Page 82 of Married to the Bratva

62

SOPHIE

Grandma’s house is buzzing with laughter and the tantalizing aroma of baked lasagna when we arrive.

Victor, ever the charmer, is regaling Grandma with some wild story from his Bratva days, his hands moving animatedly as she watches with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Are you seriously telling me you had to hide in a chicken coop to avoid being caught?” Grandma asks, her eyes twinkling as she places a plate of lasagna on the table.

Victor leans back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. “They were vicious. Pecking me like mad. I barely made it out alive.”

Grandma smirks, handing him a fork. “You’re full of it.”

“Full of something,” I mutter under my breath, earning a snort of laughter from Maxim.

Grandma glances up at us, her face lighting up when she sees Mila.

“There’s my favorite girl!” she coos, reaching for her. Maxim hands Mila over without protest, his usual scowl softening as Grandma bounces her on her hip.

“Do I even want to know what the two of you have been up to while we were out?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

Victor raises a brow, feigning innocence. “What makes you think we were up to anything?”

“Because you’re both smiling like you’ve been plotting something,” Maxim replies dryly, reaching for the breadbasket.

Grandma shrugs, her grin widening. “Maybe we have. Maybe we haven’t.”

Victor leans closer to her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Should we tell them?”

Grandma pretends to consider it, tapping her chin with a finger. “I don’t know. I kind of like keeping them in suspense.”

“You’re insufferable,” I say, shaking my head.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Grandma shoots back, winking at me. “But if you must know, we’ve decided to take Mila for the evening. Give you two some time alone. Go take a walk or something.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Grandma says, scooping some lasagna onto a plate for Mila. “Victor and I are babysitting.”

“That’s unexpected,” I say, glancing at Maxim, who looks equally surprised.

Victor smirks. “Don’t look so shocked. Even I need a break from your husband’s glare now and then. A night with Mila sounds like the perfect distraction.”

Maxim’s gaze sharpens, but there’s no real heat in it. “Just don’t teach her any of your bad habits.”

“I’m promising nothing,” Victor replies, his grin widening.

Grandma gives him a shove. “Don’t worry, Sophie. I’m in charge around here, not him.”

63

SOPHIE

Maxim and I stroll down the cobblestone streets of Rook’s Hollow, the golden evening sun casting a warm glow over the quaint town.

The scent of fresh bread wafts from a nearby bakery, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers that line the sidewalks. His hand brushes against mine as we walk.

“Grandma and Victor seem cozy,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence.

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