"Natasha, let them settle in first," Anya says, walking over. She takes Jemma's hand. "Come on, let's get you inside before you freeze. You must be exhausted from the drive."
The women pull Jemma toward the house. She looks back at me once, her expression screaminghelp me.
I follow.
Inside is chaos. Family, cousins, aunts, uncles, all talking at once in a mixture of Russian and English. The house smells like pine and cinnamon and baking cookies. A massive Christmas tree dominates the entryway—easily fifteen feet tall.Garland drapes from every surface. Christmas music plays softly underneath the conversation.
Everyone stops when they see Jemma.
"Everyone, this is Jemma," my mother announces proudly. "Kostya's girlfriend!"
And then it starts. Everyone wants to meet her, ask questions, hug her. She handles it better than I expected—smiling, shaking hands, answering the safe questions.
"We met at the coffee shop where I work."
"It's been almost a year."
"Yes, I'm excited to be here for Christmas."
She doesn't say "he drugged me in an alley."
She doesn't say "I'm terrified and I want to go home."
She plays her part perfectly.
Dimitri appears at my elbow. "She's good."
"Yes."
"Pretty too. Where'd you find her?"
"Coffee shop."
"And she actually agreed to come meet the family?" He looks skeptical. "What did you have to do? Threaten her?"
I don't answer.
Dimitri goes still. Then: "Kostya. Tell me you didn't—"
"She's here. She's safe. That's all that matters."
"Jesus Christ. You actually?"
"Leave it."
He stares at me. "You're insane."
"So I've been told."
***
After what feels like hours, I rescue Jemma from the crowd. She's surrounded by aunts asking about wedding plans. Her smile is starting to crack.
"Come on," I tell her, taking her hand. "I'll show you our room."
Her eyes widen slightly at "our room" but she follows.
We head upstairs, down a long hallway decorated with garland and small white lights, to the blue bedroom at the end. I unlock it with my fingerprint and pull her inside.
