Dimitri was cleaning up their dinner plates when the restaurant called.

“Yeah, what?” He tucked the phone into the crook of his neck as he loaded the dishwasher.

“Your mother is here.”

Dimitri cursed and closed his eyes. “Put her on.”

“Privet, moy syn.”

He bit back a sigh and switched over to Russian. “Zdravstvui, Mama. What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

“The weather is beautiful. Does one need a reason to visit here?”

Okay, so that’s how this was going to go. “Is Papa with you?”

“No, he went to Florida to visit Nik on his tour.”

Divide and conquer, huh? “Why are you at the restaurant?”

“I was hungry. Come meet me.”

He’d just left there a few hours earlier, and he’d already eaten, but he couldn’t say no to his mother. “Fine. But I can’t stay long. You have a hotel already?”

“Yes, a good one. Don’t worry, I won’t intrude on your love nest.”

Ne bylo pechali. His love nest? “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“No, of course not. See you soon, Mama.”

He dashed into his room for shoes and sat by Natasha in the living room to put them on.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Where are you going?”

“Emergency at the restaurant.”

“You were just there.”

“This can’t wait. I’m sorry. I’ll be back soon.”

Her lips pursed in a worried frown. “I have to leave early tomorrow for the dance class.”

“I won’t be late.” He kissed her forehead, paused because he wanted to do more, then thought better of it. If his mother got tired of waiting, she’d come here. “I promise.”

She shrugged and turned back to her laptop. “See ya.”

He ran out to the car and prayed for no traffic. He felt bad leaving Natasha at home alone. He knew she was bored, and pissed off at having to sit around doing nothing. She was used to working all the time and wasn’t the kind of person who handed idleness well.

If he could convince her to move in, to let him take care of her, she wouldn’t have to work so much. Sure, she could still work as much or as little as she wanted, but he didn’t think the constant cycle of money-making gigs made her happy. He got it, and he’d been in that position himself, but now he had enough sources of income that he could live comfortably and take care of the people he loved. Really, it was all he wanted out of life. He loved dance, loved being a dancer, but it was secondary to his love for his family and desire to make them comfortable.

Natasha fell into that category now, whether she believed it or not.

She obviously didn’t believe it. But she hadn’t pulled away from him, so he was trying to give her space. Being there, but not pushing. When he pushed, she retreated.

But now they were locked in this weird stalemate. She didn’t seem like she was about to run away, which made him happy, but their relationship was no closer to where he wanted it to be, and that worried him.

What if it never got to where he wanted it to be? What if she just didn’t want that with him?

It was the fear that kept him from laying all his cards on the table. It was the same fear that had him avoiding his cousin, Alex.

What if he put himself out there and was rejected?

He didn’t know how to proceed with Natasha. Did she need more space? She seemed fine with sharing his room, but she’d made a really big deal about it in the beginning. Maybe she wanted her own space back, but didn’t want to tell him.

Bringing his mother into the equation would not help matters, that he was sure of. Natasha had enough issues with her own mother. He didn’t know what the woman was like, but his mother was likely the opposite. Oksana Kovalenko did not hold back her opinions, and he’d gotten his pushiness from her. If Oksana met Natasha and liked her, she’d be planning their wedding by the end of the week.

And while he liked that idea, he’d bet Natasha wouldn’t, and it would ruin all the progress they’d made. As much as he wanted his mother to meet the woman of his dreams, it wasn’t the right time. He had to find out how Natasha felt first.

So, ask her, Alex would say.

Alex was the pragmatic one. Dimitri was the dramatic one, although he preferred the term “passionate.” It was the kind of thing he might have asked Alex about, if he weren’t actively avoiding him.

Stop running away from your dreams, Alex’s most recent text had read. Asshole.

He pulled into the lot next to Krasavitsa and jumped out of the car, tossing the keys to Raul, the lead valet.

“Back again?” Raul asked.

“No rest for the wicked.” Dimitri went in through the front, nodding at everyone as he passed.

His mother was seated at one of the best tables. It boasted both a full view of the restaurant and relative privacy.

“Mama.” He leaned down to greet her.

“You walk in here like you own the place.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I do.” He sat across from her. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

“I told you, I’m having dinner.” She spread her hands to indicate the assortment of plates on the table.

“What, did you order one of everything?”

She winked. “I know the owner. So, let’s get to the real reason why I’m here.”

He held his breath. Here it came.

“I want to meet her.”

He exhaled. Yup, there it was. “Not yet.”

