45. Bronwyn

45

brONWYN

I was lying on the most comfortable bed in the world. The mattress was heated to keep me toasty even though I was naked, and the pillows had been molded to perfectly fit my head. But one shoulder was cold, so I groped for the covers and tugged them higher. Perfection!

Then the mattress moved and mumbled in Russian. And I remembered and opened my eyes.

It was dawn and I was stretched out, naked, on top of Radimir. On top of... my husband. The whole world seemed to shift around me, everything suddenly different.

I lifted my head, careful not to wake him, and looked down at him. He looked so peaceful in sleep, as if whatever it was that drove him to do what he did was forgotten for a few hours. What is it? What happened to his brothers and their family that put him on this path?

And could I ever pull him away from it? My stomach tightened. I’d never thought of that before: I’d never needed to. A mafia boss would never give up his empire for his fake wife. But what about his real one?

Yes, I’d accepted that the Bratva was part of him. Yes, I’d fallen in love with him. But what happened now, now he was in love with me? What about the long term? What about kids? When he’d first told me I was marrying him, I’d been focused on the life I was losing. I’d never thought about what a life together would look like. My stomach shrunk down to a cold, hard knot. Can this really work?

But then I gazed down at him. At those gorgeous cheekbones and that imperious scowl. At the hard globes of his biceps that made me feel so protected when he wrapped his arms around me. I thought about him paying for Baba’s care, reading to me when I was ill and paying kids to buy books in the bookstore.

And then I nodded firmly to myself.

I was going to make it work.

I lay back down and, as soon as my cheek pressed against the warm slab of his pec, I felt my heartbeat slow, and my stomach unknot. Despite all the danger, I felt safer with him than I ever had with any man.

These doubts? I’d address them. Every one of them. I’d figure out a way. Because I loved him. And I wasn’t giving him up.

I was only just climbing out of the shower when there was a knock at the door. I threw on a bathrobe and padded over there, wet-haired and barefoot, because Radimir was in the middle of cooking breakfast. Through the door viewer, I saw Gennadiy...and the same two security guys who’d been there when we came home. They’ve been standing there all night?!

I let Gennadiy in and fixed him a mug of coffee and insisted on taking coffee out to the poor security guys in the hall, as well. Gennadiy, Radimir and I pulled up stools at the breakfast bar. “I’ve told The Eight what Spartak did yesterday,” Gennadiy told us. “They’re discussing it. In the meantime, they’ve called a ceasefire so we should be safe.” He studied the two of us thoughtfully. “Even so, it’s best if you avoid Spartak until this whole thing’s resolved. It’s probably a good thing you won’t be around.”

Radimir nodded but I cocked my head to the side, confused. “Why won’t we be around?”

Radimir turned to me. “We’ll be on our honeymoon.” I stared at him, and he looked mock-shocked. “Did you think I wouldn’t give you one?”

I gaped at him. “But... what?” Is he joking? “A honeymoon’s for... real marriages.”

Radimir stood, took my hands in his and looked right into my eyes. “This is a real marriage, now.”

I bit my lip and just melted. “Where are we?—”

“Cancún.” He was grinning, enjoying my surprise.

He’d remembered, even though I’d just mentioned it once. Emotion swelled in my chest, until I could barely speak. “When?”

Radimir made a show of checking his watch. “We’re leaving for the airport in... thirty-seven minutes.”

“What?! I’m not packed!” I wasn’t even dressed.

“What do you need for Cancún? Passport. Sunscreen. Sunglasses.” His eyes gleamed. “A swimsuit.”

Books, I added mentally. “But I don’t have summery clothes…”

“There are shops at the airport. I will buy you whatever you want.”

“But the store?—”

“I’ve already spoken to your friend Jen. She’s happy to watch the store. She said to say, “don’t worry and have a good time.”

Oh my God. I flung my arms around him. “ Thank you!” Then I shook my head in amazement. “How did you book all this? When?! ”

“Yesterday. Remember just before the wedding dinner, when I went to the bathroom? I made a few phone calls.”

He’d organized a honeymoon as soon as the wedding turned real. I hugged him even tighter. And then I ran off to get dressed.

Less than an hour later, we were climbing out of a limo at O’Hare International Airport. I started making my way towards the end of the long, snaking check-in line. But Radimir slipped his arm around my waist and led me to a small desk at the end of the room marked Platinum Club Check In. “Radimir Aristov,” he told them. Then he glanced at me proudly. “And my wife.”

I wasn’t ready for the way my heart lifted when he said it like that. I found his hand and squeezed it hard.

In less than sixty seconds, we were checked in and shown through to a private lounge. A waiter passed me a glass of champagne. There were plates of pastries and fancy coffee machines, five different gateaux, canapes and you could just take whatever you wanted. Or I could get my nails done, or a facial.

“Would you like a massage?” asked Radimir. “Very soothing.”

“Maybe later.” I was looking at the other women in the lounge. They were all effortlessly elegant, lounging in white armchairs in flawless white travel outfits, their matching white leather carry-on bags with their gold Gucci logos artfully displayed beside them. I was in jeans, sneakers and I’d thrown my books and other essentials into a blue nylon backpack with a broken strap. “Were you serious about buying me clothes?” I mumbled.

“Of course.” He tugged his waistcoat straight. “And a swimsuit,” he said firmly.

That was the second time he’d mentioned swimsuits. No one had ever gotten excited about seeing me in one before, but there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes, and it lit a warm glow inside me. I nodded and he took my hand and led me towards the airport’s stores.

A few hours later, I was sitting in a huge, gray leather seat that turned into a bed, thirty-thousand feet in the air. Another glass of champagne was in my hand, and I was browsing the lunch menu in amazement. Did I want the pan-seared salmon with a lemon-garlic butter sauce served on a bed of lime cilantro rice? Or the honey-glazed pork chop served with mango salsa and roasted green beans?

