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When I come out of the shower, Misha is frowning and surly. He tells me he has somewhere to go for work and that he won’t elaborate. Then he grabs his keys and disappears.
He’s in a mood for the two days that follow. Whenever I see him, he’s turned inward. Quiet. Brooding. He’s still loving, of course, still wanting to touch me every chance he gets, but there’s this lingering melancholy to his aura that puts a frown on my face.
He’s holed up in his office with Konstantin overseeing more Bratva business, so I go down to the kitchen for a snack. It’s dark. How strange. Jace always leaves the lights on until he knows we’re in bed for the night. I’m reaching for the switch when a burst of noise scares the bejeezus out of me.
“SURPRISE!”
The sudden shouts have me leaping out of my skin. I stumble back and barely manage to catch myself on the kitchen doorway before I tumble ass over teakettle.
Cyrille lunges over and grabs my arm, steadying me. “Don’t scare a pregnant woman who is already fairly clumsy. Noted!”
“What in the—” I peek into the dining room and see a banner hanging across the open French doors that saysCONGRATULATIONS, MAMAin bright neon colors.
Then I see Nessa, Nikita, Rowan, and Ilya standing around, smiling at me.
“What is this?”
“This is your baby shower,” Rowan announces. “We got you good, didn’t we?”
I press a hand to my racing heart. “If scaring me to death is getting me good, then no one has ever done it better.”
Nessa comes over and loops her arm around my shoulders. “Sorry we frightened you, darling. But trust me, the presents will be worth it.”
“Presents? No, no, no. You guys didn’t have to do that,” I protest. “You’ve already done so much.”
Nessa waves me away. “Nonsense. Every new mother deserves a proper baby shower.”
She steers me towards the humongous pile of wrapped gifts taking up two entire corners of the sitting room. It looks like Santa Claus crashed his sleigh right here in the house. “This is… good Lord, this is insane.”
“Quit your bitching and let us pamper you for a change,” Nikita says impatiently. “Enjoy yourself. Let’s party!”
I sigh and relent. They really have gone all out. The table is covered in delicious pastries, and the thought of biting into a gooey chocolate croissant is enough to make me go cross-eyed with delight right now.
“These gifts are for the babies,” Cyrille says, pointing to the first massive pile. Then she pivots to the second pile. “And these are for you.”
“Gifts for the babyaregifts for me,” I argue.
I’m quickly overruled and presents are thrust at me from every direction. By the second one I unwrap, I’m completely overwhelmed.
I’m staring at the nicest stroller money can buy. I know that because I joked with Misha about adding it to our nonexistent registry, “just in case any billionaires decide to gift us something.” I stroke the leather handle tenderly. “This is too much!”
Nessa raises her hand. “That one is from their grandmother.”
Misha was right: his mother has gone completely overboard. But I have to fight back tears of gratitude as I continue opening present after present.
When I grab Rowan’s gifts, she gives me a nervous smile. “It’s not much, not like the others. But I hope you like it.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.” I tear into the box and pull out two knitted baby blankets. One in a soft shade of blue, the second in a pastel yellow. “Oh my God, Rowan! They’re beautiful. Where did you get these?”
She blushes. “I, uh…” She says something I don’t catch.
“Come again?”
“I said, I knitted them myself.”
I look at her in shock. “Seriously?”
“I like to knit. My grandmother taught me. As soon as I found out you were having twins, I got to work.”
