48. Cathy
48
CATHY
T he next morning, Ivan and I set to work trying to baby-proof parts of the mansion. It turns out to be a far more entertaining task than I’d anticipated, especially with Ivan’s intense approach to it.
We start with a baby gate for the top of the staircase, but the pieces quickly become a puzzle that even Ivan’s sharp mind struggles to solve. He examines the gate with a frown, brow furrowed, looking more puzzled than I’ve ever seen him.
“This can’t be right,” he mutters, turning the piece in his hands.
I stifle a laugh, watching his intense focus. “Are you sure you don’t need the instructions?”
Ivan gives me a look, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve put an MG42 together in the black of a moonless winter night. I can do this.”
Nik passes by, eyeing the gate with amusement. “Need a hand, Boss?”
Ivan shoots him a glare. “No.”
“Uh-huh,” Nik says with a smirk, then sidesteps a loose screw that nearly rolls off the edge of the stairs. “Looks simple enough.”
After several attempts and a few muttered curses, Ivan finally secures the gate in place, and we both burst out laughing.
“Thank you, Mr. Security,” I tease, giving him a playful salute. “You’re getting the hang of this parenting thing, you big softie.”
He grins, pulling me close. “Glad you think so. Just don’t let Nik hear you call me that.”
Anya joins us as we move to the kitchen, where Ivan teaches me how to cook some of his favorite Russian dishes. It becomes a chaotic, flour-dusted affair, with Ivan meticulously guiding me on the right techniques while Nik and Anya offer their own comments and observations.
“More salt,” Ivan says, tasting the borscht as I stir the pot.
“It’s already pretty salty,” I protest, laughing.
“Trust me,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s called flavor.”
As I add a little more salt, Nik picks up a spoon and takes a taste. He pretends to recoil, clutching his chest. “Flavor? That’s a heart attack in a bowl!”
Ivan scowls, but he’s grinning. “I’m not taking culinary advice from you, Nik.”
Anya pats Nik’s arm. “You’ve done well, Cathy,” she assures me. “Don’t let these two discourage you.”
After a few more tweaks and taste tests, we finally sit down to eat, the laughter and warmth between us making it feel like a real family meal.
As I take a bite, Ivan leans closer, his hand resting on mine. “You’ve done well,” he says softly, echoing Anya’s words. “Our child will grow up with love, and a family.”
My heart swells as I look at him, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for all the struggles that led us here.
As dinner winds down, Nik raises his glass, a teasing glint in his eye. “To the ‘new and improved’ Boss,” he says. “Father, husband, and now baby-proofing expert.”