Chapter 11 #2
Satisfaction spread through me quietly. Shit just felt right. It’s just for a minute, I warned myself, even though I hoped I was lying.
“Again. I’m sorry,” I said. “But after we eat, we can have a lazy afternoon.”
She sighed and pulled away just enough to look at me. “A doula, Targen? Really? First, I’m not pregnant—”
“Getting you in the best shape to be, milaya,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Second, I have a whole cousin who does that. Everly would kill me if I hired another doula.”
“So, you can have two. Sherrell comes highly recommended. And Ev has a man and a baby and a new business now. She’ll be busier than she was. I know Real plans to keep her under him—”
“Targen!” she snapped. “Why you so vulgar today?”
I paused and stroked my beard, thinking hard.
“Theory… do you know how seeing you and kissing you and laying with you got me feeling? A nigga got sex on the brain. I’m talking our own OnlyFans channel on repeat in my head.
Balls gotta be blue as the damn sky at this point.
Matter of fact, you better get up and get ready for lunch before I—”
Her eyes traveled up and down my body, her nose turning up. “You that horny, but once again, you’ve showered and changed clothes since you left here? Boy, please.”
She kissed her teeth.
I kissed her.
“My business gets dirty, milaya, but you gon’ learn my only pleasure is you,” I told her after I pulled back.
“You so corny. That was pathetic. The fact that you think I might actually fall for that… please,” she scoffed.
But I felt her try to hide a smile against my chest, and it made something in me relax.
“So, how was the massage?” I asked.
Her mouth opened like she was about to argue on principle, then the truth slipped out before she could dress it up. “I fell asleep, Targen. How do you think it was? Sherrell was amazing.”
I smiled as the outcome I wanted was confirmed.
She didn’t know I’d asked Sherrell to let her lead, to stop the second she didn’t want it.
Sherrell told me that Theory’s shoulders finally dropped, her breathing evened out, and she looked like she relaxed for the first time in a long time, exactly what I wanted.
“Good. That’s the point.”
Her eyes narrowed again, suspicious. “That doesn’t change the fact that I will not be needing a doula.”
I frowned. “I thought you were into that, with Granny Nette being a midwife and Ev’s work. But we don’t have to have one if you don’t want. I think they’re good for expectant parents, though—”
I was about to launch into a whole damn speech about nervous systems and stress hormones and what I’d read at three a.m. like I was somebody’s therapist when she appeared in the doorway of the closet and scowled at me.
My brain short-circuited.
She’d chosen a soft, cocoa-colored dress with short sleeves and a high neckline.
It was somehow sexier than anything with cleavage could ever be on her.
The fabric hugged her curves like it had been made with her in mind.
Her skin shimmered, the faint glitter of her body butter catching the light and making that honey-brown glow look damn near holy.
“They are excellent for expectant parents, but we,” she gestured frantically back and forth between us, “are not going to be expectant parents. Ever.”
I stopped staring long enough to give her a skeptical look. But I didn’t have time to argue. I rose from the bed and crossed the room, slow, like I wasn’t a man trying not to lose an argument.
“We’ll see,” I said, keeping it cryptic on purpose.
She looked up at me, challenge all in her eyes. But she gave in first, dropping the little slide sandals she was holding and easing her pretty feet into them, her bright blue toenails peeking out. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and held out my hand.
Every day, she grabbed it more easily. That was the kind of detail I noticed, the kind that gave me hope I tried not to show. I led her out of our rooms and down the long hallway. Crossing the landing, we stepped onto the wide staircase together.
“You look so pretty, milaya,” I said quietly.
“Thank you. You don’t look horrible yourself,” she tossed.
Then she gave me one of her gorgeous smiles—cute little nose wrinkling, brown eyes sparkling. If we had been in our own house, I would’ve taken her little ass down right then on them damn stairs. Instead, we descended just in time to run into my parents.
My mother’s eyes lit up; she’d been waiting on this.
She’d been the first person I called from Russia when I finally could.
After I had greeted her, my first question was whether anyone had called Theory after my almost year-long disappearance.
She was shocked, then crazy curious about the only woman I’d ever brought up to her.
I squeezed Theory’s hand before releasing it to grab Mama in a big hug.
She laughed and hugged me back. Somehow, her calling me her baby didn’t sound as ridiculous as Sergei saying it.
After one final squeeze, she backed up and smiled directly at Theory.
“Theory! Forgive me, baby, but I feel like I already know you. Your pictures truly don’t do you justice. No wonder this boy been walking around here, nose wide open,” she said.
Theory smiled up at me smugly. I shrugged; I’d never pretended the shit was anything but what it was. I knew from the moment I saw her that she was it for me. Mama extended her hand, Sergei half a step behind her like he always was. He might be the only man in the world more whipped than I was.
“I’m Joia Jones, Targen’s mom—” Mama began.
“And moya lyubimaya,” Sergei inserted hastily. My beloved.
I stopped an eyeroll. Sergei and I had a rocky relationship—and that was putting it kindly—but from the first time I saw him look at my mom when I was twenty years old and stuck in a hospital bed, I knew how he felt about her. Mama exhaled out loud and gave him a scolding look.
