Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Viktor
It’s late by the time we get to the barn-turned-apartment where Holly’s been living. It’s a little rustic for my taste, but it’s clean and well-appointed.
“I just want to sleep,” she says. “The couch is kind of small, so you can sleep on the bed with me. I trust you.”
She goes into the bedroom and I follow her.
The room is small, but there’s a queen-size bed, which is much better than the small couch.
She grabs something out of the drawer and then disappears into the bathroom.
So, I change out of the jeans and button-down shirt I wore today and pull on shorts and a T-shirt.
Normally, I sleep naked, but that doesn’t seem like the right thing to do in this situation.
I have my toiletry bag in my duffel and sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to finish since there’s only the one bathroom.
I feel a moment of discomfiture, like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but then she comes out and I let my gaze travel up from her pretty bare feet to the messy bun on top of her head.
She’s taken off her makeup and is wearing an oversized T-shirt and little shorts that give me the most spectacular view of her legs.
She’s beautiful.
There’s no doubt about that.
I just never allowed myself to really appreciate her before.
Because she wasn’t mine.
Because it wasn’t appropriate.
Because I don’t think she finds me nearly as attractive as I find her.
But she’s my wife now. Deal or no deal, we’re legally and emotionally entangled. For better or worse. And all those other vows we took.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, standing up and hurrying into the bathroom.
I brush my teeth and relieve myself, wash my hands, and then head back to the bedroom. It’s mostly dark, nothing but a small bedside lamp illuminating the room. She’s on her phone and I can practically see the anxiety coming off of her.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
“We’re everywhere. Our marriage. Pictures of us coming out of the chapel. Walking through the lobby of the hotel. At the airport. And they know who I am now—Senator Grant’s daughter. Who just eloped with Atlanta Thunder goalie Viktor Maslak.” She looks up and there’s worry in her eyes.
“He knew this already,” I say lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.
“But this is everywhere now. And remember—he’s a politician.”
“I remember everything. Do not worry.”
“Have you heard from your mother?”
“No. But they are coming Sunday, before the game. And often the gossip does not reach Russia so quickly.”
She rubs her temples. “I didn’t think it would be this stressful.”
“Maybe one week.” I put a comforting hand on her arm. “Then they will find something else more interesting than us.”
“I hope so.” She gazes up at me. “This is why you’re one of the best goalies in the world, isn’t it?”
I squint, trying to make the correlation.
Ah. Stress.
“Because I do not react to the stress?”
She smiles faintly. “I mean, you’re solid as a rock right now while I feel like I might throw up.”
“Yes, I am okay with the stress. On the ice, this is very, very important. I cannot listen to the crowd when they are angry. Or the other team fans. Or when Coach is yelling at someone else. Even me.” I give her a lopsided smile. “Sometimes he yells to me and I ignore, pretend I do not understand.”
That makes her laugh and I realize I like the sound.
And I really dislike when she’s upset. Normally, I’m not the most empathetic guy—it’s something I try to work on when it comes to interpersonal relationships—but everything feels different with Holly.
I don’t understand it because this is temporary.
A two-million-dollar business arrangement to put one over on my mother’s plans.
So why the hell do I like hearing her laugh as much as I do?
“I guess tomorrow is another day,” she says after a moment.
“Yes.” I stand up and start to walk around to the other side of the bed.
“What’s your tattoo of?” she asks, her gaze focused on my right thigh.
“Eagle,” I say.
“How far up does it go?”
I lift the side of my shorts to show her that the ink almost reaches my hip. It starts just below, goes straight down and then winds around the front.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly.
“Thank you. Was my first.”
“Your first tattoo was that big?” She grins. “I’ve always wanted one but I’m a little intimidated by the needles and the pain.”
I turn to look at her. “If you want, I can take you, in the off season, where I go. He is very good. Clean. Gentle. I do not love the needles either.”
“That sounds…lovely. Thank you.” She pauses. “Do you have more?”
I hesitate but then nod.
“I should know where they all are. You know?” She seems almost apologetic, but I understand. If she’s my wife, we’re sleeping together, so she should know every inch of my body.
Slowly, I pull off my T-shirt and expose the rest of my ink.
