Page 19 of The Pucking Arrangement

He disappears into the kitchen, leaving us in tense silence.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat, willing my face to stay neutral. “You watched my channel?”

Dmitri’s lips curve in that devastating smirk. “Independent research,” he says smoothly. “Just to be sure.”

My stomach flips.Oh no.

“For Ris,” he adds, voice dripping with amusement. “To understand who I’m going to be leaving my daughter with.”

His eyes flick over me, dark and unreadable, and suddenly, I feel inspected.Studied.

“Right,” I say, nodding way too fast. “For Ris. Of course.”

“Of course,” he echoes, gaze still locked on mine. And just like that, I’m back in that moment from last Saturday, when he turned my own words against me with that same quiet confidence.

Maybe you should do some independent research. Just to be sure.

My cheeks are on fire. “You saw the hockey video?”

His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “Also...educational.”

Oh. Oh no.

The way he sayseducational—low, deliberate, laced with something that should require a damn parental advisory—sends a bolt of heat through me so fast it’s a miracle I don’t combust on the spot.

Abort. Abort. Abort.

But before I can formulate a coherent response, Sophie breezes in, Ris chattering beside her, oblivious to the fact that I’m seconds away from melting into a puddle.

“Dinner’s ready!” Sophie announces, entirely too chipper. Then, because she’s a menace, she glances between me and Dmitri and smirks. “And maybe we can discuss childcare arrangements at the table?”

Dmitri chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that does absolutely nothing to help my composure. I glare at Sophie, silently promising revenge.

She just winks and drags me toward the dining room, leaving me with no choice but to follow—right alongside the six-foot-four problem I absolutely do not need in my life.

As we make our way to the dining room, I catch Liam’s concerned look.

The setting never fails to take my breath away. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Hudson River like an artist’s masterpiece, Manhattan’s lights twinkling in the dusk. Sophie’s influence is everywhere, transforming the space into something out of a magazine. Candles flicker on the dark wood table, and a roast chicken so perfectly golden it could star in a cooking show sits at the center.

“This is…” I pause, eyeing the spread of roasted vegetables artfully arranged on a platter. “Sophie, this is incredible.”

She laughs, waving me into a seat. “Cooking relaxes me. Plus, you should see my knife skills now—those anatomy labs are paying off.”

“She means she’s practicing surgical precision on poultry,” Liam says, helping Ris into her chair. “You should see her butterfly a chicken breast. It’s terrifying.”

“Perfect practice for med school,” Sophie quips, winking at Ris. “Don’t worry, I was much gentler with your carrots.”

We settle around the table, and somehow, I end up directly across from Dmitri. Candlelight does unfair things to his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his jaw and cheekbones while adding a new depth to his dark, focused eyes. He’s helping Ris cut her chicken, his massive hands careful and gentle.

“So,” he begins, his voice turning all business. “Schedule is important. Very structured.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling as he speaks. “Morning routine starts at six-thirty. Breakfast at seven. School at eight.”

I nod, trying very hard to focus on the details and not the way his hands absolutely dwarf his phone.

“After school—homework first, then play. Dinner at five. Bed by eight. No sugar after six.” His eyes meet mine, steady and commanding. “She will try to negotiate. Do not let her.”

Ris giggles around a mouthful of chicken. “I’m very good at negotiating.”

“You are very good at trying to negotiate,” Dmitri corrects, but there’s pride in his voice that makes my heart ache. “Figure skating Tuesday and Thursday after school.” He pauses, dragging a hand through his hair. “I handle morning drop-off when in New York, but with playoffs…”

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