Page 7 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room.” Sasha sprang to her feet and grabbed my hand. “Trust me, you’ll love it. I cleaned it up myself.” She dragged me up the stairs.

“Careful, I don’t want her hurting herself,” Babushka said to Sasha.

“Mama, she’s not a child, you know,” Dad said, his tone low and soft.

“She is to me. You all are,” she replied.

“Oh, here we go again!” Uncle Ivan grumbled aloud.

Babushka switched to Russian, her voice rising and falling as she spoke quickly, demonstrating with her hands. I couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, but she sure seemed determined to make her point, and it was really funny.

The belly laughs of the entire family bonding in the living room prompted a smile on my lips as I went up the stairs with my cousin. I was wrong to think this would be the most boring winter break ever. It wasn't. In fact, I knew that instant that my stay would be fun and blissful.

“So, what do you think?” Sasha asked as we stepped into the neatly arranged room, which had a banner hanging over the bed posts.

Welcome, Sienna was the content written boldly on the banner. It was cute but weird.

“Too much right?” She followed my gaze to the banner. “I knew it.” She rushed over and yanked it down. “Sorry, it looked cool when I was hanging it, I promise.”

I laughed. “It’s okay, Sasha.”

The interior decor was elegant and cozy, and the room itself seemed very comfortable—especially the neatly made bed.

“This is amazing, Sasha.” I admired the space. “It feels like home.”

“That was the point.” She smiled. “And I'm glad you feel that way.” She paused and continued, “Alright, uh…shower’s that way—and don’t worry, the heater’s working.” Sasha pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “There are some dry-cleaned clothes in the closet. I hope they’re your size.”

Did she think I wouldn’t come around with my own clothes? Anyway, that was quite thoughtful of her.

“Every other thing you need is in the appropriate place. All you have to do is check,” she said.

“Thank you, Sasha.”

She flashed a wide grin. “You’re welcome. I’ll leave you to yourself now. We’ll all be downstairs.”

With that, she left the room and shut the door behind her.

I sat on the comfy mattress and exhaled sharply, unable to hide my grin. It was official; my stay here would be quite memorable.

I got up and settled in properly, then changed into something more casual—a winter combo, though. I couldn’t risk the cold.

A couple of minutes later, I ran downstairs to continue with the fun. While my cousins were setting up the Christmas tree and arguing about something I couldn’t follow, I sat with my grandmother.

“Pay no attention to them,” she said to me. “They never agree on anything.”

I chuckled and took my eyes off Dmitry and Sasha. Dad was sitting on a sofa close to the front door while Mom and Aunt Natasha were in the kitchen making a local dish, the aroma of which had filled the air. Uncle Ivan was taking a nap on a couch next to Dad, who seemed engrossed in the book he was reading.

The wood in the fireplace crackled and spat out embers as Babushka and I sat on the plush sofa beside it. The flames cast a soft glow in the room, radiating warmth through my chilled bones. I needed the heat anyway.

I was going through the family photo album, flipping through the pages and feeding my eyes with the black and white images of unfamiliar faces. On every page, Babushka would take some time to explain the events that happened the day the photo was taken and the events that led to it. She'd point at each person in the photo and tell me about them—where they were now and what had become of them.

It was fun listening to her stories and learning about my dad’s family, my roots.

From what I could tell, growing up hadn’t exactly been bad for my father; in fact, the man had lived a fun-filled life before I was born. One of the photos in the album was a picture of Dad and Mom from way before I was born. They looked so young and naive but clearly in love, judging by the dopey smiles on their faces and the way Dad was tenderly holding Mom’s waist from behind.

“They’d just graduated high school,” Babushka said, her eyes flicking toward me.

“They’ve been in love since high school?” My brows rose in surprise.

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