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The table goes quiet for a beat.
Then Alina gasps dramatically and plants an exaggerated kiss on my cheek. “You’re trying to make me cry in public, aren’t you?”
I laugh, wiping her pretend lipstick mark off my cheek.
Yelena smirks. “Well then, that means you and Zasha will be having litters.”
I blink. Then laugh — too loudly. But something in my chest flutters wildly, and I don’t know how to silence it.
“We’re not in love,” I say quickly.
Too quickly.
The words tumble out like instinct, like defense. But the moment they leave my mouth, I hear the tremble in my voice.
And so do they.
Scarlett freezes, cup halfway to her lips.
Alina leans in, one brow lifted.
Yelena’s eyes narrow like she’s just caught scent of something juicy.
There’s a long, loaded pause.
Then Scarlett tilts her head, her expression soft but pointed. “Are you sure about that?”
Yelena raises a perfectly arched brow at me. “Your voice says one thing, Mara… but your eyes say something else.”
Alina sets her glass down. “And trust me, we know Zasha.”
She smiles, warm and knowing. “He was ice before you. Always stiff, always sharp. Now? Now he walks like a man trying not to float.”
I try to scoff, but it comes out weak. “Zasha doesn’t float.”
Yelena smirks. “No, but he smirks now. Which is close. He used to glare at everyone. Now it’s like he’s always trying damn hard to hid his smiles.”
She leans back with a shrug. “You’re the secret, Mara.”
I laugh, brushing them off with a shake of my head. “You three are reading into things way too much.”
But inside?
Inside, I feel every word like a drop of ink spreading through water.
“Are we?” Yelena asks.
“Or maybe we are reading what we can plainly see,” Scarlett chips in.
Something inside me begins to dare to believe them. Zasha was cold when we met. He was always careful and tightly coiled.
Now, his touch lingers on the small of my back even when he steps away. He brushes his knuckles along my cheekbone like it’s a question he’s too afraid to ask aloud.
He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking.
And the night before he traveled… that night felt less like lust and more like something is blooming—slow but persistent.
It felt like the kind of thing that takes root in silence and grows only when you’re brave enough to acknowledge and water it.