— You’re moving in with me, — it’s said without any room for debate. Like a fact.
— I can’t, — I argue, but Voskresensky doesn’t know the word “no.” — You have nowhere to live. No job. And my daughters need someone to look after them. You fit. — I’m a pastry chef. I have no experience with kids. None at all — I hide my gaze. — You like them. The rest doesn’t matter. I’m ready to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse. We’re interrupted by the red-haired twins. They climb onto their father’s lap, and he instantly softens. — Will Mom live with us? — they point at me at the same time.
After my divorce, I lost everything. My husband cheated on me, made a child for his mistress, and to top it off, he sued away my business. I have to start from scratch. Pick up pastry work, take any orders. At one event I met him… Voskresensky— a divorced single father. Cold, cynical, despises women and goes over heads. I need to stay away from him… But how did it turn out that his daughters look like me—like two mini-copies?