“Fixing cars. He worked as a mechanic all his life. Taught me to build stuff, take care of the house. He doesn’t drink. Just a regular guy. Got his flaws, sure… don’t we all?” he added with a crooked smile.

They pulled up to a modest estate with a tall, even fence. Over the top, lush green branches spilled down, showing a well-tended garden.

“Welcome home, wife,” he said, stepping out and opening her door.

She blushed slightly and placed her hand in his, following him toward the gate.

“For everyone else, we’re a real couple. So don’t flinch if I touch you,” he murmured as he pushed open the gate.

“Mama, is Uncle Pasha home?” Spartacus called out to his mother, who was hanging laundry in the yard.

“Hello,” Nadya said timidly.

The woman froze mid-motion, mouth slightly open, her eyes darting down to the joined hands of the young couple.

“Mama, meet Nadya. She’s my wife,” Spartacus said quickly, already heading toward the house. “So, is he home or not?”

“Son, what are you talking about?” his mother asked, confused.

“I asked if Uncle Pasha’s home.”

“No, he’s not,” came a groggy voice from the porch. Styopa rubbed his eyes as he stepped outside, clearly just waking up.

“Who is this?” his mother asked, walking closer.

Nadya instinctively moved behind Spartacus, seeking cover.

“This is Nadya. My wife,” he repeated casually, like he was introducing a dog or a new motorcycle he’d just picked up.

“Wife?” his mother echoed, circling them. “You never told me you got married! And why am I seeing her for the first time?”

“It just happened. Sorry,” he said, wrapping an arm around Nadya. “We got married this morning. She’s pregnant, so we had to hurry.”

He regretted saying that the moment it left his mouth, because his mother immediately smacked him across the back with the wet towel she was holding. He let go of Nadya and bolted, shielding his head.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from girls?! And now you got one pregnant?!”

“I love her!” Spartacus yelled, sprinting toward the street.

Nadya stood frozen in the middle of the yard, unsure of what to do next.

“You’re not bad looking…” Styopa said, walking down the steps and giving her a long, curious once-over.

Nadya hugged herself and shrank slightly under his stare. But moments later, she felt Spartacus’ strong arms around her again. He pulled her close and started leading her toward the house.

“Know your place, kid. She’s my woman,” he growled, gently shoving his stepbrother aside as he led Nadya up the stairs.

Their mother shook her head in disapproval as they disappeared into the house.

Two days later, guests arrived—along with Uncle Pasha, who had been absent all that time. Nadya instantly recognized her father and his loyal assistants.

“Well, hello there, daughter,” greeted a man who looked to be in his early fifties. He carried himself with undeniable authority and wealth. Even his cologne swept down the street like a royal announcement.

“Hello, Papa,” Nadya replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Is it true, what I’ve been told?”

“Yes,” Spartacus answered before she could. He stepped up beside Nadya and pulled her into a firm embrace.

Uncle Pasha’s eyes bulged. Spartacus shot him a cold, sharp look.

“And this… this is who you chose instead of the well-educated and promising Sergey?” her father said with clear disdain, nodding toward Spartacus, who was covered in dirt from cleaning the animal pens.

“I love him,” Nadya said softly, repeating Spartacus’s words. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet her father’s gaze.