Page 94 of Baby for the Bratva

Stella seems to think her mother will love me, but I’ve never had anyone past the age of fifty look at me with anything but contempt. They’re probably the only people with any common sense, honestly. If I wasn’t part of the Bratva, I’d stay far away from any man that looked like me.

But I’m glad Stella didn’t. She is the sunshine I never knew I could have in my life, and I’m infinitely grateful that I get to experience life with her, even if it means meeting her mother.

“She really loves roses. You made the right choice with those,” Stella says as we pull down the street to her house.

I glance at her and let out a nervous laugh. “You’re the one who picked those, darling.”

“Ah, but you’re the one who bought them,” she replies, holding up a finger. “But the flowers don’t really matter. She’s going to love you, regardless.”

I roll my eyes before muttering a quick reply. “Sure.”

The road down to Stella’s mom’s house is bumpy, like it hasn’t been repaved since the seventies. I can feel every loose pit of asphalt that we roll over, and the acorns on the road pop as we move along.

It feels like the neighborhood of a very modest and sweet individual, which puts me at ease a little. Hopefully, she’s blind too, so she doesn’t realize how frightening I look.

Oh, but that’s a terrible thing to think. I guess I’m just a terrible person.

I glance over at Stella, who’s holding a dozen roses on her lap. She looks just about as content as can be, coming home to a place she knows and loves. I’m on the total opposite end of the spectrum, all strung up with nerves.

I clear my throat for what feels like the thousandth time since we started the drive. I’ve stopped smoking, but it hasn’t helped one bit. I think the pollen in the States is going to kill me before anything else can.

As we get closer, I feel Stella’s delicate hand on my thigh. She’s looking at the houses, and I immediately know which one belongs to her mother. She’s already out in the driveway, squinting through the sun with her hand cupped over her eyes.

She’s short and blonde like Stella. They actually look quite similar from a distance, though I’d never dare say that to Stella.

My heart rate climbs as I pull into the driveway, but Stella’s smile calms me back down. She’s so happy to be back home after our little adventure together, and it’s contagious. I feel a glow inside of me as I park the car and unlatch my seatbelt.

Stella throws the roses onto my lap and jumps out to hug her mom, giving me enough time to straighten my tie and check myself in the mirror one last time. I want to look my best today, but our visit was on such short notice. I barely had time to find a suit.

Stella, of course, doesn’t mind. To her, this is like any other visit to the house she grew up in, and so she’s comfortable wearing a blue sundress and sandals.

Everything seems normal until I climb out of the car, and Stella’s mom gasps when she sees me.

There it is. I knew this was coming.

I comb my hair back with my fingers, trying to put on a friendly smile. All my life, I’ve had to seem tough and dangerous, so trying to be the opposite is a struggle.

“Mom, this is Yuri, my fiancé,” Stella says, unable to hide the laughter in her voice at her mother’s reaction to me.

I lean forward, trying to make myself look smaller as I hold the flowers out to her. “These are for you.”

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaims, taking the roses and holding them to her chest. “So sweet of you.”

I glance at Stella, who’s smiling like crazy. Clearly, I’m doing something right.

I hold out my hand, as is customary for me when I meet new people. I don’t know if Americans shake hands as much as we do in Russia, but I figure it can’t hurt.

Cautiously, Stella’s mom takes my hand. Hers is warm, soft, and a lot smaller than the ones I’m used to shaking. I’m as gentle as I can be without going completely limp, but I still fear I’ve overdone it once I let go.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, smiling like I’m trying not to frighten a small child.

She cocks her head to the side, frowning a bit as she looks me over. The silence is unbearable, but it doesn’t last for long before she speaks. “You are a very interesting young man.”

Young? I haven’t been young in decades, but if she views me that way, it probably helps my case. I was a bit worried that the age gap between Stella and me would throw her off.

“Are your parents from Russia?” she asks, her eyes wandering over me.

I nod. “They are, and so am I.”

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