Page 24 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Eighteen

ALINA

I didn’t expect to see packages on my bed.

Somehow, I don’t think Ilya went shopping and bought me these things. That’s more of a soft Demyan move. A normal Demyan move is just snatch, grab, and be unreasonable?—

I make myself breathe, trying to stop the uncharitable thoughts toward my brother, whom I do love, very much.

“I’m just angry with you for not trusting me or your best friend,” I mutter to the biggest box.

It has the name of a high-end designer on it, one I’d never buy for myself, but one I’m secretly thrilled to see.

I don’t pull the ribbon or open it. Not yet. I want to savor it.

Ilya’s still my brother’s best friend, and deep down, Demyan knows that. He loves Ilya, which is why he’s mad. But I’m not a prize or an object to be owned or traded, and Demyan should know better than to even think that.

But ultimately, I can’t let go of the idea that Demyan may be scared of losing me.

Max wasn’t from our world, so in a weird way, Demyan didn’t see our relationship as losing me. Max was safe, a place for me to be out of the danger zone.

It didn’t work out that way, though. Not at all.

I stroke the satin of the thick ribbon, and then I pull it. Finally, I ease off the lid and peel back the layers of silver tissue paper.

“Oh my.”

I really think I should get ready.

The little black dress makes my head spin as I tuck my arm into Ilya’s. It’s surface-level pretty and romantic, with a wide, flowing skirt with sweetheart cap sleeves and buttons down the front.

But under the sheer chiffon is a tight, short, sexy black dress.

It’s divine.

I lean into my handsome, tall husband, who shaved for the occasion and wears his black suit with the dark-gray shirt and tie.

I whisper, “Has this dress really been sitting there since Demyan made me go home?”

“I bought it before then. I’m not sure when it was delivered. I assume Svetlana put it in your room.” He smiles at me. “Do you like it? I saw it and thought of you, malyshka .”

“You bought it for me, so of course I love it.”

He stops me and brings me in for a slow kiss. My heart runs wild.

“Anything for you, Alina.”

It’s funny, because I know I love him, and he loves me. I can feel it in everything he does, but we don’t really say those words out loud. If I were paranoid, I’d wonder if he changed his mind.

It’s like he doesn’t want to trample boundaries.

And I don’t want to seem overeager, like I’m compensating for the loss of Max.

But this is enough, him here, us together.

I just wish we were free to be under the same roof to find our own way ourselves.

“You look fucking hot and sexy as hell,” he mutters as we step inside the flashy restaurant.

“And you don’t look too shabby, either.”

He laughs. “Flatterer.”

Ilya shakes hands with the host, who beams at him. The restaurant looks and smells so good. My stomach growls properly for the first time in a long time.

I grip his arm and look around, my steps faltering. My good mood tumbles, and everything stops smelling quite so good.

There, in a prime spot, sit two familiar people. One I want to see, but the other…

“Ilya, look. Demyan and Erin.” I nod discreetly in their direction.

“One moment,” he says to the host. Then he turns to me. “We’ll leave and go somewhere else. The Place, where I was going to take you?—”

“No.” I suck in a deep breath. “I do want to go there, but I’m also not getting chased out by my brother. Besides, Demyan needs to get used to seeing us together, and this is a perfect way for him to start.”

The confidence swirls through me as he nods to the host.

But it ebbs away as we’re led to the table right next to them.

I can see why, it’s a desirable table.

But still. My brother cuts his eyes at us, sending an Arctic blast with it. Demyan’s reaction is less than promising, especially since his smile is stiffer than the tense line of his shoulders.

As Erin gets up to hug both me and Ilya, I get a front-row view of Demyan pretending Ilya doesn’t exist and a look that suggests I’m some naughty child who shouldn’t b here.

Underneath his stiff smile, there’s a layer of promised retribution.

“Alina,” he says.

Ilya turns to the host as though to ask for a different table, when I take the plunge.

“What a great surprise to find you both as our neighbors.”

Demyan grunts, and Ilya’s silent.

“We can have the tables moved to make one,” the host says.

“No.” That comes from both Demyan and Ilya.

I shoot Ilya a look as Erin does the same to my brother.

“No,” Ilya says again, “we don’t wish to be a bother. This is fine.”

The host hesitates, nods, and then leaves. A waiter appears and pulls back a chair for me to sit next to Erin. The tables are close enough that we’d be able to talk that way.

But Demyan vetoes that.

My brother makes her switch seats with him so he can glare at Ilya from his table to ours and I’m positive the evening goes downhill from there.

My stomach is a leaping mess of nerves, and when the waiter offers me wine, I say no. I don’t even think of the pregnancy at that point. I’m thinking of the fact that alcohol’s going to make me throw up, as will whatever I eat.

I order simple things, a broth with delicate ravioli stuffed with morels and porcini and a simple salad. Because I can’t stand how my brother watches me like a hawk, I get the cauliflower and fennel risotto, too.

I don’t even know if anything has a taste.

Ilya’s smooth talking and attentive while he ignores the dark looks my dear brother throws him, along with the barbed comments.

“I’m wondering,” Demyan begins, ready for round two, “if?—”

“How about those White Sox?” Erin asks, full of sugar.

Demyan frowns. “I don’t own any white socks. Unless you count for workouts. Which I don’t.”

Ilya snickers. I throw him a look, so he takes a swallow of his wine, followed by a bite of his lamb.

