“What? It’s a normal question. You are not getting younger.”
My dad swats her arm. “Irina! Let them be married for a year at least before such questions.” He turns to us apologetically. “But she is right. No rush, but the clock is ticking.”
Jenna recovers, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “We’re focused on getting custody of Livy right now,” she says diplomatically. “One step at a time.”
“Smart,” my mother approves. “You’re a smart woman, I like that. First custody, then big wedding, then lots of babies.”
Thank God the rest of dinner passes more easily and once we’re finished, my mother refuses any help with clearing the table. “No, no. You sit. I clean.”
“At least let me help. You’ve been in hospital all week,” Jenna insists, standing to gather plates.
“Good wife,” my mother murmurs to me in Russian as Jenna carries dishes to the sink. “Strong. Smart. Pretty. Not like last one.”
I don’t correct her comparison to Mira. It’s easier this way.
My father checks his watch. “We should go, Irina. Early morning tomorrow. You have an appointment at the hospital, darling.”
“Oh, yes. You newlyweds need time alone or we don’t get babies,” my mother says with a knowing smile that makes heat creep up my neck. “We’ll see you. But yes, I’ll be back in hospital tomorrow, it’s like prison. Don’t forget to call me.”
The goodbyes stretch on as my mother insists on packing up leftovers, sharing more of her cooking secrets, and helping with bringing Livy to bed. When we finally reach the door, she cradles Jenna’s face in her hands.
“Welcome to family,” she says, kissing both her cheeks. “Take care of my son.”
Jenna’s smile wavers for just a moment. “I’ll do my best.”
My father hugs me tightly. “She is good one,” he whispers. “Don’t mess up.”
Then they’re gone, and the apartment turns quiet in a way that feels almost unnatural. The laughter, the little footsteps, the life of it—all of it disappears behind the closed door. Jenna stands with her back to me, staring at the kitchen counter like she’s listening to the silence settle. The distance between us suddenly feels way too big.
“Thank you,” I say at last, because I need to say something. Because the words in my chest are too loud and this is all I can manage. “You were… incredible tonight. They believed us.”
Her shoulders rise with a slow breath.
“Colton…” she says softly, leaning back against the counter. The same counter where, hours ago, I had to physically stop myself from kissing her senseless in front of my freaking parents. “Since that kiss on the couch… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
Everything inside me stumbles.
I move before I think. One step and then another, closing the space between us like it’s been hurting me.
“Me too,” I admit. “I can’t sleep. Can’t focus. I keep replaying it.”
She lowers her eyes, like she can’t bear to look at me when she says, “What if… what if I really want to kiss you again?”
I’m close enough now to feel the warmth of her. Close enough to see the quick rise and fall of her breath. See that plush mouth…
“Only a kiss?” I ask quietly.
That makes her smile, small and nervous and beautiful. Then she looks up, and when her emerald eyes meet mine, there’s nowhere else I want to be. I want to drown in them.
“No,” she whispers. “I want more. I want… all of it because the way I feel around you both scares and thrills me. I… I feel like a teenager around you, Colton.”
The words hit me like a prayer I never thought would be answered. She feels the same. My perfect lawyer shares these feelings with me. Reckless. Hopeless. Consumed by need.
I’m already leaning in when her hand lands on my chest, stopping me—but barely. Oh, she could never stop me, not after this. I already chose to make her mine. But her palm is warm through my shirt, her touch somehow gentler than it should be.
“But…” she says.
I take her chin in my hand, thumb brushing softly along her jaw. The wine in my system makes me bolder, but none of this is the wine. This is all me, wanting nothing but her.
