Page 62 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

If I squint, we’re almost like a real family.

“Naomi.” Zasha’s arm slips around my waist and pulls me close. The setting sun casts a red glow over his white-blond hair and his smile stretches from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday,” I smile up at him, licking the last of the icing off my fingers from the very delicious cake Dariya and I baked together.

“No one has ever thrown me a part before,” Zasha chuckles, swaying gently to the music. “So this is, without a doubt, the very best birthday I have ever had.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes as warmth spreads across my cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

“Please do not discredit yourself. There is something so charming about this and I will cherish this for as long as I live.”

“You’re drunk.”

His eyes are rosy and his smile is lazy. Gone are the weights dragging him down into his painful past. Zasha is open and happy in these moments, and watching him laugh brings such warmth to my own heart.

“Perhaps,” he teases, leaning in close. “But that is part of the fun, yes?” Lifting his encased arm, his fingertips trail lightly over my warm cheeks and then down to my neck. Then he leans in and kisses me deeply.

It’s slow and sensual. Our lips dance lazily together, matching pace with ease when our heads tilt in opposite directions—then I freeze and dart backward much to Zasha’s amusement.

I’m kissing Zasha in front of Fyodor!

Does he even know that Zasha and I have been messing around?

I spin in Zasha’s hold to see Fyodor reclining back on one of the pool loungers, watching me with dark eyes. There’s no jealousy or anger on his face that I can tell, but there’s still a knot of guilt in my gut resting just beneath Zasha’s hand.

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Fyodor takes a slow swig of his beer. “I’m not complaining.”

“You knew?” I eye him quizzically.

“The walls have eyes, my dear.”

My heart stops, and then it clicks. “Have you been watching me on the cameras?!” Is that how Daniil knew I was in the bar that night?

“Pick whichever answer you prefer,” Fyodor smirks, and Daniil, standing near the buffet table with his floral shirt hanging open, snorts in amusement. The edges flap loosely in the soft evening breeze, and Zasha’s arm around my waist tightens.

“See?” he murmurs low in my ear. “Things are good.”

“I’m insulted,” I gasp, slipping from Zasha’s grasp. “I can’t believe you’d spy on me!”

“I never said that,” Fyodor smirks. “But it sounds like you’d like it if I did.”

The truth remains a mystery but surprisingly the idea doesn’t shock me that much. If anything, it makes me feel more protected than before. I can’t keep the smile from my face even as I scoop up a tired Dariya from where she’s half asleep in her chair.

“I’m taking Dariya to bed,” I say, still feigning insult. Three pairs of eyes watch me walk back into the house, and my heart skips an excited beat.

Are things finally starting to work out?

I’d never attached myself to any of them, maintaining my enjoyment of all of them, but it’s nice to know there’s no jealousy. Such an emotion destroys a normal family and I don’t need to know how bloodthirsty things would get in the Bratva.

“I’m not tired,” Dariya yawns as I wrestle her out of her swimsuit and into her pajamas.

“Of course not.” I nod seriously. “I can tell you’re wide awake.”

Rubbing her eyes, she starts to insist but as soon as I tuck her up into bed, she falls asleep mid-sentence and her excuse is lost to me.

“Sleep well, darling,” I murmur, kissing her temple.

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