Page 81 of Only for Tonight

“Learned from the best.”

I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist, laughing, and I carry her down the hall to our room—the way I did the first time, the way I plan to do for the rest of my life—and the apartment is quiet and the city glows and somewhere across town our daughter is sleeping at her grandmother’s house.

Our daughter. Our home. Our life.

Not bad for a guy who was supposed to keep walking.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Alexei

A week after the proposal, my mother invites us for dinner. And by invites, I mean she calls three times in one day, texts Ryleigh directly—they have their own text thread now, which should terrify me—and then has Valerie guilt-trip me when I suggest maybe next weekend instead.

“She’s been cooking since yesterday,” Valerie says on the phone, her voice flat. “She bought a tablecloth. She never buys tablecloths. Just come.”

So we come.

Tracey and Jase are already there when we arrive, their kids tearing through the living room like tiny guided missiles. Ana drove in from the suburbs, which means this is a full-family production. Nobody told me it was going to be a full-family production.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I murmur to Ryleigh as we stand on the porch.

She shifts Ella to her other hip. “Your mom may have mentioned it.”

“And you didn’t warn me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The door swings open before I can knock. My mother, dressed in actual nice clothes instead of her usual leisurewear—a clear sign this has been planned with military precision—takes one look at us and reaches for Ella.

“Give me the baby,” she says, bypassing me entirely.

“Hello to you too, Ma.”

She’s already got Ella on her hip, heading for the kitchen, murmuring in Russian. Ella grabs a fistful of her necklace and hangs on.

Inside, the house smells incredible—garlic, roasting meat, something with dill. My mother cooks when she’s emotional, but she cooks like this when she’s celebrating. There are serving dishes I haven’t seen since Easter, and the dining table has been extended with the extra leaf that usually lives in the hall closet.

A tablecloth. Valerie wasn’t kidding.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Tracey calls from the kitchen. She’s got a wine glass in one hand and is supervising Jase, who’s trying to keep their three-year-old from climbing the pantry shelves. “Congratulations again. We’re so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, Trace.”

“Also, Mom started a wedding Pinterest board. Just so you know.”

“She doesn’t know how to use Pinterest.”

“Ana taught her. It has sixty-two pins already.”

I look at Ana, who’s setting the table and doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s fifty-eight,” she says to the silverware.

Ryleigh squeezes my arm and heads for the kitchen, where my mother is showing Ella the contents of the spice cabinet like it’s a museum tour. Within thirty seconds, Ryleigh and my sisters have formed their usual cluster—Tracey pouring her wine, Valerie handing her a cracker with cheese, Ana pulling out her phone to show her something—and I’m standing in the living room doorway, watching.

She fits. That’s the thing I keep coming back to. She walks into my mother’s house and she just fits, like a piece that was always supposed to be here but showed up late.

Jase appears beside me, beer in hand, looking mildly traumatized. He extends a second beer.

“Thanks.” I take it.