“Sergei, this child is not worried about that,” she fussed.
“But it is imperative that everyone know,” he insisted, dropping a possessive little kiss on her shoulder.
Mama sighed. “Anyway, darling, I am truly delighted to meet you,” she continued.
Theory accepted her hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Targen told me a lot about you. And thank you for the wardrobe. You have a beautiful eye.”
Clothes. One of Joia Jones’s areas of expertise.
She linked her arm through Theory’s and guided her to Maxim’s less formal dining room, talking softly the whole way.
I guess the meeting went well—Theory was talking right back.
Good. I wanted them to like each other. No one was more important to me than these two women.
My gaze swept over the impressively appointed room with its fine crystal and burnished wood chandelier and solid wood furniture.
I knew it could only be considered “less formal” if you had viewed the showpiece that was the formal dining room.
Maxim was seated, Lev standing far away.
He rose as the women entered. He hugged my mama briefly, responding softly to the greeting she spoke in Russian.
His eyes settled on Theory for a moment before glancing at me.
She searched for me, too, and I realized Maxim, standing there huge and mostly silent, had rattled her.
I was behind her in a minute, my hand on her waist as I scowled at my asshole of a brother.
“Chill,” I muttered.
His head tilted sideways as his eyes bored into mine. “That is how you speak to me now?”
I stared right back. “About her, that is how I speak to you always,” I warned, mocking his formal English.
Mama cleared her throat. “None of that, now. Maxim, this is Theory. Theory, this is Targen’s brother, Maxim and his… associate, Lev.”
Lev nodded politely. Maxim offered his hand, and she took it. I watched as he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it lightly. I was ready to bust him in his forehead if he kept fucking with her, Bratva boss shit be damned.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Theory. I hope you have found my house and staff satisfactory,” he greeted.
“Thank you.” Her voice came out low. She cleared her throat and tried again, meeting his eyes squarely. “Your hospitality has been beyond satisfactory.”
“And my brother not so much, I presume?” he asked, smirking at me.
That earned him a little smile from my girl. My mother and father took the chairs to his left, and Theory and I took the chairs to his right. I had just pushed her nearer the table when Juvie breezed in and dropped next to Sergei.
“Good afternoon, beautiful people. What’s on the menu today?’ he asked.
Maxim frowned. “Were you invited?”
My brother was powerful, ruthless, murderous, but he would have to learn that Julien Reed did not back down easily. I didn’t know if that was bravery or craziness. Juvie glared right back at him.
“I go where Targen goes. You got that gargoyle looking dude over there watching ya back; you don’t think my guy deserves the same?” he challenged.
“You a bodyguard now?” I asked, grinning at this fool.
“You know I’m multipurpose,” he said, patting his chest.
Maxim snorted. “You are annoying, is what you—”
“Leave the boy alone, Maksyusha,” chided Sergei, using an old nickname for Maxim. “I enjoy him.”
Sergei had gotten sentimental in his retirement, showing lots of love to me and my brother.
Still, his using the nickname in front of people Maxim barely knew had my brother tensing and his face looking even more displeased than it usually did.
I loved that shit. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it as one of his staff began to fill our water glasses.
Conversation around the table flowed smoothly despite Maxim’s stiffness.
I watched Theory as she laughed and interacted with my family, the sight of her being so much more open, so much happier than she was a year ago was beautiful to see.
I knew she was in therapy, and I could tell my milaya was doing her work.
The afternoon had a nice little vibe until my stupid ass brother broke his silence.
“Theory, you are getting ready for your wedding Saturday, I hope,” he said.
Theory froze, the conversation stopping abruptly as all eyes landed on her.
“Maxim,” I started.
“I haven’t agreed to that,” she told him, her tone cool as she rested her knife and fork on her plate.
Maxim shrugged. “You will,” he said simply, then looked at me. “You will make sure of it.”
Theory’s face iced over. There was no other way to describe it. I shook my head. This nigga was not helping.
I scowled at him. “Don’t try to speak for her, Maxim. You got me f—”
“It’s not his job to make sure of anything. I’m a grown ass woman with a mind of my own,” she retorted.
“Which is admirable, but it matters little in this situation. I see that you have yet to get her under control, Targen,” he smirked.
“Bruh, shut the fuck up,” I growled.
His little smile dissolved into a frown. He stood suddenly; I rose, too. “The disrespect—”
“You keep trying me, Maxim, and—”
He moved abruptly, and so did I. Sergei lunged to grab him while Juvie braced his arm against my chest.
“Chill, OG,” he mumbled.
“Y’all stop this nonsense, immediately.” My mother’s voice rang out, stilling my movements.
Theory slid her chair back and placed her napkin on the table. Rising, she plastered a small smile on her face.
“My compliments to your chef. Ms. Joia, Mr. Sergei, it was nice meeting you,” she said, quietly but deliberately snubbing my brother. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me.”
She left the dining room, back straight, chin up. Before I followed her, I shot Maxim another angry look.
“You out, nigga,” I promised, before I left to try to fix what he had fucked up.