“I’m going to kill you, Alex,” he mumbles
I chuckle, pressing my nose into his hair.
FORTY-ONE
LUCAS
“What’s your grandfather like?” I ask, my voice lower than usual, my nerves making my throat feel dry.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching Alex as he fixes the collar of his dark polo shirt in the mirror. His biceps flex with every movement, the veins in his arms like subtle lines of power under his skin. Hell—he always looks so effortlessly hot. It’s almost unfair. Sometimes, just looking at him makes my knees feel weak.
How is he mine?
He said he loved me last night.
He actually said it.
My stomach flips at the memory, heat rising to my cheeks.
Alex glances at me through the mirror.
“Appearance or personality?” he asks, his tone light, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I shrug, folding my arms tightly over my chest.
“I don’t know. Both, maybe? What should I expect?”
He turns and walks toward me, his footsteps slow and assured. I still find it hard to believe someone so calm and composed can care so much about me.
He stops in front of me and gently takes one of my arms, fingers deftly adjusting the sloppy roll of my shirt sleeve. I hadn’t even noticed it was uneven, too busy being in my own head.
“He looks intimidating,” Alex says while rolling the other sleeve with the same gentle focus. “But he’s not. Not really.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
I breathe in his scent, warm and comforting.
“How’s your family so… accepting?” I ask after a beat. “I mean, how are they okay with us? With me being a guy and—”
“Stop spiraling, baby.” He taps my nose gently, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “It’s normal in my family. The Petrov name has always carried… different kinds of love. My great-grandfather, Petr, the founder of our Bratva, was gay. His son, Dimitri, my grandfather’s twin, divorced his wife and married a man. So it’s not just tolerated in my family. It’s part of who we are.”
I blink, startled. “So… you’re not the only queer grandchild in the family?”
“God, no.” He actually laughs, soft and warm. “Far from it.”
Something loosens in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I smile. Really smile. Relief hums quietly through me.
“Are a lot of your family coming for this gathering?”
He drops my hands and reaches up to my hair, arranging the curls on my forehead. He doesn’t rush. His fingers are careful. Soft.
“A few,” he says simply, smoothing my hair back before his hand stills. His gaze lingers on my face, and I tilt my chin slightly up to meet his eyes.
Why does he have to look at me like that? Like I’m the only thing he sees.
“You don’t have to join if you’re not ready,” he says suddenly, voice low and serious. “Or see anyone. I’ll drive you home right now if you want.”
I blink up at him, touched by how quickly he offered that he thought of me first, even with all this family pressure around him.
