I blink, surprised. "A date?"
"Yes." His blue eyes hold mine, and I see determination there mixed with something that looks almost like nervousness. "We've done everything backward, Eva. Sex before dating, marriage before courtship. I want to take you somewhere. Show you I can be more than the monster you know I am."
My heart pounds against my ribs. "When?"
His lips curve into a small smile, the first genuine one I've seen from him in days. "Tomorrow night. Wear something beautiful."
Before I can respond, before I can process what just happened, Roman leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. The gesture is surprisingly gentle for a man capable of such violence, and it makes my throat tight with emotions I'm not ready to examine.
"Go to bed,solnyshko," he murmurs against my skin. "You need rest."
I nod and turn toward the door, my mind spinning. A date. Roman Sokolov, Pakhan and monster, wants to take me on a date.
I'm almost to the hallway when his voice stops me.
"Eva."
I turn back, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes my breath catch.
"Tomorrow night," he says, his accent thick with promise, "I'm going to show you exactly why you should choose me."
38
ROMAN
Iwatch Eva descend the staircase, and my breath catches in my throat like I'm some lovesick fool instead of a powerful Pakhan. She's wearing a deep burgundy dress that hugs every curve, the fabric clinging to her fuller breasts, her slightly rounded stomach where our child grows. Her blonde hair is loose and not in that maddening bun, cascading over her shoulders in waves that make my fingers itch to tangle in them. The November cold has brought color to her cheeks, and when her brown eyes meet mine, I see curiosity mixed with wariness.
"You look beautiful," I say, my accent thicker than usual.Fuck, she does. Beautiful enough that I'm reconsidering this entire plan in favor of carrying her upstairs and reminding her exactly how good we are together.
"Thank you." She accepts the coat I hold out, and when my hands brush her shoulders, I feel her shiver. Not from cold. From awareness. The same electricity that's been crackling between us since the moment we met. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." I guide her toward the SUV waiting in the circular drive, my hand on the small of her back. Even through the fabric, I feel the heat of her skin, and my cock stirs with interest despite my best efforts to remain focused.
The drive takes longer than usual, my driver navigating through evening traffic while I try not to stare at Eva's legs. The dress has ridden up slightly, revealing pale thighs that I remember gripping while I was buried inside her. I force my gaze to the window, to the city lights blurring past, anywhere except the woman beside me who's slowly driving me insane.
"Roman." Her voice is soft, questioning. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." The lie tastes bitter. I'm not okay. I'm watching my empire crumble, facing judgment from Moscow, and falling for a woman who should run screaming from everything I am. But tonight, I'm going to pretend none of that matters. Tonight, I'm just a man taking the mother of his child on a date.
The park appears through the darkness, secluded and quiet. My security team swept it hours ago and positioned themselves at discrete distances where they can monitor without intruding. The SUV stops near a large pond, its surface reflecting the city lights and the moon hanging fat and silver in the November sky.
Eva's eyes widen when she sees what I've arranged. A blanket spread on the grass near the water's edge, surrounded by battery-powered lanterns that cast warm light across the scene. Covered dishes wait on the blanket, steam rising from beneath their lids despite the cold air.
"You did this?" Her voice carries genuine surprise and something that might be pleasure.
"I wanted to give you something normal." I help her from the SUV, my hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary.
We settle onto the blanket, and I start uncovering dishes. Blini with caviar, the kind my mother used to make when we could afford such luxuries. Pelmeni, still hot from the thermos. Sparkling cider in crystal glasses because she can't drink alcohol while pregnant. And the honey cake,medovik, that I had my chef recreate from memory of the one my mother made for special occasions.
Eva's eyes fill with tears when she sees the spread. "This is… Roman, this is Russian food. Real Russian food, not the Americanized versions."
"I thought you might miss home." I pour the cider, watching her face in the lantern light. She's so fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at her sometimes. "Tell me about your childhood. Before America. Before everything went wrong."
She takes a sip of cider, her gaze drifting to the pond's surface. "We lived in a small town. Nothing special, just… simple. Babushka Sasha had a garden where she grew tomatoes and cucumbers. My mother would sing while she cooked, these old folk songs her grandmother taught her." Her voice softens with memory. "We were poor, but we didn't know it. We had each other, and that felt like enough."
I watch her lips move as she talks, remembering how they felt against mine, how they'd look wrapped around my cock.Focus, you bastard.This isn't about sex. This is about knowing her, understanding the woman carrying my heir.
"What made you come to America?" I ask, serving her blini.
