From behind me, Nicolai’s voice sounded half-strangled. “Youstraddledme in the back seat of the car. You were—yourlegswere—” His voice cracked.
“I mean, in the casino. When Jimmy was there. You started it when youdippedme and told me to touch your face, and thenyoukissedme.”
“Oh.” His voice was lower. “Yes, I did.”
“Yeah, you did!” I twisted on the bed to stare at him, sitting on the opposite side of the bed, turned away from me. The pillow right beside my hand would make an excellent weapon for either throwing or whacking him.“Andthis morning over at Caesars in the hotel room’s bathroom, you were all,” I dropped my voice to itslowest gruff register, “‘Do you want to touch me?’Andyou were walking around that hotel room innothingbut a towel, and you looked like—likeyou.Andyou kissed me at ourwedding.”
Nicolai’s back bowed like something heavy pressed down his broad shoulders. “And what I wouldn’t give to remember our wedding.”
I’ve never thrown anything at a wall in my whole life. Performative violence seemed immature. But damn, if I’d been holding anything, from that pillow to a priceless Ming vase, I would have chucked that sucker to watch it splatter on the plaster. “When you kissed me, it didn’t feel like you hated it.”
“Of course, I didn’t hate it.God,what I want to do to you,” he groaned. “But I need that annulment. That’s why we’re doing this.” He crouched farther, his face resting in his hands.“That’s why we’re doing this.”
He looked so defeated.
“Then we shouldn’t have gotten married in that Orthodox Church. We should’ve just had any ol’ preacher marry us, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about this whole annulment thing.”
“I was drunk,” he sighed.
Yeah, he was.
Nicolai rubbed the side of his face and turned on the bed toward me, his bright eyes catching my attention. The rise of his eyebrows and lift of his hand implored me to understand. “I wanted to marryyou,and it was like sleeper-spy codes activated in my head. If I were getting married, ithadto be in a Russian Orthodox Church. Ithadto be a Russian Orthodoxpriest.It felt imperative,obsessive,like I was a lemming sprinting for the edge of a cliff.”
My frustration was dimming because Nicolai sounded so resigned. “Yeah, that’s what it looked like, too. I kept waiting for you to pass out from the booze, but you didn’t. You were on a mission.”
“Unfortunately,” he sighed.
“This whole annulment thing is just so foreign to me,” I said, finally letting some of the steam blow off. “There’s just, like, all these hoops to jump through, and we have to make sure we’re not violating it even in the privacy of our own hotel room. You know, I’ve heard that if both of us agree, the Vegas courts have a special quickie divorce for morning-after wedding regrets. It takes, like, a week, and it’s done.”
His voice and eyes were ice-hard.“Absolutely not.Wehaveto obtain anofficialannulment from the Russian Orthodox Church. Nothing else willdo.”
He stopped as if his vehemence surprisedhim.
I tilted my head at him as if viewing his auto-refusal from a forty-five-degree angle would make it make sense. “You are really hung up on that annulment. It doesn’t seem like you’rethatreligious, otherwise.”
He was frowning at his wedding ring on his hand, and his voice almost had a lilt like he was confused. “I’m not religious. Not at all, actually.”
“It’s Sunday morning now. Are you going to church today? Arewe?”
He huffed one chuckle again. “I do not remember the last time I attended mass. I think I’ve been a few times since my father’s funeral.”
“Which was in a Russian Orthodox church?”
“Yes.”
My questions became rapid-fire. “Then what’sreallygoing on with you?”
“—I don’t know.”
“Oh, comeon,my dude. That dramatic pause spoke volumes. I’ve seen you at your worst.Talkto me.”
His confused frown didn’t waver as he stared at his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger. “It’s cultural,I guess.”
“So, notliterallyreligious.”
“No.” But he didn’t sound sure.
“Did you promise your parents you’d remain Orthodox?”
