expect her to.
Really, she hasn’t said much of anything and has mostly been biding her time while we’ve been lying low.
If I’m being honest, anger suits her better than fear anyway.
When I pull up to Roman’s place, joining the other vehicles parked in the driveway, we get out. I expect Mila to fight me the whole way, but instead, she gets out with tense shoulders, taking a few deep breaths, and bracing herself like she’s walking into a cage fight rather than a party celebrating the addition of another niece.
The house is already full of siblings, significant others, and little ones running around when we step inside. Immediately, we’re greeted by the kind of softness that always accompanies these things, which doesn’t usually exist.
What used to be Roman’s cold yet vintage house is now full of pink ribbons and balloons. Though, to Victoria’s credit, the place hasn’t been the same ever since they brought their two rugrats into the world.
Of course, there had to be an entire gender reveal before this, and knowing Elena, she wasn’t willing to wait to find out what her baby was supposed to be. Ergo, everything will be soft colors in their life for the next little while.
The sound of little voices carries through the house, growing louder as Dima, Roman, and Victoria’s oldest, runs down the hall while he giggles breathlessly, and a moment later, Anya barrels after him, giving a war cry in pursuit while a helium balloon follows her.
The others chuckle as they run to the living room, and before they can get far, Mikhail snatches them both up, one in each arm, eliciting louder squeals from their mouths.
“What did we tell you about running?” He asks them, grinning ear to ear as he terrorizes the kids, earning a chorus of exaggerated resistance from both of them.
“Don’t be like them, I beg you,” Roman murmurs to his youngest, Kira, while he holds her against his chest, where she drools on his shirt, but he focuses on smoothing back her dark hair instead. “My quiet, little angel.”
A doubtful snort comes from Victoria from the couch, where she sits comfortably with a glass of wine in her hands. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Mila’s stiff next to me as we draw closer, and the moment the young ones see us, they light up, wriggling out of Mikhail’s grasp. Dima runs over first, but Anya isn’t far behind.
“Uncle Ivan!”
The others look to us next, and they still the moment their gazes flick over to Mila.
It isn’t dramatic, but it’s enough for me to notice.
Trying to focus on anything but the slight discomfort in the room, both from my plus one and my siblings, I ruffle Dima’s hair as he presses up against me, and I scoop Anya up to catch her grinning at me.
