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Just then, Boris looks around with a grin on his face, enjoying this recent turn of events. “So, who is it going to be?”
Chapter 25 - Boris
Pulling up to Vanya's house, the hum of conversation and laughter hits me even before the car engine cuts. Robin's hand finds mine. I give her a gentle kiss, and from behind, we hear Adam exclaim: “Eew.”
We both laugh. I exit the car and open the door for Adam before moving to my wife’s side. I help her out, and she takes a few seconds to find her balance.
She’s about to pop. Anytime now.
"Ready?" I ask, feeling her nod more than seeing it. Her eyes are locked onto the house—a beacon of warmth in the growing dusk.
"Let's do this," she says, more to herself than to me. She links one arm through mine and the other through Adam’s, and we walk forward slowly.
We make our way to the door, and it swings open before I can knock. There stands Vanya, her smile as wide as the doorway, ushering us into the chaos that is a Zolotov family gathering. "Boris! Robin! And my favorite little Adam! Come in, come in!"
The place is a whirlwind of Zolotovs—my brothers and cousins, their wives, our Anoushka flitting about like a butterfly among flowers. Lev is holding court by the fireplace, a tale of his latest misadventure drawing raucous laughter. Damien leans against a wall, his sharp gaze missing nothing despite the easy tilt of his smile. Ivan's deep voice rumbles from the corner, his daughter Irina perched on his knee like a pint-sized queen.
"Uncle Boris!" A chorus of little voices pulls my attention to the gaggle of nieces and nephews weaving between legs and around furniture.
"Hey there, champions." I scoop up one of Vanya’s kids, hoisting him high until he squeals with laughter. "You're getting big."
Amelia comes over, bouncing her daughter on her hip. "Try living with them," she laughs, her eyes soft with the sort of love that turns fierce women into mothers.
Caterina glides by, Mikhail's arm slung around her shoulders. They share a look that speaks of unspoken bonds. I see this mirrored in the way Robin watches Adam, who sits on the floor, building a fortress out of blocks with some of the younger kids.
"Good turnout, huh?" Mikhail claps me on the shoulder, his grin infectious.
"Vanya’s done too much," I reply, my own smile coming easier now. This is what the Zolotovs do: gather, support, celebrate. And today, we’re throwing Robin a baby shower.
"Everyone's inside," Vanya calls over from where she's arranging platters of food that could feed an army. "Food's almost ready!"
I nod and guide Robin further into the fold, letting the noise and the warmth wrap around us like a well-worn coat. She's part of this tapestry now, her thread interlaced with mine in a pattern still unfolding.
"Welcome to the madness," I whisper to her, squeezing her hand.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," she whispers back, a small, brave smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
***
After dinner, we gather around to unwrap gifts. "Look at this, Robin," I chuckle as Lev struts over, a mountain ofcolorfully wrapped packages in his arms, each bigger than the last. "The kid's gonna have more toys than a department store."
Her eyes light up with a shine that makes a man want to freeze time. She's overwhelmed, but in the best way. "It's too much," she protests, her hands fluttering like startled doves.
"Too much?" Anoushka scoffs, appearing beside us with the grace of a catwalk queen, a mischievous glint in her eye. "This is just the warm-up act, darling."
"Bratva babies don't do 'minimalist'," I tease, watching Robin's face as my family piles gifts before her, a throne for the soon-to-be littlest Zolotov. The love in the room is so thick it's damn near tangible, and it wraps around Robin, a protective embrace from the family she never expected to have.
"Okay, everyone, gather 'round!" I announce, the room hushing down quicker than a crowd spotting cops at an underground fight. "We've got something important to share."
Robin takes my hand, and together, we stand before my clan. I catch Adam's eye across the room—the kid's sharp, too smart for his own good—and I give him a nod that says, “Get ready, little man.”
"Adam," I start, voice steady despite the thrumming in my chest. "You're not just Robin's brother. You're part of our world now. And we would be honored if you'd be the godfather to our child."
The room's silence is profound, waiting. Adam's mouth opens slightly, the gears in his young mind turning at a mile a minute. Then, the realization hits, and he stands taller than I've ever seen, his chest puffed out with pride.
"Really?" His voice is small but filled with a weight that belies his years.
"Absolutely," I confirm, and Anoushka chimes in with her signature flair, "And I'll be the godmother. We're a package deal, kiddo."
