The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

“Gorko!” Nikolai shouts, in Russian tradition, and Maxim and I kiss, according to custom.

The guys start counting out loud, timing our kiss, which supposedly proves the longevity of our love, and at the same time, gesture to my friends—unfamiliar with Russian wedding traditions—to chug the rest of the champagne.

My lips stretch into a smile where they are permanently glued against Maxim’s.

“All right, all right, enough!” Pavel grumbles after they reach sixty. “We already know you two can go at it twenty-four seven. We don’t need the public demonstration.”

“Come,” you have to smash the glasses,” my mother says, producing a pair of crystal glasses out of her bag and handing one to each of us. We move the party up to the paved patio of the enormous beach house Maxim booked.

I pull my elbow back, glancing at Maxim for the go-ahead. He lifts his glass and nods, and we both smash the crystal with as much force as possible for luck.

“Now steal the bride,” my mother urges my friends, making shooing motions with her hands. “Make Maxim pay ransom to get her back.”

Laughing, my friends grab my hands and dash upstairs with me.

“You always did know how to throw a party,” Ashley says when we all scramble onto the king bed together.

“I’m not sure hiding her in my bedroom is really the point,” Maxim calls through the door. “But I’m happy to pay.”

Kayla snaps another photo of me using my cell phone. It dings, signifying a new email came in, now that it’s connected to wifi again.

Seeing the preview of who it’s from on the screen, I gasp and snatch the phone out of her hand.

“What is it?” Kayla asks.

“It’s from the theater director in Chicago. The guy I just auditioned for.” I hold my breath as my fingers fly across my screen to get the thing open. I squeal.

“What? What is it? You got the part?” all my friends ask at once.

“What’s happening?” Maxim asks from the other side of the door.

I rush to the door and throw it open. “I did it!” I shriek, jumping back into his arms. “I’m going to play Anna Karenina!”

A chorus of “Oh my God!” and “That’s great!” and “Congratulations!” showers down over me. Maxim bumps me into the air and catches me again, like I weigh nothing.

As if I needed this day to be even more perfect.

Happy tears spill from my eyes.

My mom and the guys push into the room behind Maxim to find out what all the commotion is about.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” I sob, dropping my lips to the top of Maxim’s head. “I love you all so much. I’m so happy.”

Maxim rotates, still holding me straddled around his waist. It’s a slow dance, with an audience of everyone I care about in the world.

“I love you,” I murmur against his skin. “I love our life.”

“I love our life, too.” He drops kisses on my arms. “I love you so much, sugar.” And then he turns to face our audience. “Now everyone out,” he says firmly.

There’s a chorus of laughter and protests.

“Lame!”

“The party was just getting started!”

“You keep partying. We have some partying of our own to do here,” Maxim says, angling me toward the bed, his eyes dark with promise.

“Yes, please,” I whisper as our friends and family exit the bedroom.

Maxim carefully lays me on my back in the center of the bed. “I definitely need a redo on my wedding night,” he teases, and I cringe, remembering how I’d escaped as quickly as I could to my apartment, wanting nothing to do with him.

“I saved myself for you,” I remind him.

“You did,” he says with so much love in his expression.

So much I feel like my heart will burst. I pull him down to me and mate my mouth with his, my tongue licking between his lips, eager for our consummation. Re-consummation. Whatever.

I work the buttons to Maxim’s shirt open as our lips twist and tangle. He finds the side zipper to my strapless white mini-dress and tugs it down. I lift my ass for him to pull the dress off. He sits back a moment and bites his knuckle, drinking in the sight of me, naked, except for a tiny white G-string.

“Every time I get you naked, I have to remind myself that this is real. You’re my wife. You really belong in my bed this time. I’m not going to get my dick cut off for getting caught with you.”

I hook my own thumbs in the waistband of the G-string and shimmy out of it. “All yours, husband. What are you going to do with me?”

His grin is devilish. He shucks his open shirt and then his pants and boxer briefs. “I have about one hundred ideas. Let’s get started…”