Chapter 30 #2
I snort, responding in our native tongue. “Figured. Mom’s gaze pierced through me like a dagger.”
“Your mother, she is very upset. No call, nothing about a girlfriend or marriage? Not smart, Colya.”
He doesn’t know the half of it. Doesn’t know that this marriage is as real as the plastic championship rings they sell outside Petrov Arena.
“I know, Papa. I’ll fix it.”
Good luck,” my father says, a lifetime of marriage wisdom contained in those two words.
I watch Jenna as she deftly shapes the Pelmeni—my favorite dish. A warmth spreads through me just at the sight. She brushes a bead of sweat from her upper lip, and I can’t help but notice how her mouth moves as she concentrates. Damn, she has such a beautiful mouth. Kissing her felt so good.
Jenna looks up and meets my gaze, a hint of surprise flickering across her face.
For just a moment, I catch a glimpse of the guarded woman beneath the surface—the way her brow furrows slightly, her jaw tightening as if she’s bracing for something.
Then, just like that, she softens, her features relaxing into a welcoming smile that lights up her eyes.
“Colton, honey, can you get the sour cream from the fridge?” She wipes her hands on a towel, leaving ghostly flour prints behind.
Honey. The word lands strangely in my chest. I grin at her and there’s that teasing smirk of hers. Is she flirting with me in front of my parents? What a brat.
I push off from the doorframe. “Sure thing, darling.”
As I pass her to reach the refrigerator, she touches my arm casually, like she does it every day.
Oh, I wish she would… The contact is brief, but it feels like so much more to me, instead it’s just a performance for my parents’ benefit.
I wonder if she can feel the way my muscles tense under her fingers.
As I make my way around her, my hand finds her hip—just for a second, just enough.
The fabric of her sweater is soft, and underneath it she is warm.
My mother’s back is turned, knife working through something on the cutting board, and I just can’t help myself and lean in, pressing my lips to the side of Jenna’s neck.
“You’re such a good wifey. I didn’t know that you can cook like this.”
She catches her breath, and for a second the kitchen disappears—my mother’s knife, the steam rising off the pot—all of it gone. There is only the flour on her cheekbone and the warmth coming off her skin and the way her eyes drop, just once, to my mouth.
I cage her against the counter with my arms, and she shifts back—just slightly, just enough—and that’s when my lips find her neck again.
“I enjoy cooking,” she whispers, her breath catching as my lips brush over her skin. “But only if I have the time and am not feeling…” She takes a deep breath. “Rushed.”
Being near her feels like a thrilling kind of madness. I’ve never felt this way before, and even though it’s supposed to be fake, I’m starting to wonder if it really is. I think I’m falling for my little lawyer.
“I would never pressure you into anything, Solnyshko.”
She turns to meet my gaze, searching my eyes as if trying to find the sincerity of my words there.
Of course, I mean it. “We can always order takeout, or I’ll cook for you.
” She glances at my mouth, and just as I lean in to finally kiss her like the desperate man I am, my mother calls out, “Dinner’s ready! Colton, set the table.”
I release a dramatic sigh, torn between the urge to stay in her orbit and the fact that I was just about to kiss her. But I’m a good boy—that’s why I head to the cabinet to grab those damn plates and call for Livy.
“Your mother’s teaching me all your favorites,” Jenna says as she carries a steaming pot to the table. “Apparently, you were quite the picky eater as a child.”
I set the plates down one by one, watching her sassy smile out of the corner of my eye.
My mother laughs. “This boy! Would not eat anything green until he was twelve. I have stories.”
“I’d love to hear them all,” Jenna says. And again. That smile. If I could lift her up and carry her to my bedroom right now…
“Maybe save some for next time, Mama,” I say.
“I’d be ready to hear them, though,” that fiery redhead says.
As she passes me, I can’t help but give that damn ass in those fitted jeans a playful slap. The second my palm cracks against that denim-clad ass, time fucking stops. That redhead—oh, Jesus—she’s got curves that could make a priest sin.
I brace myself for either an attack or a fight but all I see is her licking her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks. She sits down and her emerald eyes speaks volumes. Oh, my wife likes to play.
“Next time, yes,” my mother says, cutting through the whirlwind of thoughts.
As we all sit down, the heat I felt just seconds ago vanishes into thin air as my mother’s tone shifts.
