Only West must have read something different from my expression because he blurted, “I know what myela voush means.”

An abrupt laugh dropped from my mouth. “What?”

His face heated. I loved how he blushed so easily. “You know, what you call me.”

“Moya lyubov’?”

“Yes, that.”

Grinning, I gestured to the seat, letting him think his distraction had worked. “Please, we will eat, and you can tell me how you have heard of it.”

“Oh… um, okay.” He nodded and started to move back to the table. Before he could escape, I took his wrist in mine and quickly planted a kiss on his neck. His pulse in his wrist increased against my fingers. I smiled inwardly before I released him and took my seat.

I placed the napkin over my lap while I waited for West to say more. When he stayed silent, I looked over at him. He was already shoveling food into his mouth.

“This is good. So good.”

I shook my head. “Moya lyubov’, you got away with the change of subject before by saying you had to think about it. I will need to know how you found out about your name.”

He set his fork down, cleared his throat, and after a sip of his drink, he said, “Google Translate.”

I drew my brows up, surprised. “And it understood your pronunciation?”

“Did I mince it up?”

“A little. But I found it cute.”

He scraped his bottom lip with his top teeth in thought.

“What, moya lyubov’?” I asked.

His soft gaze rose. “You’ve called me that since… then.”

“Da.”

“Why? It means, ‘my love,’ right? Why would you call me that back then?”

“Because I knew I could not live my life without you in it.”

His eyes closed, and he drew in a shuddering breath. A small smile touched his lips. “Okay,” he whispered. Opening his eyes, he nodded toward my food. “You’d better eat before it gets cold.”

There it was: acceptance. Elation filled me that West acknowledged my truth. I had been worried he would not care for my words, but having had him take on what I said and move on, told me I did not need to hope he was mine.

He already was.

Chapter Twenty

West

Dinner was amazing. On top of the company and comfortable conversation, it had been the best risotto I’d ever tried. When I told Adrik, he had a taste and informed me that his was better. On the drive to the condo, I pushed my nerves down enough to mention, “You know I can’t cook. I can bake but not cook.”

Would he worry about that?

“Da, I remember those muffins. I will teach you if you would like?”

Warmth spread through my body. “I’d love that.”

He took a hand off the steering wheel to take mine and rest it on his thigh. “Good. I have many dishes to teach you.”