“The Chicago White Sox?” Erin shakes her head. “Demyan, I’m trying to make you stop being provocative.”

He grins at his wife. “You love it when I’m provocative, lyubimaya .”

I breathe out a sigh of relief as their conversation continues at a low murmur.

Ilya strokes my thigh beneath the table. He’d hold my hand, but I moved it out of the way. I don’t want to be responsible for a bloodbath at Occo.

But the reprieve and the pull back into their world and us into ours doesn’t change the thick air of tension, the awkwardness, and the smell of smoke from the fire sitting near the end of the fuse.

All it’ll take is one of them to flick those flames toward the fuse, and things will go boom.

But the two men pretend the other doesn’t exist, which makes it hard for me and Erin to talk.

She wants to draw us all together. So do I. But Demyan’s looking for the smallest thing, and Ilya’s not even trying to open up any pathways.

I want to cry because this was meant to be our night, a little celebration of new beginnings, of something real, and for once, I felt good enough for the nausea to take a back seat.

I’m not saying I’d have chosen wildly rich food, but I might have gone for the duck.

Or the Bolognese risotto that sounded both divine and beyond rich.

The thought of either made my stomach head into a tailspin the moment I caught sight of my brother.

As we finish and Ilya asks me about dessert, Erin stands and comes over to take my hand. “We’ll get dessert and a drink at the bar.”

“You’ll stay here,” Demyan says.

She ignores him. I almost laugh at the expression of annoyance, love, and admiration on his face when she jerks her head for me to follow.

Not many people dare to defy Demyan, and once Erin wouldn’t have, but now…

Now she knows the limits, and she knows how much he loves her. And he knows how deeply she loves him.

Not that any of that makes me forgive him.

Not at all.

“Alina, maybe going off isn’t a good idea,” Ilya says, earning a snort of derision from Demyan.

“Is that how you run your business?” Demyan snaps. “Because no wonder you?—”

“We’re going,” Erin insists. “We’ll be safe, and while we enjoy our friendship and chat, I’d suggest you, Demyan, and you, Ilya, use the time to sort your shit.

Stop acting like the sandpit’s the world and remember how to play together.

Sasha’s more mature than you. This is getting beyond ridiculous. ”

With that, Erin drags me off to the bar area, which is elegant and dark. We both ignore the hostile glares thrown our way from Demyan.

I’m shaking by the time she maneuvers me into a seat at the bar. I look over my shoulder.

Demyan could give Satan a run for his money with the look he gives me.

I shudder. “Are you sure leaving them alone’s a good idea? Ilya can also be dangerous when backed in a corner.”

“And he can be dangerous over you.” She turns and orders two glasses of their most expensive red, billed to Demyan’s table. Then she looks at me, leaning on the bar as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear, and rolls her eyes. “Can it make things worse?”

“Good point,” I say, finding a smile.

“I always make a good point.” When the wine arrives along with two waters, she takes a sip of hers.

I reach for the water.

“Gorgeous dress, by the way.”

“Ilya got it for me.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Bold move, considering Demyan forced you back home.”

“It was on my bed. I think he forgot he ordered it.”

She presses a hand to her heart. “Ilya picked it for you before Demyan dragged you off. That’s romance at its best.”

I take a swallow of water and hide my smile. It is a pretty badass romantic move, the kind of subtle, thoughtful thing that Ilya always does.

It seems he barely thinks about the sweet things he’s always done for me, whether it’s getting me a book or a candy or something else I like.

Maybe that’s why I fell so hard and fast for Max. He did the same.

Ilya’s always done it for me as long as I can remember, the dress the latest in a long list, and it strikes me then how very lucky I’ve been. To have two men who did that for me.

I was loved by Max.

I’m loved by Ilya.

I let out a shaky breath and look at Erin, who holds her glass of wine, tapping it.

“What?” I ask.

“Water at dinner, water now. I know how much you like wine, especially with dinner.” Her eyes narrow as she leans in. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.

But finally, I manage to nod.

Erin squeals, and it breaks me out of my frozen state.

“Shh,” I whisper as she hugs me. “I just found out today. It’s really early.”

She hugs me tighter. “That’s amazing news.”

Then she pulls back and studies me.

“It is amazing news, right?” she asks.

“Yes.” I let out a small, breathy laugh. “Both Ilya and I are thrilled.”

“Demyan.”

I nod. “I’m not looking forward to telling him, that’s all.”

Erin winces. “You don’t need to yet, not until the third trimester. But I get it. It’ll be difficult.” She smiles. “You know what? Maybe it’ll be the thing to make him realize he needs to get over this feud with Ilya.”

I pull a face. “And Santa’s real.”

“He isn’t?”

I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think something like a pregnancy will do it. Shit, it might deepen the rift.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise you. And by they, I mean Demyan.” Erin sighs.

I glance over at them. They’re both on their phones, ignoring each other, and it hurts me down to the bone and makes my heart ache. All I want is for them to fix their friendship.

Because regardless of the animosity from both men, I know they love each other.

Which troubles me.

Love is so close to hate, and they’re both stubborn. Demyan thinks he’s right. Ilya thinks that trying to open the channels of communication will be seen as weakness, not to mention the hurt he feels from Demyan’s reactions.

And it’s all my fault.

If I’d been up front, then maybe Demyan would have been able to adjust better.

Or maybe not.

I don’t know.

All I know is I need them to fix this.

Because until that happens, I don’t think my life with Ilya can ever truly settle into full happiness.