His mother’s brows—waxed to within an inch of their life, since they were naturally as thick as his own—arched. “Why not?”

“She’s . . .” One of the waiters appeared with an extra wine glass and set it at his elbow. Dimitri poured from the open bottle of red on the table, just to have something to do. “Skittish.” There. That was the perfect word for Natasha.

His mother frowned and repeated the word back to him. “Puglivaya? What does she have to be skittish about? You will make a great husband. I made sure of that.”

“I know that. And you know that. But she . . . she doesn’t trust me.”

His mother frowned and munched on a french fry. They were her weakness, and he’d grown up with a healthy appreciation for fries. Krasavitsa made excellent fries, crafted to his specifications. He trusted his head chef, but not with fries. They were skinny, salty, slightly crunchy, and served in a cone with ketchup and garlic aioli on the side.

“Why doesn’t she trust you?” His mother pinned him with a shrewd gaze. “Have you given her reason not to?”

Dimitri stole some of her fries and scooped up a healthy dollop of aioli with them. “I guess so.”

Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to know.”

“It’s better that you don’t.”

“So, what are you doing to show her that she can trust you?”

He finished chewing, lest she tell him not to talk with his mouth full. “I’m trying to show her.”

“Odobreniye.” She shrugged. “But how?”

“What, specifically?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she sprained her ankle.”

“How? Is she also a dancer?”

If he wasn’t careful, his mother would ask enough questions to guess Natasha’s identity. She watched The Dance Off. Lori Kim and Danny Johnson were her favorites, but she certainly knew who Natasha was, and would likely have opinions about her. “Um, yes.”

“Do I know her?”

Chert. “Mama . . .”

She held up her hands. “Fine. You tell me when you’re ready. Continue.”

“Right. So, she sprained her ankle, and I’m taking care of her.”

His mother’s expression softened. “That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m trying to show her she doesn’t have to be alone. But she thinks she does. She doesn’t want my help.”

“Women want to be independent, Mitya. She’s not going to want you because she needs you to make her life good, but because her life is already good and you make it better.”

He sat back in his seat and mulled that over. “You’re saying I shouldn’t want her to need my help?”

“I’m saying, if she wants to prove she can do it on her own, she doesn’t want you to prove that she can’t.”

Frustrated, he swirled the wine in his glass and scowled at the soft light reflecting through it. “So, what do I do? Nothing? Don’t help her? She’s in a bad situation. She needs help.”

“Are you sure?”

When he blinked at her, she looked away and sipped her wine.

“Am I sure about what? That she needs help?” When his mother didn’t answer, he leaned in. “She does need help. She’s broke, her apartment is under construction, and she’s injured. I’m doing everything I can to help her, short of giving her money, and that’s only because I know she won’t accept it. She needs help.”

His mother was immune to his stubbornness. After all, she was ten times more stubborn than he was. She only shrugged and said again, “Are you sure that’s what she needs?”

He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. “I’m . . .” He had been sure. But now that his mother had pointed it out, his brain started poking at the problem from different angles.

An uneasy feeling spread through his gut. What if he were going about this all wrong? Trying to anticipate and meet all of Natasha’s needs. She needed a home, he gave it. She needed a ride, he drove her. He was trying to show her he cared, but she wasn’t buying it. What could he do differently? What did she really need?”

I don’t want your help, she’d said. I have to prove I can do it.

What else had she said?

You’re going to let me care about you.

You shouldn’t.

Why?

Because I don’t deserve it.

Those words had haunted him. And now they gave him his answer.

“I have to show her . . . that she deserves to be loved.”

“Ah.” His mother smiled and reached for his hand across the table. He clasped her small fingers in his big ones, stunned as always that his larger-than-life mother was, in reality, a small woman. Her eyes glistened, and she smiled like she was proud of him. “And how do you do that?”

“I guess it’s not by bullying her into physical therapy exercises.”

Once again, Oksana looked to the ceiling for patience. It was something she did a lot around him. “Figure it out, Mitya. I believe in you. Now, drop me off at my hotel and go back to your woman.”

As they left the restaurant and waited for Raul to bring the car around, Dimitri gave his mother a sidelong glance. “Did you really fly all the way to California to ask me about this?”

She shrugged. “I had the miles. And besides, you’ve been ignoring your cousin, so why should I think you’d have this conversation unless I forced you into it?”

He shook his head and took the keys from Raul when he pulled up. After they climbed in and his mother buckled up, she said, “I still want to meet her.”

He sighed. “Soon.”

He hoped.