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Someone snorts behind me, and another laugh follows. Sometimes, I think before I speak. Most of the time, Idon’t.

A door in the corner of the room bursts open, revealing a bustling kitchen behind it. The air fills with the fragrant scent of garlic and onions, and my stomach twists with hunger.

A tall, fit woman with dark hair pulled into a merciless ponytail strides in, eyes warm as they land on me.Yana.And the youngest Kopolov sister, Zoya, follows close behind.

“You’re Yana and Zoya,” I say, nodding. “So nice to finally meet you.”

Yana smiles, extending her hand.

“That’s Semyon and his wife, Anya,” Matvei murmurs, nodding to a stern-looking man a bit older than Matvei with dark hair and glasses. He stands by the bar, his expression unreadable as he glances my way. His wife, the beautiful, auburn-haired Anya, stands beside him, murmuring something under her breath—lips barely moving.

Whatever it is, Semyon nods, then gives me a forced smile.

So yeah, these men like to get married.

The table is set beautifully—large platters of fresh bread, dishes of butter, glasses of water and wine beside each plate, and several sets of silverware. Zoya flits about the table, adjusting things.

“We don’t always eat this formally,” Zoya says, almost apologetically. “Most of the time, we just sit at the kitchen table. But we wanted to put on a good spread for you.”

A harsh voice speaks behind us. The shift in Matvei’s posture is instantaneous. “Why? For the woman who has Matvei acting like a madman.”

I turn, and my stomach drops as he hisses in a breath and curses.

No.

His parents.

“I thought they weren’t coming,” I whisper to him.

“They weren’t supposed to,” he whispers back.

His mother stares at me, her beady eyes raking over me in a way that makes me feel like an animal in a cage.

“This,” she sneers, “is how you dress for a Kopolov family dinner?”

Matvei goes rigid beside me. Muscles coiled. Barely leashed violence simmering beneath his skin.

I feel like I’ve been tossed into shark-infested waters, and I’m bleeding.He shifts—now between me and them, shielding me like he did with Rafail.

I swallow hard.

I’m not used to being protected like this.

His mother tilts her head as if waiting for him to agree or to remind me of my place, but he doesn’t even look at her.

“She looksbeautiful.” He bends his mouth to mine and kisses me full on the lips, his hands tangled in my hair. It only lasts seconds, but the whole room seems to hold its collective breath. They all saw it.

His mother. Rafail.

Especiallyhis mother and Rafail.

He’s already turned his back to her.

My heart beats madly as I feel the weight of everyone’s stares even before I sit down. Matvei’s bitchy mother is the worst—her eyes sharp as a blade, making no pretense of kindness or even indifference. His father is quieter, but his presence is no less painful, his scornful gaze going from me to Matvei and back again. I wish they wouldn’t acknowledge my presence at all rather than treat me like some kind of misfit. I’ve faced open hostility before, but there’s something uniquely irritating about this.

His mother makes a few snide remarks under her breath, and I swear I hear his father say something that sounds like “trash at the dinner table.”

Matvei notices immediately and sits up straighter.