Page 29 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
For me, family always came with obligation, and we rarely had these kinds of gatherings just for the sake of celebrating something. I’ve never been welcomed into something so easy and comforting.
And yet, they do it like this isn’t out of the ordinary. Here, a pregnant woman can glow with attention while her sisters pass around gifts and dote on her because she matters to them.
It’s all so startling to me, and yet…it’s appealing too.
Even if they haven’t made a single comment about me being here with Ivan, I can tell they don’t really know why I’m here. They know my name, and they probably know something about my family, but they surely don’t know I didn’t exactlycome willingly. They probably don’t know that I’m a bigger problem than anyone else lets on.
So I play my part, just not because Ivan asked me to.
At first, I smile and answer questions to fit in and seem polite, and I let myself be included because I don’t want to draw more attention to myself by rejecting it. And, against my better judgment, part of me wants to know what this feels like, even if I have no right being here.
Surprisingly, even Ivan seems a bit different, not that I know him all that well. But he seems less sharp around the edges, and more like he’s an active participant rather than just someone looming. He stays near without entirely hovering, and in a way, his watchful gaze feels more restrained than before.
There’s some tension in the way he stands nearby and seems a bit lost in thought while the others are distracted. But when one of the kids talks to him, he softens fractionally, jumping back into uncle mode without needing to try.
By the time all the gifts are opened and the cake is eaten, I feel completely wrung out. Even if they treated me like one of them, I’m not a Lukov.
Once the event ends and everyone says their goodbyes, Ivan's shift is immediate.
On the drive home, he barely speaks, and while that isn’t entirely surprising, it’s the tight grin he has on the steering wheel that catches my attention, along with the faint irritation leaving him in waves.
Initially, I question if I did something he didn’t like at the baby shower, but the longer I wait it out, the more it doesn’t seem directed at me.
I’m half tempted to stay quiet just to avoid having to speak with him, but once we reach the condo and the door locks behind us, I glance at him.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
The question isn’t meant to be accusatory, even if it sounds that way, but Ivan’s jaw clenches again, and he doesn’t ask for clarification, like his mind was already there. “Yes.”
“That didn’t sound very convincing.”
Ivan pulls in a breath to steady himself, then he looks at me, seeming like he can’t tell if he should be glad or annoyed that it’s just us now. “You didn’t see what I had to deal with.”
“Today didn’t go the way you expected, then,” I murmur, wondering just how far I should dig this hole of mine. “Yet, you still chose to bring me anyway.”
Ivan doesn’t say anything, and instead, he heads towards the kitchen with irritation nipping at his heels.
The temptation to ignore him like he’s ignoring me in favor of disappearing into the spare room is strong, but I did what he asked today, and the least he can do is be upfront with me.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I say, following until I reach the kitchen island. “…Dragging me into situations you can’t control.”
He huffs out a humorless breath, pausing with the fridge door open. “You think that’s what this is?”
Bracing myself, I speak as evenly as I can. “I think you’re improvising, and that scares me.”
After grabbing a bottled water, he looks at me sharply. “You’re scared?”
“Yes, I am,” I utter, feeling the never-ending stream of tension coursing through me. “Because you’re making decisions for me when you don’t even know how they’ll unfold, and you expect me to be grateful for it.”
With frustration bleeding through his carefully crafted control, Ivan scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“And I’m trying to keep myself together.”
Finally, something shifts in Ivan, like the seams are beginning to pull apart, and he puts his hands on the countertop. “Jesus Christ, Mila…do you ever stop pushing?”
Pausing, I watch him closely, not knowing if I’ve gone too far or if I’m finally getting somewhere, honest with him.
He forces out a breath and shakes his head, muttering, “You were the same with your brothers, too.”