She folds her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes me straighten my spine.
“But first, I think you have some explaining to do.”
Here it comes.
“Mama—”
“You get married, and we find out from gossip website? From Elena Petrova, who sends me link saying, ‘Did you know your son has American wife?’” The English drops away from her entirely.
“I call Lara. I say, ‘My son is married?’ and she says, ‘Of course, everyone knows.’ Everyone? Everyone except your own mother!”
Ouch.
Beside me, Jenna reaches for my hand under the table. Her fingers lace through mine while her thumb strokes the back of my hand in a soothing rhythm. It’s such a simple gesture, but so unexpected that it momentarily derails my thoughts. I almost forget what Mom’s arch enemy Elena Petrova did.
“We wanted to tell you properly,” Jenna jumps in, rescuing me, her voice apologetic. “We were planning to visit you, weren’t we, Colton? But then everything happened so quickly with Livy’s case and your illness...”
My mother’s expression softens slightly at the mention of her granddaughter but the second she sees me it hardens again.
“That might be, yes. But your poor mother! Elena Petrova!”
“I’m sorry, Mama. But your health was more important, and I didn’t know you’d be lying in bed, scrolling the internet while you’re battling for your life.”
“It’s not that bad, please. What’s worse, is that I could have died because you didn’t tell me you got married!”
I look at her hands. She’s folded them over the table.
The backs of them mapped with bruising, still yellow-green at the edges from the IVs.
I put my hand over hers. “Mom, it’s not nothing, okay.
There was so much happening, we didn’t want to bother you.
It wasn’t the big wedding.” And shit. Just like that I made everything worse.
Jenna’s foot finds mine under the table.
I glance at her. She widens her eyes at me, just slightly. I cringe back. Yep. I am an idiot.
Suddenly my mother’s hands come together with a crack.
“Koltun.” She switches to Russian. “A real wedding. When? Where? The church on Nevsky, or—your father’s cousin has a dacha outside Petersburg, we could—” She turns to my father.
“Anatoly, remember the Volkov wedding, with the—will you wear white?” This last one is directed at Jenna in English.
“Honey, please…” my father groans in Russian and that’s actually the only thing that stops her. She swallows.
“Okay. Okay. Next time, you call first. No more surprises.” She lifts her fork and points at us. “And I want to know everything about the big wedding. I want to help. But now eat, before cold.”
The conversation shifts to safer topics as we dig into dinner. Livy finds it all boring and after my mother stopped scolding me, she vanished back into her room once she finished her plate.
I can’t blame her. My father talks about his conference, my mother asks about our apartment, Jenna tells carefully edited stories about our “courtship” that somehow manage to be both vague and convincing.
I watch her work her magic on my parents and memorize the performance in case I need to repeat details later.
“And then your son—” Jenna pauses, taking a sip of wine, her lips curved in amusement, “—forgot the tickets on the counter. We had to beg the usher to let us in.”
The story is complete fiction, but she delivers it with such authentic exasperation that my mother nods knowingly.
“He forgets everything since boy. Once left hockey skates at home for championship game.”
“That was one time,” I protest, falling into the rhythm of their exchange.
My father laughs. “Your Coach was furious! He had to borrow too-small skates.”
“Did you win?” Jenna asks.
“Of course,” I say. “I was the best.”
“He always finds ways to win,” my mother says, patting my hand with unmistakable pride. Then she turns back to Jenna. “You will learn this. He’s stubborn like a mule, but always finds a way.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jenna replies, and this time when she looks at me, something flickers in her eyes that isn’t part of the act. Oh, it feels so easy with her. I wish this dinner night could be real. I don’t want it to end.
Then my mom clears her throat. “Now, most important question. When do you give us grandchildren? Besides Olivia?”
Jenna chokes on her wine. Okay, maybe I want it to end.
I pat her back automatically, shooting my father a look. “Mama, please.”
“What? It’s a normal question. You are not getting younger.”
My dad swats her arm. “Irina! Let them be married for a year at least before such questions.” He turns to us apologetically. “But she is right. No rush, but the clock is ticking.”
Jenna recovers, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “We’re focused on getting custody of Livy right now,” she says diplomatically. “One step at a time.”
“Smart,” my mother approves. “You’re a smart woman, I like that. First custody, then big wedding, then lots of babies.”
