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Mak smirks and steals a sideways glance at me. “Oh, come on. You know Mama was on her phone the second she left your place.”
I grit my teeth. “What did she say?”
“Would you like the conversation before she and Sofiya went crazy over wedding ideas, or after?”
It’s all I can do not to faceplant onto the desk. “We barely?—”
“Oh, come on. Don’t even start with that shit. ‘We barely know each other but we’ve created a whole new human being for this world.’ I gotta agree with Mama here. If you felt the connection enough to bed her, breed her, and bring her home, you should feel that same connection to wed her, too.”
“Don’t make it sound so crass.” I scrunch my face in an ugly frown. Breed her? Hell no.
Mak turns his chair back to me and smiles. “So you agree. You get a beautiful new bride and I get a sister-in-law.”
The back of my teeth grind together once more. Fuck Makari and his logic. Fuck the guy who taught him how to spin debates into his favor.
Oh, wait. That guy was me.
“I’ll think about it,” is the only answer I feel ready enough to give him.
He raises a brow. “Alright, if that’s how you want to play it. Just remember, while you’re thinking about it, someone else can come along and just do it.”
“The fuck do you mean?”
“Didn’t she have some ex you tangled with at one point? An ex-fiancé?” Again, he shrugs. “He lost her to you. Without a ring on her finger, what’s stopping her from fleeing to the next hero?”
He’s gone from toying with my temper to straight-up stomping on it. “You’ve made your point. Now, kindly fuck off.”
Mak doesn’t take it personally. He never does. He just gives me another one of his smug “I told you so” smirks and heads for the door. “Don’t forget, big brother: your gain is our gain. And your loss is our loss.”
The door can’t slam hard enough behind him.
I don’t need my siblings poking around my business and telling me what to do to manifest their idea of a happily-ever-after. But he does have a point: I don’t need some random stranger swooping in and sweeping Daphne off her feet as easily as I did when she came to me for help with Ewing.
Images of Daphne and my mother laughing and talking together swim through my mind. It was… nice, I suppose. I could tell how much Mama adores her, and it seemed like Daphne really enjoyed the Chekhov matriarch’s unique brand of crazy.
But then new images start floating into the mix.
Daphne at the kitchen island, giggling and spooning cookie dough with a beautiful little girl who has Mama’s hair and Daphne’s eyes.
That same little girl snuggled between us while we watch a movie.
It is so crazy to want that? Is it so wrong to want Daphne to be my wife?
I give myself a little shake to brush off the invasive ideas. None of them do anything productive for the company or the Bratva. I was getting along just fine, back when all this family lovey-dovey stuff was Mak’s problem and not mine.
Still…
“Hey, it’s Chekhov. I need to place a rush order. The center stone should be around three carats. More if you have it. Four? Perfect. Make it four, then.”
33
PASHA
Daphne’s eyes widen when she sees me walk through the door. “Oh! You’re home early! I haven’t started dinner yet.”
It seems whatever spooked her has passed. Thank God. “It’s alright. I’m taking you out for dinner instead. My treat.”
Her blush doesn’t escape my notice. She tries to keep herself busy and I know it’s a tactic, so before I can second-guess the instinct, I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.
