The room goes quiet.
Conversation dies. Even Anatoly’s glass stops halfway to his lips.
Bella shifts in her seat, glancing around like she’s missed the punchline.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “You’d think I just married him or something.”
Alya tilts her head. “Yes, youdidjust marry Papa. You silly.”
Bella chokes on air.
Lev grins. “Bella’sblushing!”
Her cheeks go pink immediately. She stares down at her plate like it just betrayed her.
Nikolai doesn’t say anything. But he’s biting the inside of his cheek, failing to hide a smile.
I cough once. Dry.
Then I sit.
“Let the kitchen know we’re ready,” I say—without looking up.
Oleg’s already moving. The man doesn’t need commands—he just needs timing. A door swings open, and food begins arriving in quiet, practiced waves.
The first course is set in front of Bella—stuffed cabbage, sliced roast duck, and beet salad. She blinks down at it, and I alreadyknow she’s trying to figure out how she’s going to cut anything one-handed without looking pathetic.
I take her knife and start cutting the duck breast into neat, even pieces.
She stares at me like I just reached across the table and proposed marriage with a ring hidden under the garnish.
“What… are you doing?” she whispers.
“Feeding my wife,” I say flatly.
“Since when?!”
“Since now.”
Across the table, Alya lets out a delighted squeak.
Lev is cackling. “Oh, my God. This is too cheesy.”
Bella doesn’t say a word.
She just chews.
Eyes wide. Face red. Like maybe if she just keeps eating, we’ll all forget what just happened.
Nikolai lifts his glass, barely hiding a grin.
I nudge her plate a little closer. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”
“I can cut my own food,” she murmurs.
“Undoubtedly. With one hand and significant nerve damage in your dominant arm? Less efficiently.”
Her nostrils flare. But she doesn’t argue further, which tells me just how tired she still is.