Thank God the rest of dinner passes more easily and once we’re finished, my mother refuses any help with clearing the table. “No, no. You sit. I clean.”
“At least let me help. You’ve been in hospital all week,” Jenna insists, standing to gather plates.
“Good wife,” my mother murmurs to me in Russian as Jenna carries dishes to the sink. “Strong. Smart. Pretty. Not like last one.”
I don’t correct her comparison to Mira. It’s easier this way.
My father checks his watch. “We should go, Irina. Early morning tomorrow. You have an appointment at the hospital, darling.”
“Oh, yes. You newlyweds need time alone or we don’t get babies,” my mother says with a knowing smile that makes heat creep up my neck. “We’ll see you. But yes, I’ll be back in hospital tomorrow, it’s like prison. Don’t forget to call me.”
The goodbyes stretch on as my mother insists on packing up leftovers, sharing more of her cooking secrets, and helping with bringing Livy to bed. When we finally reach the door, she cradles Jenna’s face in her hands.
“Welcome to family,” she says, kissing both her cheeks. “Take care of my son.”
Jenna’s smile wavers for just a moment. “I’ll do my best.”
My father hugs me tightly. “She is good one,” he whispers. “Don’t mess up.”
Then they’re gone, and the apartment turns quiet in a way that feels almost unnatural.
The laughter, the little footsteps, the life of it—all of it disappears behind the closed door.
Jenna stands with her back to me, staring at the kitchen counter like she’s listening to the silence settle.
The distance between us suddenly feels way too big.
“Thank you,” I say at last, because I need to say something. Because the words in my chest are too loud and this is all I can manage. “You were… incredible tonight. They believed us.”
Her shoulders rise with a slow breath.
“Colton…” she says softly, leaning back against the counter. The same counter where, hours ago, I had to physically stop myself from kissing her senseless in front of my freaking parents. “Since that kiss on the couch… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
Everything inside me stumbles.
I move before I think. One step and then another, closing the space between us like it’s been hurting me.
“Me too,” I admit. “I can’t sleep. Can’t focus. I keep replaying it.”
She lowers her eyes, like she can’t bear to look at me when she says, “What if… what if I really want to kiss you again?”
I’m close enough now to feel the warmth of her. Close enough to see the quick rise and fall of her breath. See that plush mouth…
“Only a kiss?” I ask quietly.
That makes her smile, small and nervous and beautiful. Then she looks up, and when her emerald eyes meet mine, there’s nowhere else I want to be. I want to drown in them.
“No,” she whispers. “I want more. I want… all of it because the way I feel around you both scares and thrills me. I… I feel like a teenager around you, Colton.”
The words hit me like a prayer I never thought would be answered. She feels the same. My perfect lawyer shares these feelings with me. Reckless. Hopeless. Consumed by need.
I’m already leaning in when her hand lands on my chest, stopping me—but barely. Oh, she could never stop me, not after this. I already chose to make her mine. But her palm is warm through my shirt, her touch somehow gentler than it should be.
“But…” she says.
I take her chin in my hand, thumb brushing softly along her jaw. The wine in my system makes me bolder, but none of this is the wine. This is all me, wanting nothing but her.
“It’s risky,” she says. “The case. Livy. If we do this, everything gets even more complicated.”
I step closer anyway, until our hips collide again and she lets out the faintest gasp. A sound I’m slowly, but surely, getting addicted to.
“Because,” she continues shakily, “I don’t think I can do casual with you. I don’t think I can just get it out of my system and move on. All these weeks of getting to know you… they changed the way I see you, changed the way I feel around you. I want you. All of it.”
Oh, fucking God. My heart feels too big for my body.
“Solnyshko,” I murmur, forehead almost touching hers. “I want all of it too.”
Her lips part on a breath.
“You feel like home to me. I can be just like I am around you. I want this to be real so bad.”
Her eyes close for half a second, like the words landed somewhere important.
“But if we ruin this,” she whispers against my lips. “We could lose everything.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is reckless. Maybe it’s the worst possible timing. But I’ve spent too much of my life walking away from what matters. Spent too much time with my chest feeling like an empty room. If there’s a chance I can finally love, I need to take it. And I am.
“Colton… we’re risking it all.”
“Well, then, fuck it.” And then my lips crash onto hers.
Not slow. Not careful. Like the way I’ve wanted to since the moment she walked back into my life. Full force.