“Uh, not sure. Bagel this morning. Picked at a salad for lunch. Nothing since then.”
He shakes his head and clucks his tongue as he heads into the kitchen and to the fridge. He opens it and ducks inside, humming to himself as he grabs a few things.
“No soft cheese,” he mumbles to himself. “No cured meats, no raw anything.”
Once he has ingredients in hand, he opens a cupboard, taking out a plate.
Bogdan’s back is turned to me as he assembles whatever he’s making. I try to see what he’s preparing, but his broad body blocks my view. After a few minutes, he turns, plate in hand. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Before me is a surprisingly neatly arranged charcuterie board.
“Alright. We have some cheddar and Gouda, seed crackers, a few apple wedges, Marcona almonds. Pregnancy-friendly, naturally.”
My eyes are wide as I look at him. “This is impressive, Bogs.”
“Bogs?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Just workshopping some nicknames.”
He sets the plate down in front of me. “Davay yest. Go on and eat.”
I pluck one of the Gouda slices from the plate and pop it into my mouth. It’s so good, I want to cry. Next, I make a little stack with a cracker, apple slice, and bit of cheddar. That’s even more delicious. The appetite I’d been ignoring returns with full force.
“Good?” Bogdan asks. He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of Perrier, cracking it open and pouring it into a glass, finishing it with a lime wedge.
“Amazing.” I eat another piece of cheese, follow that with some almonds, then wash it down with a sip of the water. “Okay, I have to ask—where did you learn to make a pregnancy-friendly charcuterie board?”
His mouth twitches a bit. “My sister’s had four kids.” He reaches into the fridge again and grabs a bottle of water for himself. “You learn things—what foods are okay, which aren’t. How to help out, how to stay the hell out of the way.”
I grin. “So you’re a body mananda professional doula?”
“Only a professional body man. Amateur doula.”
I take a few more bites, feeling my strength return. “At least one person in this apartment knows how to handle pregnancy.”
He chuckles softly, a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Happy to help in whatever way I can.”
I sip and eat, sip and eat, my belly filling up more and more. “God, it’s like my appetite isendless.”
“Well, you’re eating for two. Wait—three.”
After nearly polishing off the entire board, I sit back contented. “You ever feel like you’re disappearing in all of this?” I ask.
He leans back against the counter. “Disappearing?”
“You know, like this Bratva thing is totally consuming you, like you forget who you are?”
Bogdan shrugs, reaching forward and taking a cracker from my plate. “That’s my job—to disappear. If I do my job the correct way, Sasha barely notices I’m there.” He pops the cracker into his mouth, crunching.
I look at Bogdan, really look at him properly. The quiet edges, the calm patience. This man handed off his autonomy a long time ago. Why? I want to pry for some reason, figure out how he’s come into this life, how he survives it. After all, his position isn’t too different from mine, aside from being pregnant with twins, that is.
“He’ll come around,” Bogdan says. “I don’t want to speak out of turn here, but this is a lot for him to deal with. It’s a new dimension to life that he has to make space for.”
“I get that. It’s just… I don’t know if I can live like this.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. But I still can’t let you leave.”
“I know. I understand. I just… I need to see Angie.”
His brows lift a bit. For him, that’s expressive. “Not possible.”
