Page 59 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

I can’t lead this double life anymore. I can’t accept kisses and touches of affection while wearing the hidden hat of a traitor for my mother. I can’t haunt their steps, looking for information or hoping they will slip so that I can bring them to their knees.

I don’t want that.

Telling my mother, however, is scarier than facing Vladimir, and it lingers like a shadow in my mind as I say goodbye to Zasha and get Daniil to bring me to the city.

I send a quick text to my mother and we schedule lunch. I don’t tell her my intentions; that’s much better face-to-face.

As we wander the city, popping in and out of shops to make orders for the mansion, there’s a lightness in my step. The weight of my mother’s expectations on my shoulders is too much to bear, and if Fyodor can cast his off, then so can I.

The decision is enlightening.

Daniil keeps close as we wander, barely giving me an inch to breathe, but I like it. Too much has happened, and with the uncertainty of my mother’s reaction, I’m going to enjoy every second of his closeness until things change.

I order clothes, food to fill the pantry, a few treats for the house, and toys for Dariya. The looks clerks give me when I state what name to put down on the bill is one of disbelief. One woman even has the audacity to ask me how on earth I have the Dunayevsky information, until Daniil steps up and silences her with a look.

Do I really look that out of place when people consider Fyodor and his family?

Maybe.

My concerns about it don’t last, though, and the uncomfortable situation is forgotten the moment we step back out into the sunlight and lunchtime rolls around.

Showtime.

The restaurant my mother picked is different from our usual cafe, but I don’t question it. My mind is too focused on rehearsing what I’m going to say to her. Daniil remains by my side as we enter and I’m hit with the spicy, floral scents of curry, noodles, and more. I would have been starving if my stomach wasn’t tying itself in knots from nerves.

Wooden tables dot around the room with only a few customers this early. It looks like we’re ahead of the lunchtime rush. Daniil brushes his hand over my lower back, then takes the table by the door like he did the last time. I flash him a warm smile and weave deeper inside.

Scanning the restaurant, the chefs can be seen through the windows at the far end as they dart about preparing all sorts of meals. A couple of waiters dressed in blue dart around, and it takes me a few long minutes to spot my mother all the way at the back near the bathrooms. Her face is like thunder and as I walk closer, I notice she’s staring past me to Daniil.

Clearly, my explanation of his presence last time wasn’t enough to satisfy her.

“Mother.” I force a polite smile. Still she stares past me.

“What is he doing here?”

Glancing over my shoulder, Daniil is deep in conversation with a waiter while pointing at the menu.

“I told you,” I say, sliding into the chair opposite her. “If I leave the estate, they make someone go with me. It’s not personal.”

My mother scoffs and snaps her fingers, catching the attention of a passing waiter.

“Tea please, in a pot.”

The waiter glances at me and then presses his hands together. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t serve tea.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“If you take a look at the menu, we serve a variety of flavored water and soft drinks but not tea.”

My mother’s face twists as if she’s been slapped as she snatches up a menu to check if he is telling the truth. Indeed he is, and she sends him a bitter glance.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps just a cup of hot water?” I ask softly, jumping in before this becomes an argument.

“That I can do,” he smiles at me. “And for you?”

“A Coke.”

---