Page 20 of Till Death Saves Me

An hour later, I step out of the car, blinking in the bright sunlight. Ivan's hand hovers near my lower back, not quite touching me as he guides me towards... a quaint brunch spot? My eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the little building tucked away in Manhattan.

"This isn't what I expected," I murmur, more to myself than to him.

Ivan grunts, already pulling out his phone. "What were you expecting? A firing squad?"

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. As we're led to our table, I can't help but notice how heads turn to watch us. Ivan's presence commands attention, even in this laid-back setting.

The hostess seats us at a secluded corner table with a view of the bustling street. Ivan is leaned back, his posture relaxed as his fingers fly across the screen of his phone. Not looking at me, but for the first time not looking like he's ready to commit murder.

Though I suppose that comes with territory of being a brigadier. That's what Anya told me he was. A senior brigadier, an important made man right below the Sokolovs themselves. Apparently he's best friends with the guys, too.

I fidget with my napkin, unsure how to navigate this unexpected situation. "So..." I start, desperate to break the awkward silence. "Do you come here often?"

Ivan's eyes flick up briefly. "Sometimes."

And just like that, the conversation dies. I sigh, reaching for the menu. At least the food looks good.

Our waiter appears, all smiles and charm. "Good morning! Can I start you off with some coffee?"

"Please," I say, grateful for the distraction.

Ivan doesn't even look up from his phone. "Espresso."

As the waiter hurries off, I find myself studying Ivan. His jaw is clenched tight, brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever's on that screen has his full attention.

The coffee arrives, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug. "Thank you for... this," I say softly. "It's nice to get out of the house."

Ivan's fingers pause over his phone. He looks up, really looks at me for the first time today. Something in his expression softens, just for a moment. "You're welcome."

My heart does a strange little flip. Is this... progress?

But then his phone buzzes, and the moment shatters. He's back to furiously typing, leaving me feeling oddly bereft.

The waiter returns to take our order. I choose a stack of blueberry pancakes, while Ivan absently requests an omelet, his eyes never leaving his screen.

As we wait for our food, I find myself people-watching through the window. Couples stroll by hand in hand, friends laugh over shared jokes. My chest aches with a sudden, fierce longing.

"Your pancakes, miss," the waiter announces, snapping me out of my reverie. "And the omelet for you, sir."

I dig in, savoring the burst of sweet berries on my tongue. To my surprise, Ivan actually sets his phone down and picks up his fork. He takes a bite, then glances at my plate.

"Good?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I nod, swallowing quickly. "Very. Want to try a bite?"

The words are out before I can stop them. I brace myself for a cutting remark, but instead, Ivan hesitates. Then, to my utter shock, he reaches across the table with his fork and snags a small piece of pancake.

As he chews, I could swear I see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. A fucking smile. "Not bad."

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. Is this the same man who's been giving me the cold shoulder for days? The same Ivan who exploded at me for rearranging his study?

His phone buzzes again, and his eyes dart down. But he only types out a response before setting it to the side and going back to eating quietly.

Is this who he could be? The man that Anya swears is really her brother? Because if it is, I wouldn't mind being his wife.

After brunch, we step out onto the bustling sidewalk. I hesitate, unsure of our next move.

"Where to?" Ivan asks, surprising me.

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