“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He shrugs, but I can see it still hurts. “What about your mom?”
“She was everything.” I hold the dress against myself, checking the mirror. “She gave up everything to raise me alone. Worked herself to the bone so I could have a better life.”
“Your dad wasn’t around?”
“Never met him. He was some soldier who promised my mom the world, then disappeared when she got pregnant.” I put the dress back.
Alexi is quiet for a moment. “We’re kind of the same, then. Growing up without one parent.”
“Yeah. I guess we are.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m glad you married my dad. I was worried at first about him bringing someone new into our lives. Thought it would be weird having a stepmother.”
I laugh. “A stepmother who’s twenty-five and pregnant.”
“Exactly. But you don’t feel like a stepmother. You feel like…” He considers. “Like the sister I never had.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “Now come on. Try on some actual maternity clothes before Dad calls and asks why we’ve been here for two hours without buying anything.”
The maternity section is on the second floor. I try on six different dresses, two pairs of jeans, and a collection of stretchy tops that actually fit over my bump.
Alexi waits outside the dressing room, occasionally offering commentary through the door.
“That one makes you look like a librarian.”
“What’s wrong with librarians?”
“Nothing. But you’re married to a Bratva boss. You need to look more…I don’t know. Powerful.”
“I’m shopping for maternity clothes, not planning a hostile takeover.”
“Same thing, really.”
I come out wearing dark jeans and a silk top that drapes nicely over my stomach. “Better?”
He studies me critically. “Much better. You look like you could negotiate a business deal and then kill someone.”
“That’s the aesthetic I was going for.”
We end up buying most of what I try on. Alexi carries the bags without complaining, even though there are at least seven of them.
“You know, you’re pretty good at this,” I say as we head toward the exit.
“At what? Shopping?”
“Being a brother. Or whatever we are.”
His smile is genuine. “You too.”
We stop at a coffee shop down the street. Alexi orders an espresso, and I get a decaf latte that tastes like disappointment but is supposedly better for the baby.
“Can I ask you something?” Alexi says as we sit at a small table.
“Sure.”
