Chapter 37
They soon arrived at Natasha's mom's house. Drogen reached for her hand as they approached the door, his grip firm but tense. He inhaled deeply, his face unreadable.
"Relax," Natasha said softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "She's going to like you, I promise."
With that, Natasha opened the door and called out, "Mom, I'm home!"
Her mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishrag. Her face lit up at the sight of Natasha, but her expression quickly shifted to stunned recognition when she saw Drogen.
Her eyes widened. "Aren't you… the man who saved me when I was a child?"
Natasha blinked in confusion before the realization hit her. Her mom had often told her about a mysterious stranger who saved her life as a child. The way she always described him—a strikingly handsome man she never forgot—it suddenly made sense.
"Oh, no, Mom!" Natasha blurted out with an awkward laugh. "That must've been his dad. They look a lot alike."
Drogen's brow furrowed, and Natasha shot him a warning look that screamed just go with it.
Annabelle gasped. "Oh, my goodness! You're his son? Come here, let me get a look at you!" She pulled Drogen by the arm, guiding him to sit on the couch, her face lighting up with excitement. "You look so much like your father. It's uncanny!"
Drogen remained stoic but allowed himself to be pulled along, still clearly processing what was happening.
"And to think," Annabelle continued, beaming, "your dad saved my life as a child, and now his son is dating my daughter! It's like fate, So how's your dad?"
"He's dead," Drogen said bluntly, his tone neutral but firm.
Annabelle's face fell, her excitement giving way to sympathy. "Oh… I'm so sorry, dear."
Natasha stepped in, dragging her mom away. "Mom, it's fine. Let him breathe, please."
Annabelle relented with a sheepish smile. "Dinner is almost ready. You don't mind staying, do you?" she asked Drogen.
"Of course not," he replied politely.
When Annabelle returned to the kitchen, Natasha hurried over to Drogen, her voice a hushed whisper. "You really met my mom as a child?"
Drogen shrugged. "I don't remember. But if she recognizes me, it must be true. My face isn't exactly forgettable." He smirked.
"Thank goodness I found an excuse to cover it up," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.
Drogen stood up. "The things we bought for your mom are still in the car. I'll bring them in."
When he returned, the sheer volume of gifts made Natasha burst into laughter. Bags dangled from his arms, two were wrapped around his neck, and he even carried a few in his teeth.
"Why didn't you just make two trips?" she teased, wiping away a tear.
"I thought efficiency was more impressive," he deadpanned, dropping the bags in the living room.
Annabelle emerged from the kitchen, and her jaw dropped at the sight of the gifts. "All this? For me?"
"Yes," Drogen replied simply.
Annabelle clasped her hands to her chest. "You're spoiling me, dear! Look at these! Oh, Natasha, this one's a keeper," she said, shooting her daughter a mischievous glance.
"Mom," Natasha groaned, mortified.
"Don't 'Mom' me. If this man brings me gifts like this, I can only imagine what he'll do for you," Annabelle quipped, her tone teasing but warm.
As they sat down for dinner, the table was filled with mouth-watering dishes—steaming bowls of soup, platters of spiced vegetables, roasted meat, and freshly baked bread. Natasha's mom had truly outdone herself.
"This smells amazing, Mrs. Thorpe," Drogen said, genuinely impressed.
"Oh, please, call me Annabelle. And thank you, dear. Eat up! You need your strength if you're going to keep up with my daughter," Annabelle said with a wink.
Natasha nearly choked on her drink, coughing and glaring at her mother. "Mom!"
"What? I'm just saying. A strong woman needs a strong man," Annabelle said mischievously.
Drogen smirked, thoroughly enjoying Natasha's embarrassment. "I'll do my best to keep up," he said, his tone laced with playful arrogance.
The dinner was lively, filled with hearty laughter and amusing stories from Annabelle's past. She recounted her younger days with a flair that had Natasha groaning and Drogen chuckling. It was clear where Natasha got her quick wit.
When the plates were cleared and the meal was over, Annabelle leaned back with a contented sigh. "You two should stay the night. It's too late to drive back, and besides, Natasha, I miss having you here."
"Mom, we'll be fine going home—"
"Nonsense! And, oh, dear, I just realized we don't have a spare room," Annabelle interrupted, feigning regret. "You'll have to share Natasha's."
Natasha's face turned bright red. "Mom! I can sleep on the couch or something."
"Oh, please. That couch is awful for your back. Drogen, I'm sure you don't mind sharing with my daughter, right?" Annabelle asked innocently.
"I'm fine with it," Drogen replied smoothly, his expression unreadable.
Natasha shot her mother a look that could burn through steel, but Annabelle just smiled sweetly, gathering her dishes and heading to the kitchen.
"I'm so sorry," Natasha muttered under her breath as they headed to her room.
Drogen raised an eyebrow. "Why? I think your mom is entertaining."
When they stepped inside, Natasha's nerves buzzed as she gestured awkwardly to the bed. "You can take the bed. I'll grab some extra pillows—"
Before she could finish, Drogen shut the door behind them, the click of the lock loud in the silence.
She turned, startled, and found him leaning against the door, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.
"Drogen," she said, her voice coming out more breathless than she intended.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers, the space between them shrinking with every step.
"Why do you always get so flustered around me?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing.
"I'm not flustered," she shot back, but her voice wavered, betraying her.
His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. "You are."
Natasha took a step back, her back hitting the wall. "What are you doing?"
"Making you nervous," he replied simply, his tone laced with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.
She tried to speak, but her words caught in her throat as he leaned in, his hand bracing the wall beside her head.