Page 77 of Sinful Bride

“They must have figured out this is Chekhov property. Glupyye sukiny deti.” She sighs and rubs the inner corner of her eye. It takes a second for me to realize she’s doing it with her middle finger. “Can’t a girl throw some weights? Damn.”

The door to the gym opens for a sweaty guy sauntering out, so we take that opportunity to slip inside.

The sign inside the door advertising personal training services makes me laugh. I think I’ll be skipping that particular offering. Pasha would blow a gasket over some random beefcake spotting my hip thrusts.

“Like I said,” Sofi reminds me in the locker room, “we’re going easy today. No showing off, no trying to prove a point. The only thing you need to prove is to yourself. And that’s if your body is ready.”

I frown. “Why wouldn’t my body be ready?”

“Childbirth is a bitch, man. I know it’s been a couple of months now, but those pelvic floor muscles are no joke.”

“Hey. As long as it gets rid of this pooch, I don’t care what we do.”

She drapes her arm around my shoulders and leads me out onto the main floor. “Glad to hear it. Let’s see how long you’ll still feel this way.”

I think Sofi’s certain her methods will scare me away. Maybe they’re meant to; she was pretty adamant about not going behind her brother’s back.

But I’m just as stubborn as he is.

I’m not backing down on either front.

She keeps her promise in terms of going easy. Sort of. We start out on the treadmills. Every so often, she reaches over to increase the incline and bump up the speed. “Keep your breath steady. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“While running up a mountain?” I wheeze.

“A slight incline. But also, yes.”

Shit. I am way out of shape.

A familiar face beams at us from across the room—and I’m suddenly filled with the wind and energy to not completely wipe out in front of Asya’s boyfriend.

Arlo strides over to us, towel draped over one shoulder and a water bottle in his other hand. “Look who’s here!”

“Can we pretend I’m not?” I gasp. “At least until I’m a total badass?”

He chuckles. “You married Pasha Chekhov and bore his child. You’ve accomplished more than just ‘badass.’”

Hearing him say that in his deep Russian accent actually does make me feel like I’ve conquered something.

Even when this machine is about to conquer my lungs.

“Did you see our friends out front?” Sofi asks him.

Arlo grins. “Of course! I tried inviting them inside for a workout.”

“You did not!”

This seems like the perfect time to slow my pace on the elliptical. To a stop. While no one is paying attention to me.

Except Sofi still is. Damn her and her crazy sharp peripheral vision. She hands me a towel without looking at me and bumps the speed right back up.

It’s insane that I’m a sweaty mess and she’s glistening like a dewy supermodel. I hate her.

“I told them they’re welcome in for a round of racquetball. They didn’t like my idea of a few rounds of boxing.”

Sofi matches his grin. “I imagine not. You’d smoke them.”

“That I would.”

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