Chapter 340 340. Artemiy - Thanksgiving 5

Chapter 340 340. Artemiy - Thanksgiving 5
“Let me have you meet everyone,” Isla tells me as she takes my hand and leads me around the room, introducing me to her husbands, her stepdaughter, and everyone else.
She’s quite different from the girl Vasiliy used to tell me about. She is no longer a sad, broken woman, but someone who has found peace and happiness and is living life to the fullest.
Everyone is quite happy to get to know me, except Ivan, who appears to think that I’m his enemy. Or worse. I really don’t understand what his problem with me is.
Once all the introductions have been made, Isla chirps, “I am so happy that everyone is here.” To Vasiliy, she says, “Especially you, because Thanksgiving is not the same without you.” He smiles at that. She adds, “And I am especially glad that your cousin is here as well.”
“I am not,” Ivan retorts. “I don’t see why he had to tag along.”
Olena flinches at that, which makes me think that maybe staying home would have allowed her to actually enjoy this day as she dreamed of.
Isla puts her hands on her hips. “Now, we already talked about this, and what conclusion did we reach?”
Ivan crosses his arms against his chest. “That Olena has a right to her own life and friends, and that I have to be nice to the men in her life. But how can I be sure they are not trying to take advantage of her?”
At that, I say, “I might be able to answer that.” Ivan narrows his eyes at me. “Your mother is an amazing woman, who is more than capable of deciding which people she wants in her life and which she doesn’t.”
“You don’t understand,” he hisses, which makes Zana give him a curious glance, which in turn makes Uri grit his teeth.
Keeping my tone calm, I tell him, man to man, “But I do. Your mother is the kindest and most selfless person I have ever met, and it’s easy to worry that others would take advantage of that, your instinct telling you that everyone approaching her is a threat. Trust me, I understand. Because the same thoughts run through my head as well. And I promise you that I’d never let anyone hurt her.”
Olena adjusts the scarf around her neck, making sure there’s not even the slightest hint of any of the bruises left by me—or that son of a bitch who will pay for everything he has ever done to her tomorrow—while trying to make herself as small as possible, which I don’t like.
Ivan studies me for a moment before his gaze goes to Vasiliy. “Do you vouch for him?”
“I do,” my cousin replies without hesitation.
Ivan’s attention returns to me. “For a long time, my mother has been my entire world. Harm her in any way, and I will make sure that you will regret it for the rest of your days.”
Zana imitates Ivan’s posture. “No one messes with Grandma Olena,” she says, trying to sound very badass, which finally puts an end to all the tension and makes everyone laugh.
“Now, if Ivan is finally done pouting, how about we start eating?” Theodore suggests.
“First, let me give everyone the gifts I brought them,” Olena says, her English somewhat broken.
One everyone has received, opened, and thanked Olena for all her thoughtful gifts, Isla links her arm with her grandfather’s as we move to the dining room. I have to admit, I’ve never been in a house so big before. It even has a room just for eating.
Since there are so many of us, two big tables have been set so there will be enough room not only for all the family members to eat together, but also for the staff members to join us, which tells me a lot about the kind of family this is—the kind that treats those who work for them like their own.
Once the food is being served, Vasiliy starts filling Olena’s plate with all her favorite dishes, while I make sure her glass is filled with orange juice, since it’s one of her favorite drinks.
It doesn’t take long for Olena to place a hand over her nose and lean away from the smell of the meat, which has been bothering her for the past two days, to the point of making her so nauseated that we had to open all the windows in the kitchen to get rid of the smell.
Isla, who sits across from us, notices Olena’s reaction as she pushes her plate away with her free hand. “Is something wrong with the food?”
“The smell of garlic is making me really sick,” Olena replies as she gets up.
Isla’s gaze shifts to me, and I can see the question in her eyes—the same one Vasiliy and I have been asking ourselves for the last two days. Is she pregnant? Olena thinks it’s not possible, but she also dismisses the idea that she might be sick, so clearly something is going on.
Ivan seems confused by Olena’s sudden aversion to garlic. “But you always liked it.”
“And now she doesn’t,” I retort as I help her get away from the table. “Keep eating. I’m going to make sure Olena gets some fresh air, and we will be back in a second.” To my cousin, I murmur, “Make her a new plate and get her some food that doesn’t have a strong smell.”
I lead her out of the dining room before anyone can stop us.
“Better?” I ask her when we step outside the house.
She inhales deeply. “Yes.”
We decide to take a walk around the garden, and we soon find a bench and sit on it. For a while, no one says anything. We just take in the last days of fall as cold air sweeps around us, so I wrap my arm around her and pull her close to me.
I am first to break the silence by saying, “I know you refuse to think that you might be pregnant, but how about you take a test?” 
The hand she has on my right thigh flexes slightly. “I am scared,” she admids. 
“Of what?” 
“Of not being pregnant,” she murmurs. “And of being pregnant. I am fourty two–I’m too old for this.” 
I make her look up at me. “At forty-two you are not old.” 
“I am,” she protests. 
“You only lived half of your life. And the better half is only starting.” 
She smiles at that which makes me lean in for a kiss, but she pushes me away, leaving me puzzled. 
“Not here. Ivan might see us.” 
A sigh leaves me. “He’s a man with a family of his own. He will have to get used to the idea that his mother is in a relationship. And that you might be pregnant.” 
She looks mortified at that. “He is not going to be happy about it–the dating part. Not the pregnancy part–because there’s no chance of that ever happening.” 
“Well, how about you take a test?” I suggest.
She looks a way for a bit, and slowly nods. 
“Great,” I say, relieved. “But it might have to wait until tomorrow to buy one.”
“I have a test in my purse,” she reveals. 
So, that’s why she went out this morning–to buy a pregnancy test. 
She might insist that she’s not pregnant but she’s thinking that it might be a possibility. 
For some reason, my heart starts beating faster. “Where is your purse?” 
“In the car.” 
“Let’s do this.” 
Five minutes later, she’s taking the test in the guest bathroom, downstairs, while I wait in front of the door. 
Minutes pass by, making me more impatient, until she finally lets me in. 
“Well?” I ask, curious. 
She points with a shaking finger at the sink, where the test is. 
I feel like fainting while I pick it up while a thousand thoughts run through my head–like: I might be a father, or it might be nothing. 
I blink at the test for several seconds before my gaze rushes to Olena. 
“Say something,” she pleads when I just stand there staring at her. 
A huge grin spreads across my face. “I’m officially a motherfucker.”