Irina’s bubbly laughter filled the room.
“This ismykind of recipe! Just so you know, because the last thing I’d want is all of this” —she ran her hands down her T-shirt and over her thighs— “to trick you into thinking your trad wife dream is coming true … I’m a terrible cook. Honestly. I’m not lying. I never learned to cook growing up, and it shows.”
Mouth dry, my gaze lingered on her bare legs. “And yet you were going to bake a surprise wedding cake?”
She rolled her eyes playfully, and heat zinged through my body. “I promise you would have awarded me an A for effort … Hubby.”
Her smile was like sunshine melting my insides, and I felt my own mouth mirroring hers … when sharp pain sliced into my calf. I yelped, leaning down to disentangle Trinket’s claws from my pyjamas and my skin.
“Bloody hell, cat! I’m sorry,” I muttered as she yowled in protest. “I’ll feed you now. Where’s Abernathy?”
“Oh, I fed him earlier,” Irina explained breezily, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “He’s such a polite boy! Woke me up with a gentle pat to the cheek and led me right to his food bowl! Last I saw he’d gone back to sleep on my bed.”
“Catnip indeed,” I murmured, scooping up Trinket and carrying her through to her bowl. “Why can’t you be as nice to me as your brother is to Irina?”
Trinket glared at me as if to say, ‘I did remind you politely ten minutes ago, but you forgot about me to flirt with the new lady,’ and then fell ravenously on her kibble.
Apparently, even my cat had the ability to make me blush. Thankfully, Irina seemed distracted, bustling around the kitchen. I closed my eyes as her T-shirt lifted while she reached for a mug, revealing plain black cotton underwear—modest, unassuming and somehow more devastating than lace or silk.
“Who keeps their teaspoons in the drawer? Everyone knows they go in a jar next to the kettle!”
I cracked my eyes, hoping my body was under control. “They’re cutlery. They go in the cutlery drawer.”
She threw me a withering look, spooning instant coffee into a mug. “But they’re only used to make coffee and tea, so it just makes sense to keep them close by!”
I scratched my forehead. “You don’t eat with them? Yoghurt or dessert? Cereal?”
She opened her mouth then closed it. Tilted her head to the side. Nodded once. “I concur. Teaspoons are a valid eating option for some people. But maybe we could keep half of them near the kettle?”
“Already putting your stamp on the place, are you?” I teased, then sobered, recalling the way she’d seemed genuinely frazzled by our conversation the night before.
“What I said last night, about moving in. I wasn’t trying to impose my will on you. I … sometimes I’m very blunt. But I think that, if we want this charade to be believable when it comes time to handling the legal side of things, it’s going to be important that we have been cohabiting. Immigration isn’t just going to hand you a partner visa because you’re married to me. There will be questions. They’ll want to make sure we are genuine. And we’ll need to know … things about each other.”
My face was getting hotter by the minute as Irina regarded me, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she stirred her coffee.
“Okay,” she eventually said. “How do you take your coffee? Weshould start with the basics. I like mine strong and white and bitter as fuck.”
Some of the tension eased from me. “Black. With two sugars. One spoon of coffee, three quarters boiling water, and then topped up from the tap to make it immediately drinkable.”
“Okay. Sweet black water is your thing. Got it!” She winked, her phone buzzing on the counter.
“Ooh! Bread’s here! I’ll go get it.” She made to leave the kitchen. I reached out, my fingers curling around her elbow.
“No,” I said firmly. Her pulse thudded against my thumb, and I stroked the soft skin there. “Let me. Our friends from last night have been loitering around the street at all hours. I don’t want them harassing you.”
She nodded, her lips parting. “That’s very … chivalrous of you. Thank you,” Her fingers rested on my forearm.
“My pleasure,” I replied, the words automatic, the tone rough and husky. I didn’t let go of her arm. She didn’t move away. Her gaze was two points of pressure on my face, and I couldn’t meet them … couldn’t stop staring at her pink lips, slightly damp from the sip of coffee she’d taken.
Was her chest rising and falling faster than before? Mine certainly was.
“I’ll make you some of your sweet black water, then.”
Neither of us moved. Her tongue darted out to daub her bottom lip. I swallowed back the sudden urge to kiss her. Because that wasn’t what was happening here … was it?
“That would be a very trad wife thing for you to do,” I joked, trying to lighten the tension that had gripped the moment. Her lips twitched. And finally, she slipped her hand from my arm, and stepped away.
“Well … go get your bread.” She nudged her way past, her back to me as she flicked the switch to boil the kettle once more.
