Page 203 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

No.

But does it taste like the chef really poured all his love and effort into it?

Also no.

Still, I’m starving, so no complaints from me. I take the whole thing down in record time, hardly taking even a second to breathe between bites.

When I finally reach my limit, I look up to find that Artem is watching me with a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“Nothing,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Just admiring.”

I frown to cover the blush rising to my cheeks. “Admiring what, exactly?” I ask. “A pregnant woman scarfing down her weight in pancakes?”

Artem nods. “Something like that. It’s always nice to see a beautiful woman who also appreciates food.”

“I take it you haven’t been around many of those women.” I ask.

“Only once,” he replies. “A long time ago.”

Something about his tone prevents me from asking more. And before I can obsess about it too much, Midge appears between us again, her smile aimed at Artem.

“How’s everything, guys?”

“Great,” Artem answers without even looking at her. She hovers anyway, still keeping her attention focused on him.

She throws me a cursory smile every now and again, but it’s more out of politeness than anything else.

“Well, is there anything else I can help you with today, handsome?” she continues. Her voice is irritatingly chipper.

“Nothing,” I interrupt curtly with a tight smile. “Just some peace and quiet while we enjoy our breakfast.”

Her eyebrows rise just a tad, but she keeps the smile on her face as she walks away. I spear another piece of pancake and pop it into my mouth, trying to ignore the fact that Artem is staring at me.

“What?” I demand, when he doesn’t stop.

“Was there a reason she annoyed you?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m sitting at this booth, too,” I respond. “She was only talking to you.”

“That’s not true.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t notice something like that. Typical.”

“What’s typical?”

“You get the attention all the time, so of course you don’t notice it.”

“I wasn’t aware this was a common occurrence,” he says.

“There was that slutty air hostess on the plane when we flew to Hawaii,” I say before I can stop myself.

Artem’s eyebrows rise. I know he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“What made her slutty?” he ask, with barely-concealed amusement. His laughter is pissing me off, truth be told.

“The fact that she was basically offering herself up to a married man,” I reply. “With his wife on the same fucking plane.

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