Chapter 36 #2
But all Sofia has to do is rattle the wrapper of a doggy treat—and the animal dashes off, deserting Grigory and pawing at Sofia for the snack.
“See?” Sofia says, complete innocence written all over her face in the way only a six-year-old can have.
Albert snuffles his snack and then snuggles into Sofia’s side.
“You’ve turned him into a…a…a cuddle monster!” Grigory screeches.
“He’s not a monster,” Sofia corrects him. “He’s a fluffy puppy prince. And I think you should get him a throne.”
“Albert, come here right now,” Grigory commands, his eyes flashing in a menacing manner.
But instead, Albert snuffles his snout up against Sofia’s hand.
“He wants more bows on his ears,” Sofia giggles as she adds another one. “He’s such a little cutie pie, isn’t he?”
“Cutie pie?” Grigory wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Uh-huh,” Sofia replies with a sweet smile.
“I think he’s the cutest floofball that I’ve ever seen.
And I think he wants to be my baby. My furbaby.
And I might need to get him a pink onesie and a sparkly stroller so that I can take him to the park for walkies.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my cutie pie? ”
Grigory’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before he can finally speak to me. “But…but…why does he prefer Sofia to me?” Grigory wails.
“Because I’m cute,” Sofia answers in a solemn voice. “And adorable.”
I mean, my daughter is just repeating what people always tell her. And all I can do is shrug, not quite knowing what to say without hurting Grigory’s feelings.
“Mama, can we take photos now?”
“No, no, no! No throne, no photos, no onesie, and no sparkly stroller—absolutely not!” Grigory barks. But he immediately softens when Sofia’s chin wobbles. He clears his throat. “I mean…maybe later,” he mutters. And then he adds under his breath, “Much, much later. Preferably never.”
And although I’m usually still cautious around Grigory, I know I’m about to explode into giggles. “Oh, come on. It’s harmless,” I say. “Albert doesn’t seem to mind.”
“He’s a cute little boo-boo-buttercup, isn’t he?” Sofia chirps as she pats the animal on the head.
Grigory looks horrified at his dog being described in such a manner, and his jaw works furiously before he forces a smile that looks like it’s been stapled onto his face. “Yes, he’s a…boo-boo-buttercup,” he forces out in a weak voice.
And I lose it, snorting loudly as the man shoots me a murderous glare while Albert sits there, crowned and caped, the picture of canine happiness.
Because I’m definitely taking a photo of this. And it’s definitely going in the Bratva family photo album.
But the next thing that happens completely shocks me because this man, who towers like a skyscraper and looks like he could give grizzly bears self-esteem issues, crouches down to my six-year-old’s level and admits defeat.
“So, you better tell me who else you have there.” His deep, rough voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
And it’s…careful, like he’s afraid he’ll scare her.
Sofia proudly lifts her stuffed rhino. “This is Mr. Hugglehorn.”
Grigory examines the stuffed toy with exaggerated seriousness, brow furrowing as if it’s a priceless artifact. “Hmm. Very strong. Very fierce. I would not fight this one.”
Sofia gives a small giggle. “But you’re way bigger than him.”
He shakes his head gravely. “Size doesn’t matter. See these fluffy horns? Dangerous. See this soft button nose? It can smell fear and hunt down scaredy-cats like me in an instant.” He leans closer, whispering like it’s a top-secret confession. “I think he is plotting to take over my office.”
Sofia gasps, clutching Mr. Hugglehorn to her chest. “Don’t worry! I’ll protect you!”
“Thank you, little one. You are very brave.”
She beams—and pats his cheek like he’s her favorite puppy.
I wince, waiting for his reaction.
But all he does is…chuckle. And a low, rumble vibrates through the air.
“It’s time for Mr. Hugglehorn’s nap now,” she announces in a solemn voice. “But you can help me with the llama tea party.”
Grigory’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, I don’t think, uh…”
I know I should save him from this, but something stops me and makes me just watch.
Soon, Grigory—the terrifying, scowling, perpetually grumpy Pakhan—is kneeling on the office rug like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His tailored black suit is creased, his tie skewed, and his massive hands are delicately arranging plastic teacups in a perfect circle as if they’re priceless artifacts.
Across from him, Sofia sits cross-legged, her curls bouncing as she chatters. “No, no, Lord Llama Llama sits here.” She taps the head of the rug before plopping the stuffed llama in his correct place. “He likes the pink cup.”
Grigory doesn’t even blink. “Pink cup for Lord Llama Llama. Got it.” His deep, gravelly voice is so serious you’d think they were negotiating a peace treaty instead of a tea party.
