“Nah, you shameless.”
“And you stalling.”
She turned back to the stove, but I caught the smile she tried to hide.
“I said I’m a Bratva bride now,” she repeated, flipping a pancake. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
It was too late for that. It went straight there. Then it went lower. Maybe Iwasshameless. But not completely, because it also went somewhere else, somewhere behind my ribs. I didn’t know if I knew what to do with that.
My wife was standing in our kitchen on a Sunday morning, cooking breakfast in my shirt, saying things like “Bratva bride” with a little smile on her face. Yep, my shorty was getting used to us. I knew she still planned to argue with me every chance she got. That was fine. I didn’t want a quiet woman. I wanted Theory. I wanted my smart-mouthed, quick-witted, fine ass firecracker of a wife.
I sat down because she eyeballed me like she might throw something if I didn’t. A few minutes later, she set coffee in front of me, no sugar, a little cream. It was exactly how I drank it. I looked down at the cup, then back at her.
She shrugged. “I pay attention, too.”
“I know.”
“You still overthinking.”
I grinned. “Just thinking my wife likes me.”
She scoffed. “That’s debatable.”
“You made me coffee.”
“That's cuz I’m sweet.”
“You kissed me.”
“I probably was lightheaded.”
“You called yourself a Bratva bride.”
“Boy, I’m under a lot of stress.”
I smiled at her. “In your own kitchen?”
“This isnotmy kitchen.”
I glanced around. “Whose is it?”
She paused with the plate in her hand. This was it, the little moment where she could decide to back off. She could remind me that she had her own house, her own life.
I waited.
She set the plate in front of me.
“It’s our kitchen,” she said quietly.
I caught her wrist, pulled her closer, and kissed the inside of it.
“Our kitchen,” I agreed.
She gave me a little smile. Then she moved around the island and sat beside me with her own plate. She made us pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sliced fruit. We ate in quiet. I observed everything she did, everything that felt wifely. Her foot brushed mine beneath the island. She stole a piece of bacon off my plate even though she had her own. She hummed along to the music under her breath. And then she surprised me.
When we were almost done, she looked at me and said, “Your face needs cream.”
My brow raised. “Now?”
