The Minnesota Miracle [kirill kaprizov]

Chapter Twenty-Three

"How dare we sit quietly, and watch the world pass us by?"
— Nicki Minaj

For Christmas, Kirill decided to invite his parents over to the States so I could finally meet them.

When we were in Novokuznetsk back in June, his parents weren't able to be home because they had "other complications." Kirill was upset, but he understood, and he has all the right in the world to be upset about not seeing his parents. Especially when you practically worked on the other side of the globe in America for three quarters of the year.

I asked if I was able to invite my family over, and he said that it was fine. Apparently Russians love huge gatherings, though my family wasn't huge.

We decided to have it in our apartment, since it was fairly big in size we really only were having about ten people at max for the celebration. Tomorrow Kirill and I have another party to go to, only this was the huge Minnesota Wild Christmas party, where the hockey players and coaches invited their significant others and kids.

"I'm looking forward to you meeting my parents again!" I exclaimed as I sprayed the counters with a cleaning solution.

"Huh?" Kirill said as he turned off the vacuum in the living room. "What did you say?"

I giggled as I began to wash down the countertops. "I said I'm looking forward to you meeting my parents again," I repeated louder.

He chuckled. "You're seeing my parents for the first time. You should be looking forward to that," he responded.

I smirked. "I never said I wasn't," I said.

"I know, I know. I'm sure they will like you. If not, well, I'll tell them otherwise," he responded before turning the vacuum back on again to continue vacuuming the carpet.

I chuckled as I got back to wiping the counters down. After that, Kirill stepped into the kitchen to begin making his Russian dishes.

As he was making the dough for the pelmeni, I thought it would be funny to smack his butt to get a good laugh.

Kirill quickly turned his head around and looked at me with the most confused, but affectionate smirk.

"Trying to impress certain women with that ass of yours?" I asked with a wink.

He rolled his eyes as he flicked some of the powdery flour onto my face. "One woman," he responded, his smirk still plastered across his face.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" I questioned.

He chuckled. "You betcha," he said before getting back to making the dough.

I giggled as I went back to decorating the couch and living room for our guests that were coming over.

An hour passed by, and a series of knocking occurred at the front door to the apartment. Kirill was busy making another one of his native Russian dishes, so I kindly went to answer the door.

On the other side was an older man, probably mid-forties, and a woman who looked to be about the same age.

"Hello," I said.