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“Sorry,” I say again and again. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you keep apologizing? You’re pregnant and stressed. I can’t believe you’ve lasted as long as you have. Stay here—I’m going to get you something to drink.”
Before I can thank him, he’s off towards the bathroom. Only then do I realize that he’s sat me down behind his desk. In his intimidating, brown leather swivel chair. I drag my gaze up and find myself staring at the burning bright light coming off his open computer screen. When I realize what’s on the display, my jaw drops.
Are those cribs?
I blink, but it doesn’t go away. I am in fact staring at a browser featuring row after row of baby crib options. I can’t help but lean in and peer closer. Some of the options have been favorited.
I jump in place and damn near scream when I hear a pointed “ahem.” I can’t exactly pretend I haven’t been nosing through his computer so I don’t even try.
“You were crib-shopping.” It’s halfway between a tease and an accusation.
“Considering our son will need one soon, yes, I was.” His face twists into a scowl. “What is so funny about that?”
I shrug, trying to fight a smile. “I guess—” I glance back towards the screen. “—I just expected something more… menacing to be on the screen of the most notorious Bratva don in the city.” I shrug. “How-to-lose-an-enemy-in-ten-days kinda stuff, ya know? Ways to dissolve body parts in acid. That kind of thing.”
His lips twitch, the closest he’ll get to laughing. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“On the contrary, I’m not disappointed at all.” I take the water he’s offering from his hands. “I think it’s nice that you care about this stuff.”
“This is our son we’re talking about.”
Ugh.
Swoon.
I clear my throat before I say, do, or reveal something incredibly stupid. “So, er, uh, what else have you been looking up?”
He drags up another chair beside me. Close enough that our hands bump against one another when he sits down. I wonder if he’s hard right now, like he was at the Lamaze class. The class was over an hour long and by the end of it, I had a blossoming bruise on my right hip from where his erection was digging into me.
As far as problems go, it’s not a bad one to have—unless that erection belongs to the man who killed your sister. I’m annoying myself with how repetitive I am, but it’s only because I need the constant reminder on a loop in the back of my head to keep myself from getting carried away.
It’d be too easy to succumb to the tide of feelings and fantasies. These walls can only keep Dmitri-induced mania out for so long.
And the clock on that is ticking.
“You can see for yourself,” Dmitri replies, pulling up another page.
“Oh my God… You have a Pinterest?!” I gawk before bursting into laughter.
He fixes me with an annoyed glance. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Big, bad Dmitri Egorov has a Pinterest page that’s filled with strollers and diaper dispensers and soothers with little soft toy animals hanging off the ends. I’m speechless.”
“Those soothers came highly recommended,” he says with a stony expression. “The bloggers love them.”
“You read the blogs, too? Stop. I can only take so much.”
“I like to be prepared.”
Again, his lips twitch, so close to a smile. Mine do the same before I turn away to hide it. “Do I get a say in any of this?”
“Of course. Veto anything you like.”
I do a double take. “Really?”
“You are his mother.” His voice is gentle now, stripped of the icy crackle it had earlier. “Whenever you’re ready, we can go through this board and finish the nursery together.”
