Chapter Thirty-Two

Brooke

A week after witnessing two men get shot in my living room, declaring my love to the man I lost my virginity to, and introducing my daughter to her father, life had seemingly returned to normal. As normal as it could be given all the recent changes. But I was feeling was anything but normal.

For starters, my body was constantly strung like a finely tuned violin. Even now, as I sat behind my desk and updated progress reports, my skin was flushed hot, and my pulse was still elevated from Ilya's version of a morning wakeup call even though it was past noon. It was a blessing, really, that I could work so effectively when I wasn't sleeping well. Having Ilya beside me and inside me helped a lot. It knocked me out so I slept deeply, but I didn't sleep soundly. As soon as my eyes closed, the nightmares started.

"Hey, Brooke," Ruben said as he stepped into my office with a satisfied smile on his face. "You have a minute?"

"Of course. What's up?"

"I appreciate the way you're taking the initiative. With Ilya, and now with a potential new client."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He smiled. "There's someone here to see you, and she looks like she has money. A lot of it. And people with money always need someone to look after their money, the smart ones anyway. So?"

I shrugged. "Ruben, you're speaking in riddles."

"Fine," he laughed. "Keep it to yourself and surprise me later. Ilya is pleased with our work, so I'll hold up my end of our deal. I'll show your visitor in." "He flashed one last smile and rapped his fist on the doorframe before he left my office.

The doorway wasn't empty for long. A woman with shoulder length blond hair that was slightly silver at the temples stood there with an inscrutable expression on her face. She was older, probably in her sixties, but she looked good. And very wealthy based on the expensive clothes she wore—heavy red wool slacks paired with a silky black blouse—and the designer handbag that hung from her forearm.

I stood immediately and smiled at the woman. "Hi, I'm Brooke Watts. How can I help your business achieve its financial goals?"

Her thin lips pulled into a tight smile that was a close relative of a grimace. "My visit is not professional. It's personal." From the first syllable she spoke I knew she was Russian.

And I was immediately afraid. I took a step back even though she was twice my age and didn't appear threatening. "What personal business do we have, Mrs—"

She had an icy demeanor and held herself stiff as she stepped inside my office and looked around with what I assumed was a critical eye, but her expression remained blank. "My name is Elena Kuznetsova. I am Ilya's mother."

Something like relief coursed through me, but it was momentary as my mind filled with doubt and unease. What if she hated me? Ilya hadn't said much about his mother other than she'd been grief-stricken over the loss of her husband. "Oh. Good morning Mrs. Kuznetsova. It's nice to meet you."

Elena gave me nothing in response. Though I hadn't dated enough over the years to have been in this position before with a mother sizing me up, I knew without a doubt that was what she was doing.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Kuznetsova?"

Finally, her lips spread into the smallest smile that highlighted the features shared with Ilya and Karina, particularly the nose. "Yes, in fact, there is." She was on the move again, heading to the chair in front of my desk, sitting like royalty with her back straight and her chin held high. "It seems that my son is quite taken with you. Again." Her smile widened, either in spite of my growing discomfort or because of it. "And with my granddaughter, whom I would very much like to meet."

Of course. Obviously, Karina was the reason for her visit. I stared at her for a long minute, trying to figure out if she was genuine or if this was a ploy for her to escape some place with my daughter. "We can set something up soon. How long will you be in town?"

Instead of answering my question, she posed one of her own. "We have much to discuss, Ms. Watts. Are you free for lunch?"

Lunch with my future mother-in-law who showed up in the country and at my office without warning. What could possibly go wrong? "Sure, and please, call me Brooke. I need to check in with my boss and I'll meet you. Did you have a restaurant in mind?" And would I be able to afford it?

"My driver is downstairs. I will wait for you." She stood with that same air of regality and walked out, somehow dismissing me as she walked away.

I stood there for a minute, dumbfounded, or maybe just terrified, before I got my ass into gear. First, I texted Ilya:

If you were thinking of stopping by for a lunch quickie, don't. I'll be having lunch. With your mother .

With that done, I checked in with Ruben, touched up my hair and makeup, and went out to meet Elena.

All of my worst fears were realized when the car rolled to a stop in front of an upscale Mediterranean restaurant. Inside there was a ma?tre d' in a fancy suit, a beautiful hostess who took us to our table with a great view of the park, and a sommelier whom Elena brushed off easily.

"This place is…wow," I sighed, and tried not to look like a fish out of water. I calmed my breathing and attempted to look like I belonged.

"I am not here just for Ilya. I am here for you."

I blinked. "For me? Why?"

She smiled again, and this time it was a little brighter. "I was once in your exact position. Well, not exactly, since I didn't have my child until after the wedding. No judgment, things are done differently nowadays," she added quickly. "Anyway, I was in the position you are now, and my mother-in-law, Nikolai's mother and Ilya's grandmother, she was no help at all." Elena seemed to be lost in her memories, and I sat quietly until her gaze cleared and refocused on me. "She didn't like me, of course. Thought I was too soft for her son, when I was his backbone."

The depth of the emotion in her words held me captive, so I simply listened.

"Good afternoon, ladies. Can I start you off with a drink?"

Elena rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Martinis. Vodka, very dirty and ice cold. And keep them coming," she ordered. "We are going to need them."

"We are?"

Elena flashed another smile that was both welcoming and ice cold. "It is terribly clichéd, isn't it? But both vodka and martinis are classics for a reason."

I had nothing to say to that, so I just nodded. There was something about Ilya's mother that turned me back into that insecure eighteen-year-old who never thought she was good enough.

His mother remained silent for a long time, even after the drinks arrived, so I took a long, fortifying sip and waited.

And waited.

Finally, she spoke. "You are a strong woman, Brooke, but I wonder if you even know that about yourself." She took a long sip from the chilled cocktail glass. "Your life was turned upside down by a teen pregnancy. College put off, but not indefinitely. You work hard to make a life for your daughter, and you did it all on your own. Yes, you are strong, and you will be able to handle this life. You may even thrive."

Now I was really confused. "I love Ilya, Mrs. Kuznetsova."

"Elena, please. We are family, so no need for such formalities."

"Elena," I began again. "I love Ilya, but I'm not involved at all in his business. I have a job and soon I will have my degree and a better job. A career of my own."

Her smile turned gentle, almost placating. "Ilya has not told you," she guessed, arching her brow.

"Told me what?"

"That can wait, let us get to know one another first," Elena said as she took another sip of her drink.