A laugh bursts from Lev, loud and startled. Even Alya giggles behind her hands.
And just like that—with nothing more than a sarcastic comment and a grimace—she’s one of them. Seamless. Effortless.
Too easy.
I set my cup down with a quiet click that cuts through the laughter.
“You and I,” I say, holding her gaze across the table, “still have matters to discuss.”
The children go still. The air changes.
Bella’s eyes meet mine—sea-blue and unflinching.
“Looking forward to it,” she says, sweet as poisoned honey. Then, just to prove she’s unshaken, she plucks a berry from Alya’s plate, pops it into her mouth, and leans back in her chair like she owns the damn table.
And the worst part?
In this moment, she does.
22
Bella
Of course, Konstantin doesn’t warn me we’re meeting the infamous father this morning. That would be too easy. No, he just waits until I’ve had exactly three sips of lukewarm coffee before informing me with the same casual menace someone might use to announce a tax audit.
The kids are already scrambling, grabbing backpacks and water bottles. Each one stops to give their father two precise kisses—left cheek, right cheek—like tiny soldiers reporting for duty.
“Goodbye, Papa,” they chorus before their nannies herd them toward the door.
“We’re going upstairs,” Konstantin announces once they’re gone. “There’s someone you must meet.”
Upstairs? Someone? My brain stutters. We have people hidden upstairs?
I set my cup down, ignoring the way my stomach tightens. Honestly, this doesn’t sound like a mating call—which, let’s be real, I’ve been low-key hoping for since that garden moment. But he looks serious. And seriously hot this early in the morning.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, giving me just enough of a glimpse of chest to make concentrating difficult. A hint of dark chest hair peeks out from the V of fabric.
When I look up, he’s staring at me staring at him.
Busted.
“Who… are we meeting?” I mumble. “This is a little early, and it’s not even in my schedule…”
Before I can continue, he’s already beside me, pulling out my chair with unexpected courtesy. Oh, how gentlemanly of him—when he’s about to drag me to some mystery meeting.
From the kitchen, we walk silently, passing the garden, the infinity pool, and what feels like thirty identical closed doors. Finally, we approach a private elevator guarded by two men who straighten like rulers when they spot Konstantin.
“Sir.” They nod in unison, one pressing the call button without being asked.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime, its interior gleaming with wood paneling and brass fixtures. Konstantin guides me inside, his hand on the small of my back again.
“Whatever happens later,” he says as the doors close, “just keep quiet.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can you at least tell me who the hell we’re meeting?”
“My father.”
Ding. The elevator arrives at a floor labeled“?o??????.”