And barely four hours after that, I was walking out of the air-conditioned airport in Cancún and into scorching tropical heat. After months of freezing winds and damp slush, it felt like heaven.

As the limo whisked us off to the resort, I stared out of the window at the ocean. I’d always figured the photos were Photoshopped but...no, it really was that beautiful cyan shade you see in the ads.

The hotel was an ultramodern block of smooth white wrapped in bands of smoked glass windows, as if someone had parked a spaceship next to the beach. But after check-in, we were taken down a winding path to a quiet glade where a handful of traditional villas looked out over their own private beach. “Will we get our own villa?” I squeaked.

Outside, the villa had white stucco walls and traditional, heavy wooden shutters. But inside it was sleekly modern, with crisp white bed linen and a wet room. I looked out of the window at the ocean, then back at the hotel where there were four restaurants, six pools and a spa. “What do you want to do first?” I asked, overwhelmed.

He stepped closer and his eyes glazed with lust. For a moment, I thought he was going to just toss me on the bed. But then his eyes went to the collection of paper bags I’d picked up in the airport stores. One bag in particular.

“ Oh,” I said. “I get it.”

“You could wear it to the pool,” he told me. “Or to the beach. Or just...in here.”

I felt a smile tug at my lips. He was always so sophisticated, so in control...but when something turned him on, he transformed into a big, horny beast, and I loved him for it. “ Okay,” I said, defeated. “Give me a minute.”

In the bathroom, I adjusted straps and tweaked fabric until it was sitting right. Then I put my hair into a braid, so it didn’t turn into a damp cloud if I swam and opened the door.

He’d helped me pick out the swimsuit—he’d insisted on it—but he’d only seen it on the hanger. Now he saw it on me and?—

His jaw dropped. Literally dropped, like in a cartoon, and he let out a long string of Russian curses. I felt an odd swell of pride: I’d never done that to a man before.

The swimsuit was deep, emerald green but with a metallic gleam, almost like a superhero costume. It was cut just right for my curves and was fairly demure on the bottom half. But at the top, a scoop neck showed a valley of milky cleavage. Radimir’s eyes locked on the scoop neck and when I side-stepped, they followed, like they were magnetized. I burst out laughing. “You really do like it.”

He finally tore his eyes away and smiled. “Yes, Krasavitsa . I really do.” He stepped closer. “What is this?”

“What is what?”

He poked my braid. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You didn’t know women could change their hair?”

“I didn’t know you could make yourself look even more like a librarian.”

“I could probably do a bun, if I thought about it…” I coiled the braid into a bun shape to show him...and then stopped as I saw the look in his eyes. If I turned him on anymore, we weren’t going to make it out of the villa. I quickly let the braid fall back down. “Maybe another time.” Wow, I was learning all sorts of things about him, this trip.

He got changed and we headed to the beach. As we walked, I basked in the heat, letting it chase the last of the winter chill from my bones. We passed a line of sun loungers and the men lifted their heads to look at me. But then I saw them turn pale and quickly look away.

I glanced across at Radimir. He was wearing a pair of red swim trunks and nothing else, his muscles and Bratva tattoos on full display, and he was giving each man who looked at me a glare of pure ice. “What are you doing?” I asked gently.

“Letting them know I’ll cut their balls off if they keep looking at you,” he said. One of my admirers was close enough to hear and he suddenly took great interest in his newspaper.

I squeezed Radimir’s bicep. “We’re on vacation, let’s try not to cut anything off anyone,” I told him, secretly delighted. Radimir was attracting a lot of attention from the women, too: I could see them eyeing his tattoos and scars and whispering to each other. I remembered how I’d stared, the first time I’d seen him without his shirt. There was a new scar, now: the one on his arm where I’d stitched him up. I’d become part of his story.

When we walked hand-in-hand into the surf I let out a little moan of amazement. Even though it was now early evening, it was so warm! We paddled, then waded and then started lazily swimming. It was a revelation: even after a half hour swimming up and down, my joints barely felt it at all. I hadn’t swum in years, I’d never had time, and I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Okay, I need to start doing this when we get back.

We swam and kissed and splashed water at each other like kids until the sun sank into the waves and we stumbled up the beach, giggly and pleasantly tired. It was idyllic, everything I’d dreamed of. He’d changed so much in the last three weeks. I remembered the days when he never even smiled.

But…

I could feel something hanging over us like a gathering storm. When the honeymoon was over, we had to go back to Chicago...and he’d want to go back to his life.

Radimir wrapped his arms around me from behind and we stood there in the surf, watching the sun turn from melting copper to cherry red as it set. I wrapped my arms over his and squeezed them even tighter around me,

I was terrified I was going to lose him.

The wedding had shown me how easily one of his rivals could snuff out his life. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the gunmen at our wedding, spraying bullets across the room. And it wasn’t just Spartak: a week ago it was the Armenians, another time it would be the Italians...he had enemies everywhere, not to mention the police and FBI.

It felt like the Bratva was this huge, dark part of his life that every day threatened to snatch him away from me. Eventually, one day, something would happen. And there was nothing I could do about it. I was an outsider. Just the wife. My job was to wait at home every night for the phone call that told me he was dead or in jail. And that drove me crazy. It was like watching the person you love sit in a car that was slowly rolling towards a cliff edge, and not being allowed to stop it.

I frowned and shaped the fear into flinty determination. I’m not losing him.

There was only one solution I could see. I didn’t know if he’d even consider it but I had to try and I had to do it in Mexico, while I had him away from his brothers.

I pressed my back even more firmly to Radimir’s chest.

Today was paradise. Tomorrow...I had to ask him if he’d leave the Bratva for me.