23. Chapter 23
W e move from rack to rack, the four of us drifting in an easy rhythm between baby clothes, strollers, and impossibly soft swaddles.
Scarlett is holding up a hand-stitched onesie shaped like a tuxedo, trying to convince Alina she needs it. Yelena is already rearranging an entire shelf to make room for “aesthetic” stroller photos.
Alina just laughs and rubs a hand over her bump. “Lev is going to faint when he sees the receipt from today.”
“He better not,” Yelena quips. “And considering how fast he’s been working on baby number two, he should be the one personally ironing every onesie.”
Alina groans, half-laughing. “You two act like I didn’t have a say in the decision that got me here.”
Scarlett raises an eyebrow. “Did you?”
We all burst out laughing.
By the time we leave the boutique, we’re weighed down with shopping bags and the kind of lighthearted exhaustion that only comes from too much teasing and too much money spent.
We find a nearby café with golden bistro tables and blush-colored cups and we settle into a corner booth.
The second the drinks arrive, Yelena leans forward with a devilish grin. “So, Alina… how many is Lev planning for? Five? Six?”
Alina gives her a mock glare over the rim of her iced tea. “Can I finish growing this one first?”
Scarlett doesn’t miss a beat. “That man looks at you like you’re his greatest accomplishment. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already drafting baby names for the next three.”
Alina rolls her eyes, but the smile blooming across her face is pure softness. “Okay, maybe he’s a little obsessed.”
I watch her carefully, something warm tugging at my chest. There’s so much love between them, you can feel it in the way she talks about him.
And without thinking, I say, “I think when two people love each other the way you and Lev clearly do… they can have as many babies as they want. It’s a beautiful thing. Children born of a loving union.”
The table goes quiet for a beat.
Then Alina gasps dramatically and plants an exaggerated kiss on my cheek. “You’re trying to make me cry in public, aren’t you?”
I laugh, wiping her pretend lipstick mark off my cheek.
Yelena smirks. “Well then, that means you and Zasha will be having litters.”
I blink. Then laugh — too loudly. But something in my chest flutters wildly, and I don’t know how to silence it.
“We’re not in love,” I say quickly.
Too quickly.
The words tumble out like instinct, like defense. But the moment they leave my mouth, I hear the tremble in my voice.
And so do they.
Scarlett freezes, cup halfway to her lips.
Alina leans in, one brow lifted.
Yelena’s eyes narrow like she’s just caught scent of something juicy.
There’s a long, loaded pause.
Then Scarlett tilts her head, her expression soft but pointed. “Are you sure about that?”
Yelena raises a perfectly arched brow at me. “Your voice says one thing, Mara… but your eyes say something else.”
Alina sets her glass down. “And trust me, we know Zasha.”
She smiles, warm and knowing. “He was ice before you. Always stiff, always sharp. Now? Now he walks like a man trying not to float.”
I try to scoff, but it comes out weak. “Zasha doesn’t float.”
Yelena smirks. “No, but he smirks now. Which is close. He used to glare at everyone. Now it’s like he’s always trying damn hard to hid his smiles.”
She leans back with a shrug. “You’re the secret, Mara.”
I laugh, brushing them off with a shake of my head. “You three are reading into things way too much.”
But inside?
Inside, I feel every word like a drop of ink spreading through water.
“Are we?” Yelena asks.
“Or maybe we are reading what we can plainly see,” Scarlett chips in.
Something inside me begins to dare to believe them. Zasha was cold when we met. He was always careful and tightly coiled.
Now, his touch lingers on the small of my back even when he steps away. He brushes his knuckles along my cheekbone like it’s a question he’s too afraid to ask aloud.
He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking.
And the night before he traveled… that night felt less like lust and more like something is blooming—slow but persistent.
It felt like the kind of thing that takes root in silence and grows only when you’re brave enough to acknowledge and water it.
“I don’t know,” I say softly, more to myself than to them. “Maybe I’m just scared of saying something too soon. Of ruining what’s finally starting to feel… steady.”
Scarlett reaches for my hand and squeezes. “You won’t ruin it. If what you two have is real, a conversation won’t break it. But silence? That can starve something beautiful.”
Alina smiles gently. “Just tell him, Mara. When he gets back. You don’t need to wait for him to make the first move.”
Yelena’s gaze sharpens with something almost protective. “You’re braver than most women I know. This part shouldn’t scare you. You have already done the scary part, and that is marrying him.”
I nod, slowly, not because I’ve made the decision yet. But because a part of me already has.
Scarlett reaches across the table and gently takes my hand, her voice soft but steady.
“Look… if you love him then tell him. It doesn’t matter who says it first.”
I glance at her, and she gives me a look that lands deep — one woman to another, no fluff, no room for self-deception.
Alina leans in, resting her chin on her hand. “Just tell him when he gets back, Mara. Don’t waste time waiting for permission to love someone who clearly already loves you.”
My lips part, but the words I want to say get stuck somewhere behind my ribs. Because part of me still wonders — what if I’ve read him wrong?
But the other part, the louder one lately, knows I haven’t.
Yelena watches me, and for once, her teasing sharpness fades into something softer.
“Like I said earlier, you already did the scary shit, which is marrying him. This isn’t supposed to scare you.”
I laugh — but it’s quiet, more breath than sound.
Scarlett squeezes my hand once more, then lets go. “Tell him,” she says, simple as that.
We leave the café with shopping bags swinging at our sides, the sunlight warm on our backs. The air smells like cinnamon and the early promise of spring.
I don’t talk much on the walk to the cars. The others chat lightly, but I stay quiet. Not because I’m brooding, but because something inside me is shifting, and hope is becoming reality.
And, when Zasha walks back through our door…
I’ll be ready and waiting to tell him out loud that I love him.