“He’s still my son.” Mom’s eyes darted between them, her brows knitting together. “Of course he is,” Natasha replied, laying a hand on his arm. “But I’m not. Yours, that is. I would never... I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” A dimple appeared in Nikolai’s cheek. “You certainly aren’t helping things, love. But keep talking. Maybe you’ll bare all the sordid details of our marriage.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed for a heartbeat. “Sordid my ass. I want a divorce.”
