Page 197 of Sexting the Boss

“Yes, thank you, Captain Observation.”

Damien comes closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, and I lean back into him, overwhelmed and in awe and already forgetting about my abandoned ice cream plan.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper to him.

He looks at me, his expression impossibly soft. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Dinner is louder than this house has probably heard in a decade.

My mom is talking animatedly with Ekaterina about biryani and whether Colorado has decent green chilis. My little brother is quietly shoveling pasta into his mouth like he’s in a speed-eating contest. And Damien—Damien is sitting beside me, arm brushing mine every now and then, saying nothing but taking it all in with that small, almost hidden smile that only I can read now.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this…content.

It makes my heart twist a little.

In a good way.

The long wooden dining table that used to feel like something out of a museum now feels almost too small for all the noise and plates and energy spilling across it. For a second, I wonder what the old Damien would think of this.

But he’s no longer the man I met.

That version of him feels like he left eons ago.

And then I look at the way he’s refilling my mother’s glass and chuckling at something my brother says, and I realize…maybe he was always meant for this.

Ekaterina sets down her fork and smiles, patting her lips delicately with a napkin.

“It’s been a long time since we had this much life around the table,” she says, her voice warm and fond. “Too long.”

My mother nods, glancing toward me and Damien. “Well, it’s going to get even busier in a few weeks.”

I rub my belly instinctively. The baby gives a faint kick, like she’s already part of the conversation.

Ekaterina turns toward us slowly, eyes twinkling. “Yes, well…some of us were thinking it might be nice to have a proper celebration before the baby arrives.”

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. Damien shifts slightly beside me.

My mom looks suspiciously like she’s trying not to grin.

“Celebration?” I ask, pretending to play dumb, even though I absolutely know where this is going.

Ekaterina folds her hands together, her posture perfect. “Something meaningful. Traditional, perhaps. Something that makes it clear this child is coming into a family.”

She doesn’t look at Damien when she says it. She looks at me.

And then looks at Damien.

I clear my throat, cheeks burning, and suddenly the salad on my plate is the most interesting thing in the world.

“Is this…is this your way of asking me if I’m planning to marry your son?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t dare interfere,” Ekaterina says gracefully. “But I do believe in certain things being…in order.”

Damien, of course, chooses this moment to take a calm sip of his wine, as if he’s not being dragged into a family ambush.

Coward.

I glance at him. “You wanna jump in any time?”

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