Page 59 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

I tilt my head, studying her. “Seriously?”

“I learned it from my father,” she admits. “He always took charge.”

Her voice softens just a little. Not fond. Not angry either. Just… distant. Like she’s reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.

I study her face.

There’s a flicker of sadness she tries to bury in the way she studies the menu.

“You miss him,” I say, not as a question.

Her eyes lift to mine, surprised. And maybe a little wary. “He’s not dead.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

A beat passes between us.

Then she looks down again, her fingers tracing the edge of the menu. “I just… haven’t spoken to him. Or my brothers. Not since…” Her jaw tenses. “Not since I realized who they actually are.”

And that’s the real grief, isn’t it?

Not losing them. Learning what they are.

Her world cracked open, and now she’s stuck in the in-between. Too clean for their world. Too tangled in mine.

I say nothing. Just let her sit in the quiet with me. Let her know I’m not going to pry or push. She’s already unraveling just by being here.

She clears her throat after a moment, snapping herself out of it. “Anyway,” she mutters, forcing a lighter tone, “burrata with truffle honey and the crab cakes. Happy?”

“Very.” I flag down the waiter, who reappears like he’s been hiding behind the curtain just waiting for me to twitch a finger.

Yulia toys with her glass, spinning the stem between her fingers.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “was this your idea of making peace by forcing me to marry you? A bribe by fine dining?”

“Is it working?”

She pretends to consider. “Well, I haven’t tried dessert yet.”

“Still thinking about that sous-chef role?”

She snorts into her wine. “Keep dreaming, Gordon Ramsay.”

“Dreaming,” I murmur, “isn’t really the problem.”

Her eyes snap to mine.

The air tightens between us again. Heat bleeding across the table. Her dress slips slightly as she leans in to take another sip of wine, and my eyes catch the soft line of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.

She catches me looking.

And doesn’t stop me.

This is why I brought her here.

To remind her she can still laugh. Still flirt. Still feel wanted and powerful, and like the room she walks into bends around her.

To remind her that despite everything… she still gets to choose.