Lucy
Aralina
The food looks delicious. Why did I get sick?
Me
There’ll be more gatherings. Or I can cook for you.
You’re hurting my feelings.
I snorted a laugh.
“Is that my sister?” Kirill asked.
He was driving the Porsche. Our security was behind us.
“Yes, she’s bummed she couldn’t come to the party.”
“Yeah, that was one spectacular feast.”
“What was your favorite?” I suspected what his favorite was. I’d seen him go back to the buffet table for seconds. There were about thirty guests, and to do a sit-down would be unwieldy, especially when Mom was going to be cooking. Besides, she wanted to enjoy circulating with our guests instead of supervising the plating. Once in a while, we did sit-downswhen it was just the core family of the De Luccis. Recently we’d added the Rossis, and now the Zahkarovs.
“Lobster ravioli.”
“Mama made that herself.”
“You know, I heard two hundred grand worth of lobster was stolen from a Maine warehouse.”
I burst out laughing. “And you think it’s one of the Five Families?”
His mouth twitched. For all I knew, it could be the bratva.
“Mamma always outdid herself. Now do you regret marrying someone who can’t cook like that?” I teased.
“Is that a trick question, Luchik?” He asked that question while giving my hand a gentle squeeze. He was still hesitant. I stopped wearing the wrist brace last week following a check-up that had given me the all clear. I didn’t get migraines anymore either. So, I was a happily caffeinated Lucy again. I almost cried when I drank my first cup of coffee.
“No, it’s not.”
“Did you know I rejected twenty-five marriage contracts from Margo over the years?” he said.
“Really?”
We arrived at the house, and Kirill drove the Porsche to the back of the mansion to park in the garage. “How have I not told you this?”
“I know, right? How have you not bragged about it?” I deadpanned.
Kirill chuckled. His sounds of amusement were so sexy. It was the type of suppressed chuckle that started in the middle of his chest and barely made it past his mouth.
He turned off the engine and leaned over. “I love you, baby.” Then, he gave me a brief kiss. Kirill had become more affectionate when it was just the two of us. Around my family, he was more reserved, but there was no question he was protective.And when we were in a huge crowd? Forget it. He’d have his big-dick-energy face on and glower at anyone who even looked at me wrong.
I’d come a long way from disliking overbearing men.
Kirill was right. I just hadn’t met the right one.
“I love you too.” I sighed happily. It was a terrific night that I didn’t want to be over.
When we reached the kitchen, I grabbed a glass of water. I wasn’t sure why I was so wired, but maybe it was the cappuccino I drank at Jabbin’ Java that afternoon.
