His Son, Her Secret
A luxurious perfume with notes of rose and musk enveloped me as she patted my back.
“Oh, you’re much more beautiful than Pascha described! I’ve been so eager to meet you!” she exclaimed in a thick, but charming Russian accent.
I froze for a moment before managing to return her warm embrace, completely taken aback. All the preconceived notions I had of cold stares and judgmental looks shattered in an instant.
“Thank you, Mrs. Romanova,” I replied nervously, but she shook her head emphatically.
“Oh no, call me Natalia. And you can call him Alexandr too,” she insisted, nodding towards her husband, who was now approaching.
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