The car was deafeningly silent as the remains of his verbal bomb cleared the air. He heard the slight inhale of her breath. Taking his eyes off the road long enough to look at her, he watched her fingertip trail down the middle of the passenger glass window.
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll marry you.”
He thought he’d feel differently. He thought he’d feel elation at achieving his heart’s desire. But her words scooped out his heart like the unwanted insides of a gourd.
“There’s another way,” he said quietly, unable to believe what he was about to offer her.
“Yes?”
“You can leave New York. Change your name. Start over in another city.”
She was silent a moment. “Without you?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet again. “No.”
“No?”
Dare he hope she’d choose him instead of her freedom?
“What’s a life without you, Igor? I love you.”
He took a hand off the wheel and searched for hers. Squeezing it, he brought it to his lips, knowing there would never be enough words to tell her how much he loved her, how much he needed her.
“I love you, Maryruth. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you.”
It was her turn to bring his hand to her lips. “I look forward to it.”
He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in years. And then he made a call that would change their lives forever.
When they arrived at the airstrip, he helped Maryruth out of the Jag and ushered her toward the private runway. Once they were seated and buckled in the small plane, Maryruth asked, “Vegas?”
He smiled but shook his head.
“Tell me,” she said with a laugh.
“Vermont.”
“Why Vermont?” she asked.
“Because I hate Elvis,” he quipped.
She laughed again, held his gaze. “Are we doing this? For real?”
He raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to? This is serious to me. This is for life.”
“Life,” she breathed.
“Yours and mine.”
She nodded. “Yours and mine.”
The couple that owned the bed and breakfast didn’t balk at Igor’s demanding tone, and when he threw more than enough money to buy out the entire inn for the weekend, their demeanors changed from merely accommodating to downright obsequious.
They summoned the justice of the peace, and by the light of the full moon, Igor and Maryruth were married in the garden, among blooming roses and fireflies.
Igor kissed his new bride softly, with the promise of a beautiful life to come. He couldn’t wait to plan their future—there was so much they hadn’t yet discussed. He didn’t care if they disagreed about politics, religion, or money. None of that mattered because they both had money, and with money, they could solve anything.
After a quick champagne toast with the owners and justice of the peace, Igor asked Maryruth to sit in the parlor and wait for him to come for her.
Trust and love burned in her eyes.
Thirty minutes later, Igor returned and gently lifted a sleepy Maryruth into his arms. He inhaled sharply at the pain in his injured arm.
“I can walk,” she protested.
He refused to let her down despite the discomfort. “I thought it was tradition to carry the bride across the threshold,” he teased, feeling a bit delirious.
“It’s not our threshold,” she reminded him as he made his way up the dimly lit staircase to the largest suite.
“We should talk about that.”
“About what?” she asked, lifting her head from his chest.
“What kind of threshold you want.”
They arrived at their room, and Igor managed to fiddle with the knob.
The glow of soft candlelight turned the room gold. The king-sized bed with a white, antique lace coverlet was dusted with red rose petals.
“Oh,” she breathed.
He gently released her. “I told you I’d turn you into a rose petals and candlelight woman.”
She smiled and reached out to caress his jaw. “Thank you. This has been—I couldn’t have—thank you.”
“You don’t have any regrets?” He shut the door and stripped off his coat, throwing the jacket on a nearby chair.
“About?”
“So many things.”
She began pulling pins out of her hair. Dark-blond tresses cascaded down her back. She enchanted him; he couldn’t look away.
“I don’t have a ring to give you,” he said.
“And when has a ring ever meant anything?” she asked, slowly stalking towards him as she began removing her jewelry.
“Your parents didn’t come to our wedding. Does that bother you?”
“I don’t speak to my parents,” she reminded him, her hands reaching for the zipper that she’d never be able to undo without his help.
“I’m not enough for you,” he whispered.
Turning, she presented her back and looked at him over her shoulder. “You’re everything, Igor. When will you believe that?”
He didn’t answer as he grasped her zipper and slowly tugged it down to reveal her smooth, bare back. Will you love me, even through my darkness? He didn’t ask. Tonight, their wedding night, was not for his confessions and fears. Tonight, their wedding night, was just for them.
The chiffon dress pooled at her feet. She left her heels on, a blend of siren and innocence, all wrapped up in one beautiful, unique package. He’d known she was different from the first moment they spoke all those months ago at the bathhouse. He just hadn’t realized she was also his salvation, his reason for wanting to be a better man. He might fail at that, but he couldn’t help but try.
“You’re my wife,” he breathed, his hands caressing skin and curves.
“You’re my husband. And you’re still in your clothes.”
He let her strip him bare and then guided her to bed. He refused to let her be anything but a beautiful, cherished prize he didn’t deserve.
When she was primed and ready for him, begging, achy and needy, he loomed over her and whispered, “Your smell, your taste, I want to bury myself in you.”
She locked her legs around him, urging him closer, arching her back so they were skin to skin. “Yeah? What are you waiting for?”