“Egypt or?—”
“That’s the one,” she says with a grin. “Egypt. I’ve always wanted to do one of the river cruises up the Nile.”
I stare at her for a second and then nod. “This is good. I like this idea. I will be very busy with hockey once we return to Atlanta—you will plan trip?”
“Sure.”
“I have ordered you credit card,” I say. “So you can charge everything to me.”
She frowns. “Viktor, I don’t need your credit card! I can?—”
“You must.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “You will need to shop with other wives. Travel. Decorate new house. You must.”
“Oh. Um, okay.”
“For honeymoon, first class everything. Please.” I meet her gaze and she seems to be staring at me intently. Like she can’t quite figure me out. Which is fair, because I can’t quite figure her out either.
“First class. Got it.”
“We have plan for honeymoon.”
Too bad we don’t have one for the wedding night.
Chapter Three
Holly
We talked about Egypt for a little while, but I had a lot to drink and was starting to get sleepy. The last thing I remember is Viktor lifting me—carrying me in his arms like a groom—and gently putting me to bed. He didn’t undress me, merely laid me on the bed and covered me with half the blanket. I woke up tangled in it, still wearing my wedding dress and the uncomfortable strapless bra I’d had on since yesterday morning.
I sit up rubbing my eyes.
Ugh. My mascara undoubtedly is smeared all over my face.
The bedroom door is closed and the hotel room is quiet so I go into the bathroom and strip down. I step under the hot spray of water and close my eyes.
I’m Mrs. Viktor Maslak.
There’s a little more than seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in my bank account, thanks to Viktor’s transfer. I paid off the loan shark I’d borrowed money from and saved my grandmother’s farm. Along with the bird sanctuary she loved so much.
But at what cost?
I scrub the makeup from my face, wash my hair, and then stand there a while longer, letting the conditioner do its job on my hair. With my hands flat on the wall, I drop my head and try to breathe. It’s not the first time I’ve panicked about this contract I’ve entered into, but it’s real now. It’s not what I’m going to do—I’ve already done it.
I’m married. To a Russian professional hockey player. One of the elite goalies in the league. With deep-set green eyes, dark hair, and abs that would normally make my mouth water. He’s handsome, though not my usual type—I’ve always been partial to blonds, for some reason, but Viktor is handsome in a rugged, laid-back way.
The playoff beard he’s been growing hides his chiseled jaw, but it’s his eyes that stand out to me. When he looks at me, sometimes it’s like he can see right inside my soul, and it’s a little trippy. We haven’t spent a lot of time together because he’s in the middle of the playoffs and he needs to focus. Rest. Keep his head in the game.
But that’s going to end now.
We have to spend all our time together when he isn’t busy with hockey. Days. Nights. Meals. Everything. We’re about to move in together.
It’s anxiety-inducing on one hand, but soothing on the other.
Because that’s who Viktor is.
He’s a solid presence without being overbearing. From the moment we decided to get married, he’s been steadfast and reliable. He had his attorney draw up the prenup and had it forwarded to my attorney without me even having to ask. And he wired me the first million dollars within hours of me signing.
A million dollars.
