Her eyes scan me slowly, from my face down to my legs and back up again. "You are quite lovely," she adds with a knowing smirk that makes me feel like she's in on some joke I haven't heard yet. I shift uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how casual I look compared to her polished appearance.
She's beautiful. Dark hair twisted perfectly into place, slender frame wrapped in expensive fabric, pale skin evenlighter than mine. She looks like she belongs in a fashion magazine, not standing in a kitchen watching me make pie.
She takes a step forward, inhaling deeply. "What's that smell?" I give a small, sheepish smile and scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "Uh, just... chicken pot pie." She walks closer to the counter and peers at the pie sitting there. "That's quite a large portion," she says, glancing back at me with a pointed look. "Are you planning to eat all that yourself? You look so tiny."
Tiny? I bite the inside of my cheek hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. "It's for Ilay," I mutter, barely above a whisper.
Natalya raises a brow, her lips curling into a sly smile that tells me she's enjoying this way too much. "Ilay? Are you two dating now?"
I wave my hands quickly in front of me. "No! No, no, absolutely not. It's... it's an apology dinner."
Her smile deepens with obvious amusement. "Oh? And what exactly did you do that needs apologizing for?" she asks, her tone teasing.
I clear my throat and avoid eye contact completely. "Just... punched him a little."
Natalya bursts into laughter, holding her stomach as she doubles over slightly. "Wow! You might be a tiny thing, but you're fearless! You remind me of an orange cat with an attitude problem."
She reaches out suddenly and gently touches a strand of my red hair, tucking it behind my ear with surprising ease and familiarity. "I believe he'll forgive you. Especially if after this meal... he gets that other meal."
My face instantly flushes hot. "No, n-no! I don't know what you're talking about. We're not like that. We're not even friends yet. Just client and lawyer. That's all."
She gives me a knowing smile that says she doesn't believe a word I'm saying, then unbuttons and removes her coat in one smooth motion. "Uh-huh. Sure." She steps fully into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. "Now, let me help you with those dishes. Though honestly, with how much my brother talks about you, I thought you'd be taller. Or at least meaner."
I blink at her. "He talks about me?"
"Constantly," she says, grabbing a dish towel from the counter. "It's exhausting, actually. 'Iris this, Iris that.' You'd think you discovered fire or solved world hunger or something." I can't help but smile a little at that image. "So, what kind of pie are we making?" she asks, peering closer at my handiwork.
"Humble pie," I say flatly.
She stares at me for a beat, processing the joke, then bursts out laughing again. "Oh, I like you. You're funny. And you have guts. My brother needs someone who won't take his nonsense lying down."
"I'm not taking anything," I mutter defensively. "I'm just trying to survive this case."
"Sure you are," she says with a wink that makes me think she sees right through me.
"Now, let's get this in the oven before he gets back and thinks you're trying to poison him."
We work together, sliding the pie carefully into the oven. While we wait for it to cook, Natalya pulls out her phone and scrolls through her music library. Suddenly, "Judas" by LadyGaga blasts through the kitchen speaker at full volume. She grins wide, swaying her hips to the beat. "Come on, dance with me!"
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. "I don't dance."
"Everyone dances," she says firmly, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the open space in the middle of the kitchen. Flour is still dusted on the counter, on my apron, on my hands. She doesn't seem to care at all.
She spins me around, laughing, moving easily with the rhythm. I start laughing too, letting myself move awkwardly, letting the tension ease out of my shoulders for the first time in days.
"See?" she says, spinning again with practiced grace. "You're a natural!"
"I'm really not," I say between laughs.
Before long, the house becomes livelier. The soft background noise of the oven timer and clattering dishes is soon joined by muffled voices from somewhere else in the house. Deep voices, authoritative, drawing nearer. Male voices exchanging greetings. The shuffle of feet. The front door swinging open with a heavy thud.
Someone's arrived.
I glance over at Natalya, who's nonchalantly wiping her hands on a dish towel, looking completely unfazed by the interruption.
"I think he's back," I say, attempting to sound casual even though I can feel my heart rate quickening.
She smirks knowingly, and we move towards the dining area. "Looks like we should get the table set, then."
