After they’d eaten and had a steamy romp in the shower, they’d reluctantly got moving. They had made a quick stop at the antique jewelry store and Maryruth picked out a simple, classic band for Igor.
Igor had left Sasha a message, apprising him of the situation and asking him to reach out to Vlad for an immediate meeting. Igor’s timeline needed to be moved up. He was done playing Olaf’s games. He was ready to take what was his, lead, live.
Love.
He looked over at the woman who had changed everything for him.
She caught his look, shot him a crooked smile, settled in her airplane seat, and closed her eyes. They were flying back to Atlantic City to grab Igor’s car, and then they’d drive back to New York.
Maryruth opened her eyes and glanced at her ring finger as she asked the question that was plaguing both of them. “Will your father accept me?”
“He has no choice.”
She sighed. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I wish your father didn’t have that painting of me,” she said sleepily, her eyes drifting shut again.
“He won’t have it for long.”
“You plan on buying it from him?”
“No,” Igor stated. “There’s not enough money in the world that would get my father to part with it. He wants to torment me with it.”
“Then how do you plan to get it if you can’t buy it?”
“Steal it, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured, her smile slipping as she fell asleep.
She slept the entire plane ride, but Igor remained awake. His mind churned. He thought of scenarios, made a mental list of all that needed to be dealt with the moment he was back in New York.
Even before he met with his father, he needed to see Sasha and Vlad. Igor wanted a pulse on the Ukrainian situation. They might still be in turmoil over the sudden loss of their leader, but Vlad would know better than Igor if the Ukrainians were ready for a sit-down. And when the time came, he would have Vlad on his left, Sasha on his right.
Hope stirred in his chest when he looked at a sleeping Maryruth. He gently touched her shoulder and brushed his lips across her forehead.
She snuggled into him. “We there yet?” she murmured sleepily.
“Not yet. Landing soon.”
Covering her mouth, she didn’t bother stifling a yawn. “I can’t wait to get home and change.”
They were still in their wrinkled formalwear.
He cleared his throat. “Where would you like to go?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Go? Go where?” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?”
“You’ve heard of a honeymoon, yes?”
She snorted with laughter. “Yes, I know what a honeymoon is. Is now a good time for it?”
“Why do you ask?”
Lifting her head, she looked at him. “When I was speaking to your father, he implied…”
“Go on,” he urged.
“That you were about to become very busy.”
Igor’s pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to remain calm.
“He said he was,” she used air quotes, “‘grooming you’. To take over the family business.”
The knots in his belly unraveled. “He’s been grooming me for years. He’s completely unsatisfied with who I am as a person.”
“You sound remarkably cheerful,” she said dryly.
Igor shrugged. “I’m no longer a child—I’ve learned there’s no pleasing him. Why try?”
She sighed. “Yeah, I’ve been there.”
“When did you stop trying to please your parents?”
“Subconsciously? About sixteen. Consciously—eighteen. When I moved to New York.”
They began their descent into Atlantic City. Maryruth opened the sliding window slat and peered out at the encroaching landscape. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
“Who, pchelka?”
“Your mother.” She looked at him and smiled. “It would’ve been nice to meet the woman solely responsible for keeping you intact.”
He smiled softly and kissed her lips.
“Be careful, Igor,” she said, worry pervading her eyes. “I don’t trust Olaf.”
“One step ahead of you. I haven’t trusted him for years.” He tugged her close and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t worry about him. Worry about where we should take our honeymoon.”
A few hours later, they were home. Maryruth kicked off her heels in the foyer and dashed towards the bedroom and called, “Shower time!”
He grinned. “I’ll join you in a bit.”
She blew him a kiss and disappeared. He waited a few minutes to ensure he had privacy before calling Sasha.
“Ah, the married man has resurfaced,” Sasha teased.
Igor smiled into the phone. “Barely.”
“I’ve been waiting years to throw you a malchishnik. And then you eloped. I’ll never get a chance now.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry at all,” Sasha pointed out.
“No, not in the least.”
Igor wouldn’t have changed his wedding for anything in the world. Just the two of them, a few witnesses, under the light of the full moon. Intimate, quiet, private. Just what he liked.
“We need to talk about business,” Igor stated, steering the conversation into the direction it needed to go. “Mama Marino’s. Tomorrow.”
“Am I calling Vlad, or are you?” Sasha asked.
“I will. The man has earned the right to hear from me personally.”
“Da, he has. What about Olaf? He’s been calling my phone non-stop.”
“Are you answering?”
“Yes. Those first few phone calls were nothing but drunken rants.”
“Did I ruin his birthday?” Igor asked with a smile in his voice.
“Completely.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Igor!” Maryruth called.
All thoughts of his angry father slipped away when he thought of his wet and naked wife waiting for him in the shower.
“Have to go,” he said to Sasha. “Tomorrow, eight a.m.—Mama Marino’s.”
Igor hung up, tossed his phone onto the couch, and stalked towards the bedroom, removing his clothes as he went. The bathroom was already filled with steam.
“Coming in,” he said, so as not to startle her. He opened the glass door of the shower and quickly shut it, trapping the heat.
Maryruth turned and smiled. She looked like a mermaid with her blond hair covering her breasts, her blue eyes gleaming with desire.
She gently pushed him against the wall. “Took you long enough.”
Her hand stroked him and he gritted out, “Won’t take me long at all. Not if you keep doing what you’re doing.”
Laughing, her grip tightened. Her other hand stroked up and down his side, slid up his back to rest at the base of his neck. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
He obliged, tilting his head down to capture her lips. He pushed his erection deeper into her hand, but it wasn’t enough. Growling into her mouth, he pushed away from the wall and maneuvered her up against it.
“My turn,” he whispered huskily.
She dropped her hand and lifted a leg.
His fingers and tongue seemed to be everywhere, all at once, tasting, demanding, needing. Then, he was entering her, slowly, inch by inch, until she was sucking in air.
When he was hilt deep, he grasped her head and stared into her eyes. He wanted to watch as he pleasured her.
“Igor,” she whispered.
Her pleas and moans made him feel like a man. She owned him.
He’d never been happier.