Chapter 177 Chapter 177 Bachelorette and Bachelor Party
After we get dressed, I settle back into his lap, drink in hand like nothing just happened.
We sit there in comfortable silence, watching the chaos unfold around us. His brothers look like they’re having the time of their lives—each one getting a lap dance. Even Illia Jr., who is always so controlled, so reserved. It’s actually nice to see him loosen up for once.
His eyes meet mine across the room.
He blushes.
“Illia is blushing,” I whisper to Ivan, and he lets out a soft laugh.
“He’s been married a long time,” Ivan murmurs. “And his wife is not… calm, cool, or collected. Look at her right now.”
I follow his gaze.
Magda looks pissed.
What the fuck? She knew exactly where we were going.
It’s just a lap dance.
I roll my eyes and whistle, catching Marcus’s attention. He’s working tonight with a few of the other guys. He grins as he walks over, and I tilt my head toward Magda.
Message received.
Marcus saunters over to her and starts dancing.
Magda’s expression shifts immediately—shock, then color flooding her cheeks. She’s blushing now.
Illia Jr. tilts his head like, what the fuck is happening?
Ivan and I both laugh under our breath.
Then his tone changes.
“What did you need to tell me about you and Mason?” Ivan asks, his voice going flat—controlled, unreadable.
He hasn’t used that tone in a long time.
My stomach tightens.
But I push through it. We need to have this conversation—now, before the wedding, before everything becomes permanent.
“Mason and I…” I pause, steadying myself. “We have a few frozen embryos. We decided a while back… to have a child together.”
His body goes still beneath me.
“What does that mean for us?” he snaps, sharper than I expected.
“It means Mason and I would share custody. Fifty-fifty,” I say carefully. “For us? It just means you’d be a stepdad.”
I feel him exhale.
Feel the tension leave his body.
He was expecting worse.
A lot worse. His imagination is better than mine, Ivan has more experience than me. Something untwisted inside him.
“Do you have any other eggs that aren’t…” he starts.
“Yes,” I cut in. “I do.”
“Okay.” He nods once, like he’s already decided. “Then I want a kid with you too. We can do it at the same time—two surrogates. They can grow up together. Like Dimitri and I.”
I blink at him.
“Seriously?” I ask, caught completely off guard.
I expected anger. A fight. Maybe even him walking away. The words I expected were, fuck you, fuck this, I am out.
Not this.
“Dushichka,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my temple, “you’re raising my son. A son I had with another woman. I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”
My gaze drops to the ring on my finger.
Thirty carats. Cushion-cut yellow diamond held together by by two ten carat white diamonds all set in platinum.
Completely impractical.
Completely him.
He told me he chose yellow because I’m his sun. That he orbits me. That he always will.
It’s ridiculous. He is always so poetic. Looking forward to his vows.
And yet…
We picked out a smaller one for everyday wear, something modest. This one? This is the statement.
The biggest ring out of all the Pavlov women.
Because he notices everything.
Even the moments when I shrink. When I think I’m not enough.
He reads me too well.
His hand moves slowly against my back, drawing lazy circles, grounding me.
Then his brothers start drifting over, drinks in hand, followed by his friends. Miroslav leads the pack, wearing that same stupid grin I can’t stand.
I need to get along with him. I don’t want to. Something about his face just pisses me off.
“Why are you hogging the groom?” Miroslav calls out. “He should be getting a lap dance.”
I open my mouth, but Ivan cuts me off.
“She isn’t,” he says flatly. “And I already got one. I don’t need another.”
Jax leans in closer, his hand brushing my dress up just enough to expose my garter.
“Where do you even get lingerie like that—”
I smack his hand away hard.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snap. Then, calmer, “Spain. The brand’s called Twisted.”
He curses under his breath, rubbing his hand. Ivan laughs, they are the only ones that do not get along. Jax did sleep with Christina, Ivan will never get over that.
I stand, signaling one of the dancers over. She approaches Ivan, and he immediately tenses.
He looks up at me like I just asked him to cheat.
“It’s just a dance,” I tell him firmly, squeezing his shoulder.
Before anything else can happen, a voice cuts through the music.
Sharp. Unwelcome.
“What if I want to give him a lap dance?” Yulia asks.
The energy shifts instantly.
Everyone turns.
Silence drops heavy over the group.
“You feeling brave?” I say, leaning forward, gripping the back of Ivan’s chair. “Go ahead. Try and touch him. See what happens.”
The dancer—some gorgeous brunette in pink—settles into Ivan’s lap, already moving, already working him, whispering in his ear.
Yulia glares at me and takes a step forward. I move around Ivan’s chair.
Dimitri catches her wrist.
“Don’t Try Elena,” he says, laughing under his breath. “She will kill you.”
“What if he touches me?” Yulia tosses her hair, trying to look unbothered.
“What if hell freezes over?” I shoot back. “How the fuck would I get home?”
The guys burst out laughing.
“I trust Ivan,” I add, louder this time.
For everyone.
For him.
Ivan reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together, pulling me close enough to press a kiss to my knuckles.
“Stop, Yulia,” Magda cuts in, stepping beside me and looping an arm around my shoulders. “You’re making yourself look like a fool. You’re not good enough to be a girlfriend. Elena was always meant to be a wife.”
Nari, Matteo's wife appears behind Yulia next.
“Why are you even here?” she asks coolly.
Parisa moves in too, resting her hands on Arno’s shoulders. “Who let the trash in?”
“Look at all the Pavlov women sticking together,” Jax laughs. “It’s kind of endearing.”
And just like that—
Something shifts inside me.
For the first time…
I don’t feel out of place.
I don’t feel like I’m lacking.
I don’t feel like I have to compare.
For the first time—
I feel like I belong.