Yep. I heard it. That “wife” wasn’t meant to be nice. At least not for me.
I lean against the pillar in my living room, arms crossed over my chest, taking in the scene I never imagined. My lawyer stands in my kitchen wearing jeans and a simple sweater instead of her courtroom armor, flour dusting her freckled cheeks. It’s hard not to look at her. She’s stunning in every way. Her red hair is pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She looks softer here, more real than the sharp-edged attorney who’s been avoiding me all week because we dry humped each other.
My father clears his throat on the couch and my gaze flicks to him. “Your wife, she really is a good woman,” he says in Russian. “But you are in trouble.”
I snort, responding in our native tongue. “Figured. Mom’s gaze pierced through me like a dagger.”
“Your mother, she is very upset. No call, nothing about a girlfriend or marriage? Not smart, Colya.”
He doesn’t know the half of it. Doesn’t know that this marriage is as real as the plastic championship rings they sell outside Petrov Arena.
“I know, Papa. I’ll fix it.”
Good luck,” my father says, a lifetime of marriage wisdom contained in those two words.
I watch Jenna as she deftly shapes the Pelmeni—my favorite dish. A warmth spreads through me just at the sight. She brushes a bead of sweat from her upper lip, and I can’t help butnotice how her mouth moves as she concentrates. Damn, she has such a beautiful mouth. Kissing her felt so good.
Jenna looks up and meets my gaze, a hint of surprise flickering across her face. For just a moment, I catch a glimpse of the guarded woman beneath the surface—the way her brow furrows slightly, her jaw tightening as if she’s bracing for something. Then, just like that, she softens, her features relaxing into a welcoming smile that lights up her eyes.
“Colton,honey, can you get the sour cream from the fridge?” She wipes her hands on a towel, leaving ghostly flour prints behind.
Honey. The word lands strangely in my chest. I grin at her and there’s that teasing smirk of hers. Is she flirting with me in front of my parents? What a brat.
I push off from the doorframe. “Sure thing, darling.”
As I pass her to reach the refrigerator, she touches my arm casually, like she does it every day. Oh, I wish she would… The contact is brief, but it feels like so much more to me, instead it’s just a performance for my parents’ benefit. I wonder if she can feel the way my muscles tense under her fingers.
As I make my way around her, my hand finds her hip—just for a second, just enough. The fabric of her sweater is soft, and underneath it she is warm. My mother’s back is turned, knife working through something on the cutting board, and I just can’t help myself and lean in, pressing my lips to the side of Jenna’s neck.
“You’re such a good wifey. I didn’t know that you can cook like this.”
She catches her breath, and for a second the kitchen disappears—my mother’s knife, the steam rising off the pot—all of it gone. There is only the flour on her cheekbone and the warmth coming off her skin and the way her eyes drop, just once, to my mouth.
I cage her against the counter with my arms, and she shifts back—just slightly, just enough—and that’s when my lips find her neck again.
“I enjoy cooking,” she whispers, her breath catching as my lips brush over her skin. “But only if I have the time and am not feeling…” She takes a deep breath. “Rushed.”
Being near her feels like a thrilling kind of madness. I’ve never felt this way before, and even though it’s supposed to be fake, I’m starting to wonder if it really is. I think I’m falling for my little lawyer.
“I would never pressure you into anything,Solnyshko.”
She turns to meet my gaze, searching my eyes as if trying to find the sincerity of my words there. Of course, I mean it. “We can always order takeout, or I’ll cook for you.” She glances at my mouth, and just as I lean in to finally kiss her like the desperate man I am, my mother calls out, “Dinner’s ready! Colton, set the table.”
I release a dramatic sigh, torn between the urge to stay in her orbit and the fact that I was just about to kiss her. But I’m a good boy—that’s why I head to the cabinet to grab those damn plates and call for Livy.
“Your mother’s teaching me all your favorites,” Jenna says as she carries a steaming pot to the table. “Apparently, you were quite the picky eater as a child.”
I set the plates down one by one, watching her sassy smile out of the corner of my eye.
My mother laughs. “This boy! Would not eat anything green until he was twelve. I have stories.”
“I’d love to hear them all,” Jenna says. And again. That smile. If I could lift her up and carry her to my bedroom right now…
“Maybe save some for next time, Mama,” I say.
“I’d be ready to hear them, though,” that fiery redhead says.
As she passes me, I can’t help but give that damn ass in those fitted jeans a playful slap. The second my palm cracks against that denim-clad ass, time fucking stops. That redhead—oh,Jesus—she’s got curves that could make a priest sin.
