Page 35 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

Between bites of her sandwich, she says, “Tell me more about your Scottish cooking classes. How did you get started with that?”

I smile and start to tell her about seeing the flyer, always eager to talk about my passion. As I finish my story, my new friend smiles. “That sounds incredible. You must be an amazing teacher.”

I blush at the compliment. “I don’t know about that, but I do love sharing my passion with others. It’s not just about the food. It’s also about connecting with history and tradition. Every dish has a story behind it.”

She nods thoughtfully. “I can see why Mikhail is so taken with you. Your passion is compelling.”

The mention of Mikhail makes my chest constrict. I miss him, and Masha, so fiercely, wishing he could be here to share in this experience. “I just wish he could have made it on this trip.” I sigh. “He’s supposed to join me when he can.”

Nastya gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he wishes he could be here already, but hey, at least you’ve got me for company, right?”

I laugh, grateful for her attempt to cheer me up. “Absolutely. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few days.”

While we pack up our picnic and continue our hike, I end up telling her more about my relationship with Mikhail. She listens attentively, offering thoughtful comments and asking perceptive questions.

“He sounds like quite a man,” she says while we make our way back down the trail. “But, Phoebe, forgive me for asking, do you ever worry about the things he doesn’t tell you? About his work, I mean?”

I pause, considering her question. “Sometimes. There are moments when I feel like there’s this whole other side to him that I don’t know, but then I look into his eyes, and I see how much he cares for me, and those doubts just fade away.”

Nastya nods, her expression unreadable. “Love can be a powerful thing,” she says softly. “Just be careful, okay? Sometimes the things we don’t know can hurt us.”

Her words are foreboding, but before I can dwell on them, we round a bend and come face to face with a majestic stag. The animal regards us with calm dignity for a long moment before bounding away into the underbrush.

“Did you see that?” I laugh, my heart racing with excitement. “It was beautiful.”

Nastya laughs too, her earlier seriousness forgotten. “Absolutely magnificent. What a perfect end to our hike.”

We make our way back to the bed-and-breakfast, and I feel content. Despite Mikhail’s absence, this trip has been everything I hoped for and more. Much of that is due to the unexpected friendship I’ve found with Nastya.

13

Phoebe

The cobblestones of the Royal Mile gleam with a recent rain as Nastya and I meander through the bustling street a few more days into the trip. Tourists brush past us, their excited chatter mingling with the haunting melody of a nearby bagpiper. The scent of freshly baked shortbread wafts from a nearby shop, making my stomach growl despite our hearty lunch.

“We should grab some of those biscuits before we head back,” I say to Nastya, nodding toward the bakery. “They smell heavenly.”

Nastya smiles. “Absolutely. I’ve developed quite a taste for Scottish sweets since we’ve been here.”

As we continue our leisurely stroll, a prickle of unease crawls up my spine. I glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of a man in a dark jacket ducking behind a group of tourists. My heart ratequickens. I’ve seen him before, lurking in the periphery of my vision throughout the afternoon.

I grab Nastya’s arm, pulling her closer. “Don’t look now, but I think someone’s following us.”

Her expression remains calm, but she stiffens and glances around, assessing our surroundings. “Are you sure?”

“No, but there’s a man in a dark jacket. I’ve seen him a few times now.”

“Let’s duck into that shop.” She gestures to a nearby tartan emporium. “We can pretend to browse while we figure out what’s going on.”

We slip into the store, the cheerful jingle of the bell above the door at odds with the tension coiling in my stomach. The shop is a riot of plaids in every color imaginable. Under different circumstances, I’d be thrilled to explore, but now I can barely focus on the beautiful fabrics surrounding us.

I pretend to examine a display of scarves near the window, keeping one eye on the street outside. My fingers tremble slightly as I run them over the soft wool.

“There he is,” I whisper to Nastya, spotting the man in the dark jacket. He’s standing across the street, speaking to another man who’s just joined him. They both glance toward the shop, and I shudder. “There are two of them now.” I straighten my shoulders and take a step toward the shop’s door. “I need to know why they’re following us.”

Her hand on my shoulder startles me. “Are you sure you want to confront them? We could call the police.”

I square my shoulders. “No, I need to know what’s going on. This is my life, and I’m tired of feeling like a pawn in someone else’s game.”

---