Page 62 of Dirty Damage

“You two go play,” Artem says. “Let your mom and I introduce ourselves.”

The two kids tear into the penthouse, scattering in two different directions like loose marbles.

I scan the living room and dining room for anything breakable. Oleg’s monk-like sense of decor means there are very few items at risk. In his house of pretentiously angular furniture, the children are the most fragile things around.

Artem’s eyes twinkle like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Don’t worry. They’re surprisingly good at surviving.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

He laughs and holds out a hand to me. “Artem Savin. This is my wife, Faye.”

I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. “I gotta give it to you, showing up here with two cute kids and your pregnant wife? Well played, sir.”

“Am I missing something?” Artem asks, scratching the back of his head.

“Frequently, darling.” Faye laughs, running her hands over her belly. “Clearly, she’s annoyed she has to have dinner with you.”

Artem gasps in faux offense. “‘Has to’? Yougetto have dinner with me.”

“No, she was forced into it. Your best friend doesn’t exactly ask permission.” She turns to me. “Has Oleg succeeded in pissing you off already?”

My lips twitch. “Maybe.”

“Typical.”

“Faye,” Artem hisses, “we’re here to make nice, not?—”

“I’m here for dinner. And pleasant, adult conversation,” she interrupts. “Whatever ulterior motives you have, leave me out of them.”

Faye gives me a conspiratorial wink before she kicks off her shoes and waddles into the living room.

“Where did the kids go?”

I hear laughter, but I don’t see them.

Faye lowers herself onto the sofa with the grace of the very pregnant—that is to say, none at all. “Don’t fret, Sutton; they won’t break anything important.”

“Everything in here looks important,” I mutter.

She props her feet on the coffee table. “Trust me, if Oleg cared about keeping things pristine, he wouldn’t have given the kids their own room.”

I blink. “Their ownwhat?”

“You haven’t seen it?” She exchanges a knowing look with Artem. “Oh, honey, you need to work on your snooping skills.”

“Please ignore my wife,” Artem groans. “The pregnancy makes her… direct.”

“The pregnancy makes mehonest,” Faye corrects. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She tries and fails to pry herself off the sofa. Then she wags a hand in Artem’s direction. “You did this to me. The least you can do is help me up.”

“You’re the one who wanted a third.” He presses a kiss to her cheek when she stands.

“Only because I didn’t think I’d give birth to a boulder. This kid is going to be a ten-pounder, I can feel it.”

Something like dread hisses in my stomach.Babies cangetthat big?!

“That’s what you said about Noah, and he was only eight.”

“Onlyeight?” she shrieks. “Says the man who didn’t have to push him out of his?—”

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