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My new mother-in-law drinks me in wordlessly. I feel like a graceless oaf in this family’s company, and hers more than all the rest of them put together.
She’s as effortlessly sophisticated as her children. Her fit-and-flare dress has a thin belt around the waist and three-quarter sleeves. Gold jewelry adorns her wrists, neck, and ears. Even from across the room, I can smell her perfume. She smells like rosehips and gilded portraiture and genteel society.
Finally, she smiles. “I quite agree. You must be my new daughter-in-law.”
She strides forward and embraces me. It should be awkward, hugging a strange woman who is suddenly family for the first time. But I lean into her maternal touch. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. Like they meant it with every fiber of their being. When she pulls away, I almost miss it.
“You must be a very special young lady to coax my irrepressible bachelor of a son into marriage. Tell me, how did you convince him?”
I must be high on the hug because I don’t stop to consider my answer for even a second. “I think the baby did most of the convincing.”
It only occurs to me once the words are out of my lips what I just said.
Silence has never felt quite as silent as it does right then. It’s got a life and a weight of its own. Not just the absence of noise, but the presence of something. Something big. Something scary.
Agnessa’s dark brown eyes go round with shock. Then she pivots slowly to her son. “Misha, is this true?”
If Misha is furious with me, he doesn’t show it. He did tell me to be myself, after all. Being honest is me.
He nods matter-of-factly. “Yes.”
Something inscrutable passes over her face. “Ah. I see.”
Apparently, a baby is all the explanation she needs to make sense of her son’s sudden change of heart about marriage. That realization makes me sick. Because it means it wasn’t about me at all.
I could have been anyone.
“You’re pregnant?” Nikita says, looking between us with a carefully guarded expression. She is dressed in black, wide leg trousers with three layers of pearls draped around her neck. I’m waiting for her to clutch at them in horror. Instead, she smiles. “Well, I’ll be damned. It looks like we have another thing to celebrate.”
I have no idea if she’s really happy for us or not. Like her brother, her poker face gives nothing away. She glides over to the drink cart and pours herself a glass of bourbon.
“Another grandchild,” Agnessa says thoughtfully. “I’m…”
I clench up tight and wait for her answer with my breath caught in my chest.Horrified? Enraged? Scandalized?
“Delighted,” she finishes decisively. “Delighted enough to forgive the fact that you, my wayward son, decided not to tell us about either the babyorthe marriage.”
I let out an exhale and grab the wall to keep from keeling over.
“It was a strategic decision,” Misha replies smoothly. “Petyr Ivanov is closing in. I have to keep delicate information protected.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, young man?” she raps, eyes narrowed. “I am not one of the men you command; I am your mother. If you can’t trust the person who gave you life, who can you trust?”
Misha sighs. “Mother—”
“That excuse is unacceptable. So let’s try again,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’ve missed almost an unfathomable number of family dinners. What’s your excuse for that?”
“I am the don—”
“Your brother was don before you,” she says, cutting him off. Her tone is gentle but undeniable. “He never missed a dinner. Not a single one.”
“Maksim was a better man than I am.”
Misha says it easily. I have no doubt he believes every word. The weight of his brother’s memory sits heavy on him. So does the weight of expectation.
His mother’s face softens and his sister goes stiff. They want to comfort him, but they don’t know how.
Join the freaking club,I want to tell them.That is something we all have in common.