Sofia nods with satisfaction. “And Princess Sparkle Llama likes the blue cup.”
“Understood. One blue cup for the princess.” He carefully places it in front of the second stuffed llama, his large hands moving with surprising precision.
I bite back a smile as he shifts carefully, clearly trying not to crush a tiny plastic saucer with his polished shoes.
“Wait,” Sofia gasps. “We need a sign, so everyone knows this is Sparkle Llama Land.”
Grigory raises one dark brow. “A sign?”
She leans forward, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a state secret. “No sign means no kingdom. It’s Llama Law.”
He nods solemnly, fully committed. “Can’t have that. Llama Laws must be obeyed.”
He grabs a sheet of printer paper and a thick marker. His handwriting is bold, precise, and perfectly straight as he prints: Sparkle Llama Land. Then he holds it out for Sofia’s inspection.
She scrunches her little nose. “It needs a sticker,” she declares, pulling out a crumpled pink sticker from the pocket of her skirt. And without a word, this terrifying man steadies the paper while she sticks the glittery heart onto it.
“There,” Sofia says proudly. “Now everyone will know.”
“Indeed,” Grigory says gravely, holding it up like it’s a royal decree. “Sparkle Llama Land is officially open for business.”
My throat tightens a little as I watch them. One of the scariest men I’ve ever met…carefully negotiating tea party etiquette with my daughter and a llama named Lord Llama Llama.
I still don’t know what to make of Grigory at times, but something tells me that perhaps his bark is worse than his bite—although he’s determined for people not to know it.
Later, the cursor on my screen blinks like it’s taunting me. I’m supposed to be inputting the shipping invoices Viktor gave me. But my brain isn’t focusing long enough to do anything.
I keep thinking about the way Viktor looked at me, haloed by the porch light two days ago. Like I was some saving grace. It’s distracting, these thoughts making me tingle all over. And the ache between my legs is all his doing.
I glance toward the open door, listening to the faint murmur of the TV in the den and the gentle rocking of Babulya’s chair creaking.
I sigh, and Viktor looks up from the desk across from mine with an eyebrow arched. I give him a smile. I don’t want to tell him how distracted I am. How I can smell whatever aftershave he’s used—and it’s making my head spin. I’m here to work. I have to earn my keep.
Soft footsteps scamper into the room, and I turn to see Sofia lingering by the door. Her expression is pinched. She knocks even though she doesn’t need to.
“Mama…” Her voice is small and quiet. She doesn’t say more. She doesn’t have to.
I push from the desk, my arms opening wide for her.
She rushes forward, climbing into my lap and curling up like she’s a baby again and the weight of the world has finally caught up to her. I don’t know what caused it, but I’m not going to ask yet. She’s in no state to tell me.
Her face buries against my neck, her arms tight—too tight—and her little fingers fist the fabric of my T-shirt like she needs to keep me from disappearing.
I know this. The deep pressure she seeks. She’s spiraling and needs to feel contained. I tighten my hold on her a little more, trying to ground her. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing her snug against my chest. “I’ve got you, baby.”
She doesn’t cry. But the utter panic in her eyes tells me enough. Her breathing is shallow and faster than I’d like, and her legs twitch restlessly. I adjust my arms around her. Hold tighter. Rock gently. And I match her breathing until it slows to a more normal rate and syncs with mine.
My eyes close. I don’t know how long we stay like that. At some point, I glance up to see Viktor watching us, his brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.
I feel a flicker of guilt. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I know I’m supposed to be working.”
He walks across to me. “Everything okay?” There’s a dangerous tilt to his voice, like he’s ready to wage war on anyone if they upset Sofia or me.
“I think so. I’m sorry. I know those invoices are important and—”
“No, they’re not,” he interrupts, nodding toward Sofia. “She’s what is important right now. She needs you.”
My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly to banish any tears. No judgment. No impatience. Just his calm understanding.
Finally, once she’s been calm for a few minutes, Viktor crouches beside us, a hand lightly pressed to Sofia’s arm. Not pushing or pressing, just a calm offering to help soothe her.
Sofia, still clinging, glances down at him. Her gaze lingers a moment before it softens. “Hi, Viktor,” she whispers.
“Hi there, little bird,” he replies.
She smiles, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth, but I see it. And I melt a little more.
We stay like that for another twenty minutes before Sofia says she wants to go back to Babulya and Leon in the den.
I’m reluctant to let her go and kiss the top of her head. “If you need to come back, I’ll be right here.”