Page 152 of Sinful Blaze

Instead, I am lovingly ordered to stay off my feet, then smothered in equally loving hugs and kisses to my face.

“I like you already,” remarks a man with a thick handlebar mustache whom Asya introduces as her cousin. To Asya, he says, “Clearly, she is a clever woman! Smart and witty! Who else could get that son of yours to settle down?”

“It’s true,” chimes in another cousin, an older woman busy untying her silk scarf from around her head. “We were all convinced our Pasha would never meet someone who could handle his, how you say…”

“Stubborn ass?” Sofi offers.

The family descends into a cacophony of conversation as they settle into their seats, handing Asya beautifully wrapped gifts and thick cards. I feel somewhat embarrassed at how small mine is compared to everyone else’s. Maybe no one will notice.

After a few more minutes of listening to the family shift between English and Russian with ease, I feel a familiar presence slip in behind me and take the adjacent seat.

“You look beautiful,” Pasha murmurs as he kisses my cheek.

“You’re looking handsome yourself.” I feel my smile broaden and the fluttering in my chest picks up.

“Why did you change your number?”

I glance around—no one is paying attention to us, so I lean into Pasha to whisper back, “Conrad and Brittany got my old one.”

Pasha’s jaw tightens with unspent violence. But then he glances over at his mother and thinks better of it. “Did you save screenshots?”

I nod. “Every last call log and text message.”

“Good girl.” He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my brow. “Tell me the second either of them gets a hold of your new number, okay?”

“I will. Promise.”

The table erupts into greetings for Pasha, who bows appreciatively and does his best to redirect the attention to his mother. It’s sweet, endearing even, to see him momentarily stop being Bratva Boss and become Tetushka Mila’s “sweet nephew.”

It’s even more fun to hear their endless comments about how he better treat me like a queen if he doesn’t want his ears boxed in by his uncles and cousins.

He seems so at ease here. I like watching him like this. Calm, confident, poised, but not working the way he seems to be sometimes. He rests his arm on the back of my chair and happily answers questions about our daughter’s health, growth, trimester stage, all of it. I almost catch him smiling once or twice.

I turn to Asya to ask her a question about plans for next week… when I see the look on her face.

She’s pale.

Wide-eyed.

Frozen.

Pasha notices, too, and soon the whole table follows her shocked stare to see what—or who—has her so spooked.

The man casually approaching us with a devastatingly handsome smile on his face is the literal definition of “silver fox.” Tall, well-built for his age, with streaks of dark hair ribboning through the elegant silver. It matches the flawless beard and practically-glowing gray eyes.

And he’s staring at Asya like she hung the moon and stars.

“Arlo…” she breathes, rising—more like stumbling—to her feet.

Sofi and I exchange a look across the table. We don’t need a translator for that tone.

The man scans the table until he finds Pasha. “Good to see you again, Pasha. Makari, Sofiya.” He doesn’t wait for their response before turning back to their mother. “Asya, you look…”

I’m holding my breath while he sighs out his.

“Incredible. Beautiful as ever, dorogoya.” He flourishes a breathtaking bouquet of champagne roses tipped with pearls and sets it on the table. When he takes her hands in his, I swear the woman is going to melt.

“Um… what did he just say?” I whisper to Pasha, who is openly glaring at the man.

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