Page 34 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

Her poetic description is pure perfection. “That’s beautiful, Nastya. You should be the writer, not me.”

She laughs, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m more of an observer than a creator, but I do love a good story.”

“Speaking of good stories,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially, “Have you heard any of the local legends yet? I’ve been dying to learn more about the ghostly tales associated with the castle…”

As we continue to trade ghost stories and historical anecdotes, I relax more in Nastya’s company. Her steady warmth reminds me a bit of Mikhail, but she’s interesting and witty in her own right.

The thought of him sends a pain through my chest. I miss him fiercely, wishing he could be here to share in this experience, but maybe I won’t be alone for a while. It seems like I’ve made a new friend. During a lull in our conversation, I say, “I’m really glad we literally ran into each other earlier. This has been so much more fun than exploring on my own would have been.”

Nastya’s smile is warm and genuine. “I feel the same way. It’s not often you meet someone you click with so quickly. Shall wecontinue our adventure? I heard there’s a fascinating exhibit on the Scottish crown jewels we shouldn’t miss.”

Agreed, we stand to make our way to the next part of the castle with a renewed sense of excitement. The day stretches out before us, full of history and mystery waiting to be discovered. Mikhail’s absence still tugs at my heart, but I’m grateful for this unexpected companionship.

“Lead the way, Nastya,” I say with a grin. “I can’t wait to see what other secrets this castle has in store for us.”

A few days later,the morning sun streams through the window of our cozy bed-and-breakfast. Nastya and I had almost the same itinerary, and when we haven’t, one or both of us has made changes to stay and travel together, since we’ve hit it off so well.

I stretch languidly, savoring the softness of the tartan quilt against my skin. The scent of freshly baked scones wafts up from the kitchen below, mingling with the crisp, clean air of the Scottish countryside.

A gentle knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. “Phoebe? Are you awake?” asks Nastya.

I smile, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Come in. I’m up.”

The door creaks open, and she enters, already dressed in hiking boots and a cozy sweater. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat braid. “Ready for another day of adventure?”

“Absolutely,” I say, reaching for my own sweater. “What’s on the agenda today?”

She perches on the edge of my bed. “I thought we might explore the Highlands. There’s a beautiful loch not far from here, and the hiking trails are supposed to be spectacular.”

I lace up my boots, still pleasantly surprised at how quickly we’ve bonded over the past few days. It’s as if we’ve known each other for years rather than just a short time. Her warmth and genuine interest in Scottish culture have made her the perfect traveling companion.

We make our way downstairs, where Mrs. MacGregor, our kindly landlady, has laid out a hearty breakfast. The table groans from all the food—scones, eggs, bacon, and a steaming pot of tea.

“Eat up, lassies,” she says, her wrinkled face creasing into a smile. “You’ll need your strength for the hills.”

We tuck into our meal, and Nastya says, “Tell me more about this Mikhail of yours. You’ve been rather tight-lipped about him so far.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks. “Oh, there’s not much to tell, really. We haven’t been together that long.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my evasion. “Come now. I’ve seen the way your face lights up when you mention his name. There must be something special about him.”

I sigh, unable to keep the smile from my face when thinking of him. “He’s...powerful. Passionate. When he looks at me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world.” I pause, searching for the right words. “But there’s a gentleness to him too, especially when we’re alone. He makes me feel safe, and he’s so tender withhis rescue dog. You can tell a lot about people by how they treat animals.”

Nastya nods, her expression thoughtful. “He sounds wonderful. What does he do for work?”

I hesitate, suddenly aware of how little I actually know about Mikhail’s business dealings. “He’s in imports and exports, I think. To be honest, we don’t talk much about his work.”

If she notices my vague response, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she changes the subject, launching into an animated description of the hike we’re about to undertake. We finish our breakfast and gather our supplies, and I push aside the nagging questions about Mikhail’s business. This trip is about connecting with my Scottish heritage, not worrying about what’s happening back in Miami.

The Highland air is crisp and invigorating when we set out on our hike. The path winds through fields of purple heather, the delicate flowers swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, mist-shrouded mountains are like smudges against the sky, their peaks disappearing into low-hanging clouds.

“It’s breathtaking,” I say, pausing to take in the view. “I’ve dreamed of seeing this landscape for so long, but nothing could have prepared me for how beautiful it is in person.” Despite a few family visits to Scotland over the years, I’ve never been to the Highlands before.

Nastya’s eyes are also wide with wonder. “I know what you mean. There’s something almost magical about this place, isn’t there?”

We continue our hike, stopping occasionally to admire particularly stunning vistas or interesting flora. Nastya provesto be surprisingly knowledgeable about local plants and wildlife, pointing out rare species and explaining their significance in Scottish folklore. I’m impressed until I see she’s cheating by using her phone to look up facts and tidbits. It’s still educational though.

When rounding a bend in the trail, a shimmering expanse of water comes into view. The loch stretches out before us, its surface like a mirror reflecting the cloudy sky above. We find a rocky outcropping overlooking the water and settle down for a picnic lunch.

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