The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(43)

Luka obeyed the speed limit on the way there, already having one ticket to deal with. By the time they got there and boarded the elevator, Lauren was counting down from twenty, trying not to think about everything she would have to do once she got inside.

She was surprised at the sight that greeted her. Presents were stacked all over the living room, varying in colors and sizes, a reminder of what was supposed to be the best day of her life.

Her footsteps were painfully loud as she moved further inside, Luka at her back. She thought about retreating back to the hospital, but she needed to deal with this first. And if—when Mishca was coming home, she wanted to make it as easy for him as possible.

Dropping her keys and bag on the table, she ignored the presents for the time being, heading into their bedroom. The sheets were still rumpled from their last night together, another painful reminder.

Shutting the door—leaving Luka to his own devices—she stripped out of her clothes, going into the bathroom to cut on the shower. In there, she let the water wash away her misery, knowing that she needed to be strong, if only for Mishca. She had to believe that he would be the same once he woke up, give her that reassuring smile, and even if she didn’t ask, promise he wouldn’t get shot again, even if he couldn’t control something like that.

Lauren stayed beneath the spray of water until it ran cold, grabbing a towel from the bar. She wrapped it around her torso, grabbing another to towel off her hair.

She had plenty of clothes to choose from, but instead, she chose one of Mishca’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, rolling the waist a couple of times to keep them in place.

Back in the living room, she saw Luka sitting at the bar, a strange piece of food in his hand, one that she had never seen before, but undoubtedly, it was fruit. He rarely seemed to eat anything else.

“Do you miss the brothel?” She asked, walking around him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Such an ugly name, no? I like to think of it as my happy place.”

“How’s Natasha?” Lauren had only been around her twice, one of them at the safe house, the other at the wedding, but she did wonder about her.

“She doesn’t like to share me.”

“What do you mean?”

He blinked.

Waiting a beat, she asked, “Are you going to answer?”

He smiled.

Clearly, wasn’t going to explain that. “What are you eating?” She asked pointing to the odd fruit that Luka was still eating.

He gazed down at it like he had never seen it before. Holding it up, he narrowed his eyes on it, turning it in every direction before he finally took a giant bite. “Called dragon fruit,” he said with his mouth full, making it hard for her to understand him. “It’s alright.”

“You know, I’ve never seen you eat anything but fruit. Is there a reason for that?”

“Do you need help unpacking any of this stuff?” He asked, and for the first time since she met him, his tone made her do a double-take.

Personal questions were clearly off limits. Whatever his reason for his choice in food was clearly not up for discussion.

“No, I can do it alone.”

“Hungry?”

Truthfully, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything substantial. She had been surviving purely on vending machine chips and gatorade. It wouldn’t hurt to eat something.

“Is there a certain place you want to order from?”

Luka scoffed, tossing the peel of his fruit in the trash as he rounded the island, opening the refrigerator. “I don’t eat fast food.”

Frowning, she asked, “What do you eat?”

“I cook.”

He began pulling out various foods from the shelves, then went hunting through the drawers for cutlery. She hadn’t even realized there was food in there since she and Mishca rarely ate at home.

“I didn’t know you could cook, Luka.”

She watched, amazed as he turned a rather large knife over in his hands, pulling out another tool to sharpen it. He moved at lightning speed, completely at ease with what he was doing.

“That’s why you’re alway eating fruit, isn’t it? Because you don’t eat fast food.”

He nodded, cutting up a bell pepper and onion. “You got it. So, leave me to my work, go find something to do.”

With very little choice, Lauren turned back to the dozens of boxes, carrying them back to one of the spare bedrooms where she wouldn’t have to see them. It didn’t feel right opening them without Mishca, and until he was better, they could wait.

Next, she stripped the bedding, replacing it with clean linen, going over the bathroom next. By the time she finished, she really was hungry.

Luka was still at the range-top stove, turning off the fire as he pulled two dishes from the top cabinet, setting them side by side. Barely noticing her presence, he went about plating his creation. He looked animated as he worked, the usual tightness in his body gone as he expertly spooned portions onto the plates.

He even went as far as to garnish the plates, wiping off any excess with the edge of a towel thrown over his shoulder.

Nodding for her to sit, he pushed a plate towards her, as well as a knife and fork, smiling broadly. “Bon appétit.”

“What is it?” Since he had gone through the trouble, she thought it would be nice to ask though she knew what half of it was.