Page 100 of The Bratva King

“Want some breakfast?”

He nods and slides out of bed, gathering his blanket and his current favorite dinosaur, the stegosaurus.

We head to the kitchen, where Irina is setting out fresh fruit and yogurt. She smiles when she sees us. It seems Irina is finally warming up to us. And the feeling is mutual.

“Good morning,” she says.

Luke goes straight to the pantry and emerges with Cocoa Puffs. I smile. He usually sticks with one food for a few months. I love that he’s going for variety.

That’s another thing I want to thank Nik for but can’t. If only he understood how exciting it was.

I pour a cup of coffee and make myself a fruit plate.

Luke climbs into his usual chair, and Irina sets a bowl in front of him. I open the cereal box and let him fill it. I insist on adding the milk. We’re not there yet. He picks up his spoon and starts eating, completely content.

Nik walks into the kitchen, freshly showered, and drop-dead gorgeous as always.

His eyes travel over me slowly, lingering on the mark on my neck. Something dark and possessive flashes across his face.

“We’re going shopping,” he announces as Irina hands him a cup of coffee.

I blink. “Shopping?”

“For Luke’s room. He needs furniture. Bedding. Whatever goes in a kid’s room.”

He takes a seat at the table, sees the box of Cocoa Puffs, and frowns. Irina puts a bowl in front of him. He hesitates before picking up the box and filling his own bowl. I wonder if he’s not ready to change cereal.

Luke glances up at him before going back to his cereal.

“Nikolai, you don’t need to take us shopping.”

He looks at me, and I reach out to wipe the little bit of milk off his chin with my thumb. It’s only after I pull my hand back that I realize what I’ve done.

I glance at Luke to see if he’s noticed. His eyes are on his bowl.

But Irina noticed. She puts down a plate with buttered toast. Her eyes lock on mine. Apparently, warming up to me doesn’t mean she’s ready to let me put my hands on Nikolai.

“Luke picks everything out,” Nik says. “You supervise. I pay.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

I want to argue. I should argue. But the way he’s looking at me short-circuits my brain.

“Okay,” I reply. “But I am going to thank you.”

He knows what I’m talking about. I swear I see his lips twitch.

An hour later, the three of us walk into a massive furniture store. It’s one of those warehouse places with endless aisles of bedroom sets and living room configurations. Luke’s hand tightens around mine the moment we walk through the doors.

Too many people. Too much noise. The lights are harsh overhead.

“I’m here,” I say. “Can you do fifteen minutes?”

That’s our thing. Fifteen minutes. If he makes it, I ask if he can do another fifteen. I usually set the timer on my phone. I don’t know if it’s the wrong way to handle his anxiety. I read a blog, and one mom said that’s what she did.

Nik reaches down and takes Luke’s other hand. Again, I wonder if it’s for Luke’s sake or his.