“Is it so horrible to be married to me?”
She pivoted, eyes flashing. “This isn’t a joke, Nazarov! Getting married to you is probably the worst thing I’ve done—and I once faked a stalker and ran away to bolster my story.”
“You did?”
“When I was twelve.”
A rough time for her. When she was that age, her father was imprisoned for fraud. It had a huge impact on her life, but then fathers always seemed to wield an outsize influence.
“And ever since you have led a blameless life. The model student, the honorable captain, the perfect teammate, the legendary pro. You have trod the path of straight and narrow, and one little mistake has revealed something about yourself.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
I leaned in. “That, deep down, you might be a bad girl after all.”
She did not like that. Her chest heaved, those perfectly supple breasts lifting and making my mouth water. This was always the way with Lauren. I had wanted her the moment I saw her, but I couldn’t have her. I couldn’t bring that energy into her life. That danger.
But times had changed. My family’s enemies were a thing of the past, and these days my most intractable foe was this woman’s stubbornness.
The baby gurgled and Lauren checked her quickly to make sure she was okay. On closer inspection, I noticed that the hanging butterflies were actually colorful snails.
Facing me once more, she pushed me out into the hallway. “What needs to happen to make this go away, Alexei?”
“Let’s get to know each other again first.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
I didn’t want to go there, but she needed to understand I was serious. “You have not told this boyfriend about me. That is interesting.”
Fury flashed in those silver eyes. “You are such a dick.”
“Yes, that is who you have married.”
Perhaps, I should have started with the carrot instead of the stick. I was known for my adaptability on the ice, my ability to feint and weave. Opponents considered me wily. A quick pivot in strategy was necessary.
“But I have another proposition for you.”
“This gets better and better.”
“Arkady Volkov.”
Whatever insult she had been about to issue died on her lips. Everyone in this business knew of Volkov, the nineteen-year-old phenom from Stalingrad. He was currently at the University of Minnesota and had recently separated from his management—his father. Every sports agent in the country was trying to sign him.
“You know him?”
“I am a mentor of sorts.”
“And you’d facilitate an introduction?”
“Let’s discuss it over dinner.”
Her expression cycled through a scowl, consternation, before finally settling on calculation. Right choice.
She pushed past me. “I’ll text you about a meeting, Ass-arov, because that’s all it is. A business meeting. In the meantime, I hope you step on tiny Legos.”
Chapter Seven
Alexei