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Stas lifted his drink in a grunt of agreement. “Every year before you eloped.”

Zasha winced. “I apologized for that, didn’t I?”

“Repeatedly,” I said. “Stanislav has forgiven you. Haven’t you?”

I raised a brow.

Stas grunted again. Once upon a time, it would’ve annoyed me. Now it made me grin like an idiot and think about getting him somewhere dark and horizontal. Although if he wanted it vertical, I’d make it work too.

“That’s all in the past,” Yelena said, smoothing things over. “You two have fun. Take a cab home if you drink too much.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I snapped her a salute.

Zasha blushed like a teenager, kissed her again, and finally headed for the door.

I lingered just a beat longer than I should have. Long enough for my eyes to find Stas. He wasn’t looking directly at me, but god, he had to have felt me there. His gaze slid sideways, something dark and warm sparking under it, a heat that lived somewhere deep in my ribs these days.

Three nights.

Three mornings waking tangled together.

Three days pretending we weren’t one wrong breath away from exposing everything.

I wanted to cross the room and kiss him. Just once. Soft, quick, under the mistletoe Yelena had hung everywhere. Wanted to claim him the way he’d been claiming my bed.

But there were lines here we couldn’t cross in front of his daughter. So I gave him the only thing I could. A small nod, barely there.

It wasn’t enough. Not after the way he’d curled around me in sleep. Not after waking with his breath on my neck, his hand fisted in my shirt like he didn’t want to let go. The nod felt like starving him.

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite a scowl. A flicker of something like disappointment flashed across his face before he buried it.

“Good night,” I murmured, too quietly, then finally turned and followed Zasha out the door.

The place Zasha chose was a warm, brick-walled tavern with garlands strung between beams and an evergreen wreath hanging above the bar. Soft jazz hummed under the murmur of conversation. Warm lights reflected off glasses, making everything glow a little gold.

It wasn’t our usual kind of place. That was probably the point. Zasha slid into the booth first and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for five years. I sat across from him, shrugging off my coat.

“God, I needed this,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize how much until now.”

I smirked. “What, a break from the pregnant wife?”

He gave me a dirty look, then softened. “A break from pretending I’m not still this.”

He gestured vaguely at himself, at me. At what we were and what we came from.

A server came by, a pretty brunette dressed up in a sexy elf costume. She took one look at Zasha, then at me, and the color in her cheeks rose. Zasha didn’t seem to notice her at all beyond being a server as he ordered a beer. I ordered vodka.

When the drinks arrived, we clinked glasses.

“To Christmas,” he said.

“To survival,” I corrected.

We drank.

The burn hit instantly, familiar and grounding.

“Survival? You and Stanislav have been getting along lately. Better than I had hoped.”