In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(49)

He smirked. “Use pain as a learning lesson.”

She smacked his arm, nearly tripping as he avoided her blow. “You’re not funny.”

As the night went on, she thought less of what she had lost, more about what she had gained. Once she got the hang of it, at least enough to keep her footing, they spun in circles in the center of the rink, intricate snowflakes falling around them like raining stars. For once, this night meant something more to her, a night that now had far better memories that would last a lifetime.

“Thanks for this,” she whispered smiling up at him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her close. “Vse duly vas, moy dorogoy.”





Chapter sixteen:


Thanksgiving


“I thought Ross was coming,” Lauren said as she stood next to her mom, peeling potatoes. She might not be a great cook, but she could help with the prep.

“He’s got a new case. You know how he gets.”

Susan’s flight had touched down six hours ago, and despite the delay and her time spent on the plane, she was abuzz with excited energy, hurrying around the kitchen to finish the last of her dishes. They weren’t able to make a turkey—Susan was too afraid to let Lauren cook after last year’s incident—so instead, they bought a prepared one.

The stove was littered with food. A couple pies, green bean casserole, homemade rolls, corn. Everything you could possibly eat was there.

Lauren paused her peeling, looking around at all the food. “Don’t you think we went a little overboard, mom? It’s only going to be the three of us.”

“You can’t ever have too much food, honey. Besides, you’ll have leftovers once I’m gone. God knows what you’ve been eating already.” She gave a pointed look at the menus on the refrigerator.

“What?” She glanced down. Her stomach wasn’t Victoria’s Secret flat, but it wasn’t pudgy either. At least she didn’t think so.

“Let me guess. Takeout, hamburgers, junk food…am I getting warm?”

Lauren laughed in earnest. “Maybe some, but Amber cooks a lot.”

“Thank God for that. Anyway, what time is he supposed to get here?”

“I told him around six.” She looked at the clock. “It’s five now.”

Susan put down the peeler, wiping the fine sheen of perspiration her forehead. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Okay. I can handle this.”

Susan looked so frightened by the prospect, she stood frozen in place, her eyes wide. Lauren scowled, pointing the peeler at her.

“Come on, it’s only mashed potatoes. You let me do it before.”

“And somehow you managed to make them sweeter than apple pie.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the sink. “That was one time and I told you, I thought I was using salt.”

“Sweetie, if you would have used the amount of salt that you did sugar, you would have given everyone high blood pressure.”

***

At a quarter to six, the doorbell rang. After a final once over in the mirror, Lauren hurried to the door, ignoring Susan’s soft laughter as she wrenched the door open with a bit too much excitement. But it was worth it, seeing Mishca standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of white roses.

“These are for your mother,” he whispered as he stepped inside.

She smiled, her heart warming at the sight of them. “You remembered.”

Weeks ago, he had asked what her mother’s favorite type of flower was after picking her up from work one night. She should have known that he would do something like this.

“I’ll never forget.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, sweeping past her to shrug off his coat and hang it on the rack.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

“No place I’d rather be.”

“Oh, what are you two doing in here?” Susan asked as she rounded the corner. “You’re not holding him—Mishca.” She said the name so softly, so abruptly that they both looked to her in surprise.

Susan’s smile faded for a moment, before it spread wide in what was supposed to be her signature grin, but it looked more like a grimace. She wiped her hands on the front of her pants, then extended one to Mishca. You could just see the fine tremor running through her arm.

“Hello, I’m Susan, Lauren’s mother. You must be Mishca Volkov.” The way she said his name gave Lauren pause.

“Mom, do you know Mish?”

Mishca cleared his throat. “No, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

But even his voice held traces of…something. What was going on? “Mom?”

Susan seemed to snap out of whatever fog she was under, her calm composure returning. “I was just surprised. I didn’t expect him to be quite so…tall.”

“But how do you know his name? I don’t think I had the chance to tell you.”

She laughed though it sounded strained. “You did. I think I would remember a name like Volkov.”

The last bit was said to Mishca, her gaze unwavering as she stared him down with barely veiled malice. He didn’t look concerned, however, but Lauren thought she saw the muscle in his jaw jumping.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Susan walked briskly back into the kitchen without a backwards glance, leaving Lauren more confused than ever.