Page 50 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

As we start to descend, my stomach lurches with that familiar, uncomfortable feeling of nausea. Oh no, not now.

“This would be the worst time to throw up, holy hell,” I mutter under my breath, willing myself to keep it together. The thought alone is enough to make me feel evenqueasier.

Fuck. I hate this feeling.

But, thankfully, as we land and the helicopter comes to a gentle stop, I take a deep, steadying breath and the nauseous feeling subsides. No throwing up. Thank God.

“You alright?” Ivan asks, concern evident in his voice.

I nod, managing a smile. “Yes, more than alright.”

“Then I assume you must be hungry,” he says, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yes! I am starving.” The excitement and adrenaline from the flight have left me with a surprisingly strong appetite.

“What do you want to eat?” Ivan asks as we step out of the helicopter.

I think for a moment, my mind racing through a whirlwind of cravings. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I’m craving pickles dipped in chocolate sauce, and maybe a strawberry milkshake to wash it all down?” I say, half-expecting him to laugh.

But to my surprise, Ivan just chuckles and says, “You’re impossible.” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he leads me towards a sleek, black Mercedes waiting for us.

“I warned you about my cravings,” I say with a giggle.

Ivan grins and opens the door for me, his hand warm on my back as I step into the luxurious interior. I settle into one of the plush seats, and he swings around the front takes his place next to me, closing the door with a soft click.

“Anything else you want?” he asks, his voice low and seductive.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh of contentment. “Just you.”

His eyes meet mine, filled with warmth and desire. “You’ve got me.”

As the vehicle pulls away from the helipad, I look out the window at the glittering lights of the city.

Ivan asks, “So, is this going better than Maxym’s date so far?”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Maybe, if the food is good enough.” I tease.

His response is immediate, a confident smirk playing on his lips. “We’ll be having personal chefs ready to cook whatever we want, right in front of us.”

I stare at him, my mouth agape. “No way. Absolutely no way.” I can feel the excitement bubbling inside me, a mixture of disbelief and pure joy. It’s like every childhood dream I’ve ever had is coming to life. “Am I dreaming?” I whisper, half to myself.

Ivan chuckles, his hand squeezing mine reassuringly. “Not a dream, I promise. But if it were, I’d make sure you never woke up.”

The scene which greets us is nothing short of a culinary dream. Chefs line up, each at their station, ready to cater to our every whim. It’s like walking into a gourmet wonderland, and my cravings are about to be satisfied in the most extravagant way.

As I tell the chefs about my unusual tastes, they don’t bat an eye. Pickles and chocolate sauce, spicy nachos, and a strawberry milkshake. It all starts coming together, each dish prepared with expert care. I dive in, the flavors exploding in my mouth, each bite better than the last.

I’m so caught up in the deliciousness of it all that I hardly notice how fast I’m eating. Ivan’s laughter breaks through my food-induced trance. “Slow down, it’s all yours.”

“That’s why I can’t slow down,” I laugh in response, my spirits high.

Ivan watches me with an affectionate smile, clearly enjoying my enthusiasm. He leans back, his eyes fixed on me with genuine interest. “So, tell me more, now,” he prompts.

I pause, fork mid-air. “Tell you what?”

“About your grandmother who gave you the pearls.”

“My grandmother?” I set my fork down, the memories of her flooding in. She was my lifeline, the one constant in a life that often felt too chaotic, too uncertain. “She was everything tome. She helped me through the toughest times. When things got rough at home, she was my refuge, my safe haven.”

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