His gaze is unreadable, like a blank page that somehow still feels threatening. Cold. Calculating. He looks straight through me, and my stomach tightens. My instinct is to look away, but I can’t, not when I know how important this moment is.
“Dad,” Alex says sharply beside me, voice low and gravel-edged. There’s a warning in it, subtle but impossible to miss.
Pavel’s eyes move, finally turning toward his son. Still unreadable. Still steady. They stare at each other in a way that says more than any words could.
“Oh, come on, Pavel,” Roman cuts in, rolling his eyes. “Give the boy a chance.”
Pavel frowns. His lips part like he’s about to say something, and my heart climbs higher in my throat, but then a voice cuts through the tension like sunlight through a storm.
“There you all are,” Davika says, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. She moves toward us with effortless grace, her smile glowing like a balm, and the tension in my chest loosens a little. There’s always something about her—it disarms everything around her, even me. But nothing prepares me for the shock of what I see next.
Pavel’s face—his expression—softens. Instantly. Like someone flipped a switch. His eyes follow her like he’s afraid she might disappear if he blinks. She reaches us and, without hesitation, wraps her arms around his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He looks down at her, and the smallest smile pulls at his lips.
“Zhizn moya,” he murmurs. I know it’s Russian, I also do not know what it means, but the way he says it, so quietly, so gently, feels like something sacred.
Davika beams up at him, then turns her attention to me.
“I see you’ve met Lucas, huh?” she says, smiling with her usual charm. “Isn’t he just perfect for our son?”
Pavel glances at me, and a grunt escapes him—more an exhale than a word.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Pavel,” Davika says, slapping his chest lightly with a grin. “Let’s go outside to the courtyard. The food is already getting cold.”
“Yes, we should,” Roman agrees, starting forward with his usual quiet authority. “I need to meet the others.”
Davika sends me a warm smile before taking Pavel’s hand and walking away with him, her presence almost dragging the tension away with her. I release a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
When I look up, Alex is already watching me, concern soft in his gaze.
“How are you?” he asks quietly. “Do you need time before we go out?”
The flutter in my chest is immediate. He sees me. Even in a storm like this, he still sees me.
“No,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I was only worried about meeting your grandfather and your father. And now I have… I feel good. I can handle anyone else now.”
Alex studies me for a second longer, then nods.
And somehow, just that—his presence, his belief in me, makes me stand a little taller.
***
I handled the lunch gathering better than I thought I would. The greetings, the endless introductions—all go smoothly, even though there’s a tight, nervous pit curling inside my stomach from the attention.
Davika keeps introducing me to someone new—an uncle, a cousin, another cousin, a sister, another family member, and so on. Her voice is always bright and proud, every introduction starting with the same phrase: “This is Lucas, Alex’s boyfriend.”
And every time she says it, I feel my face heat like I’ve been set on fire.
I try to smile, to look friendly and presentable, but I can feel my lips twitching into something that probably reads more like a panicked grimace than anything polite. Still, no one is rude. No one asks me any uncomfortable questions or stares too long. Maybe they’re all just… cautious. Or maybe they’ve noticed how closely Alex stays by my side, his presence like a silent warning.His hand on the small of my back or fingers brushing against mine. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t leave my side either. And that—his quiet, grounding presence keeps me sane.
I’ve seen a fair share of rich people, but Alex’s family is something else entirely. They’re not just rich, they wear it like skin. Gold-draped, diamond-laced, effortlessly elegant. The kind of people who’ve never worried about dinner or how to pay rent. The type of people who probably don’t even check price tags.
And yet… none of them have made me feel small. Not yet.
By the time we’re finally seated for lunch, I’ve begun to breathe easier. There must be thirty of us in total, spread out across three long banquet tables. Everyone seems relaxed, talking and laughing with a kind of practiced grace, like they were born knowing how to make conversation without ever letting their wine glasses go empty. I’m just relieved Alex’s father and grandfather aren’t seated at our table. It’s not that I hate them, I don’t—but it’s a relief not to feel Pavel’s stern, unreadable gaze burning holes into me across the tablecloth.
“I’m so glad Miranda isn’t here,” says a voice beside me, one of Alex’s cousins. Sophia? Silvia? I didn’t quite catch her name. She’s hard to miss, though, pink-dyed buzz cut, piercings climbing up both ears, thick black mascara coating her lashes like armor. She’s wearing all black, tight and dramatic, with platform heels that could break a man’s jaw.
Her voice is dry and sharp-edged, and it cuts through the soft murmur of our table. I blink, startled out of my thoughts, and glance her way.
