Page 96 of Owned Bratva Bride
“He has chosen to marry you; we have no choice,” she insisted, her face straight.
I wished I could tell her she didn’t have anything to be jealous or pained about.
“Breakfast will be ready soon,” Agatha announced.
“Actually,” I started. “I was thinking of cooking. Sofia isn’t so busy, right? She can teach me something simple while you go on with breakfast.”
“Oh, no. You can’t cook,” Agatha disclosed, her tone gentle. “We’ll be in real trouble if you do anything more than light assistance in here.”
“What? I’m not some fragile glass bowl.”
“Sir Eduard has left. We can make something without any of the men knowing,” Sofia pointed out.
“I’ll keep my eyes on the door,” Mila volunteered, her eyes on Sofia, who gave her a smile like there was an unspoken conversation between them.
“Okay, but…be careful. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere,” Agatha yielded.
Sofia turned to me. “What did you have in mind? I can make lots of American meals and snacks.”
“I was thinking of Russian, actually.”
“Hmm, more to Sir Eduard’s side,” she remarked, a teasing smile on her face.
“I’m now surrounded by you Russian folks, and I eat many Russian delicacies. I just want to try something new,” I explained, not that it fazed Sofia.
“Let’s make Blini! You’ll love them; they are like pancakes,” she suggested.
“No!” Agatha countered from the gas cooker she stood over. “Nothing that has to do with frying or hot oil at all. What if something burns her? Would you explain to Sir Eduard?”
“It’s not really frying,” Sofia persisted.
“Still. Think of something else,” Agatha said.
“Let’s make pryanik, then,” Sofia told me.
“Not like I know what that is,” I replied.
“They are cookies. Gingerbread cookies that are spicy. Then we’ll sprinkle chopped nuts on them. Or fruits, candied fruits.”
“Sounds sweet. Let’s do it.”
So, twenty minutes later, Agatha and Mila were serving the men’s breakfast while Sofia and I got down to our business.
I was mixing the dry ingredients in a large bowl while Sofia stood facing me, mixing honey, sugar, and oil in her bowl. Then she broke an egg into the mix and started whisking.
“It’s time to add it here,” Sofia noted, pointing to her bowl.
“Alright,” I drawled, slowly emptying my bowl into hers.
She effortlessly mixed the dough, kneading the massive lump with practiced and perfected skill.
Rolling it out, we started cutting it into shapes.
“You like these nuts? We could use only the candied fruits,” she asked.
“Sure. I’m not allergic to nuts or anything.”
“Should we use both? You’ll like it, I promise,” she asked, smiling.