My number, 77, is in the middle of the Russian flag, over my heart.
“This is for home and heart,” I say pointing to it. “Because love for my country is only outweighed by love for hockey.”
She listens attentively, eyes raking over my torso.
“This one—” I point to the line going down the right side, “—is a quote from Leo Tolstoy, written in Russian. It says, ‘There is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth.’ It is my favorite.”
I see a flicker of surprise in her reflection but I continue because I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“These…” I point to the starburst and lightning bolts on my right bicep, “…were also done when I was young. No meaning, just nice to look at. And finally, this is the Slavic warriors, for all my people who died in wars.”
“They’re beautiful,” she says, sitting up. “Your heritage is very important to you.”
I nod. “It is. I am proud of who I am and where I come from. I understand the government is not…popular. But this government does not represent who we are as people. Our past, the lives we lead, and our hopes for the future. For better lives.” I get on the bed and lay back against the pillow.
This isn’t something I talk about a lot but it feels important to share with my new wife.
“Growing up, we were very poor. We live in terrible neighborhood.
Fights every day. I had to walk miles to school, even more to hockey.
My father worked two jobs, my mother did anything.
Sewing, cooking, cleaning—so we can afford food.
“Now I send money. I buy them apartment in good Moscow neighborhood so they feel safe. I also have home in Moscow. My sister lives there now, to take care so no one arrives. Is difficult when I am not there. Even with money and security, sometimes the homeless, they see no one home and go in.”
“Like squatters?” Her eyes round. “Oh, wow. That’s terrible.”
“Yes. So, my sister is there with her boyfriend. I will buy them apartment as wedding present if they marry.”
“You plan to go back to Russia once you retire?”
I nod. “Yes. I like America very much but is so difficult sometimes. The language, the customs…I am more relax in Russia.”
“That makes sense.” She pauses. “Do you have to do military service?”
“Because I am athlete, and because I send much money to Russia, I am…” I hesitate, searching for the word.
“Exempt?” she asks.
“Yes! This.” I nod. “Not everyone gets this. But I am…high profile? Also, my NHL schedule and training make military impossible. Soon, I will be too old.”
“It’s complicated, huh?”
“Very.” I turn to look at her. “Tomorrow will be busy. We must rest.”
“I know. But I like talking to you, hearing about your life.”
“I talk too much. You listen. You must tell me something more about you.”
“Well, just like you want to retire to Russia, I want to retire to my grandmother’s house in the country. The one I almost risked my life to save.”
“Is beautiful?”
She smiles and this smile lights up her entire face.
“It’s a little far, about forty minutes from here, but it’s beautiful.
And the bird sanctuary is attached. She started it while my grandfather was still alive.
I grew up helping her there, watching her tend to birds she rescued and birds no one else wanted.
For me, it was a magical part of my upbringing because she was the only person I ever felt truly loved me.
I think that’s why my father hated me going there, even though he said it was because it wasn’t ladylike.
” She shrugs. “I kept going anyway. The birds make me happy.”
“You like birds?” I can’t wrap my head around it. Honestly, I never gave much thought to birds. Dogs and cats, sure, but birds are out of my purview.
“I do. Priscilla is my grandmother’s albino peacock. She’s beautiful and has so much personality.”
“Peacock?” I’m a little confused but everything about her changes when she starts talking about the birds. A falcon. Crows. Parrots. Something called a kookaburra? I don’t know what that is but I’m going to look it up as soon as I get a chance.
Her voice starts to sound tired and she yawns.
Without warning, she seems to drop off to sleep.
I watch her for a moment, taking in her soft features, the curve of her hip when she turns onto her side.
I reach out, wanting to touch her, but then yank it back.
She can’t consent and we’ve never talked about this.
I turn off the bedside lamp with a soft click and lay there in the darkness. Instead of feeling uncomfortable in a strange place, my body relaxes almost immediately, and I drift off to sleep.
The next thing I know light is streaming in from the window, a soft, curvy body is pressed against mine, and there’s a loud pounding on the door.
“What the fuck?” I mumble sleepily.
Holly shifts.
The pounding continues.
Then her phone starts to buzz.
She fumbles for it and groans.
“Fuck,” she says. “My father’s here.”