Page 14 of Knocked Up By the Russian

The first day, it was a long-sleeved nightdress covered in pizzas—he’d nearly drooled at the sight of her legs. The next day she'd worn a black shirt featuring a sleeping cartoon sheep, paired with pants that reached her calves. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked seeing the different types she owned. She'd rotated a couple since then, some with cupcakes and others with funny sayings, but none of them made his mouth twitch as much as today's.

Sitting with her legs crossed in his leather chair, she wore an oversized lime green nightdress that reached her knees, bright pink tights beneath, and those ridiculous purple elephant slippers. The elephant's trunk swung around like an arm—or a dick—every time she walked, leaving him on the verge of laughter every time she stomped around the room.

He wasn't laughing now, though. He just wanted to feel like a man who didn't have his balls in the hands of a vicious little bear in colorful pajamas.

A full week had passed since they found the package, and it wasn't going well. Not by his terms, at least. He'd given Amy his bedroom, hoping it would stop the cold shoulder she'd been giving him at the time, but he should've known that would only make things difficult. Eight days spent sleeping on the couch had left him with several knots in his back and a fucking migraine toboot. Or maybe that was his fiancée's fault. It wasn't like she was making this any easier. In fact, she was doing her damnedest to make everything more difficult.

Five swatches of purple fabric were clenched tight in his hands, and he relaxed his fists before spreading them near her laptop again. "Look," he pointed to the one that reminded him of a pair of amethyst earrings that Amy loved wearing on special occasions. "I think you'd like this one the most, but we can go with the lighter or darker colors if you'd prefer."

"Uh-huh," Amy muttered, ignoring him as she read through Eclipse's latest shipments.

Leaving the fabric next to her, he grabbed the rest that had been placed with the wedding magazine he was referencing. "If you don't want purple," which he doubted, because that was her favorite color, "then I've also got shades of green and blue to choose from."

"Don't care," Amy sang under her breath, and his right eye twitched.

Inhaling a breath to calm himself, Ivan laid the options out on the table. "Amy, I need to send one in today if we're going to make sure the bridesmaids match."

Amy ignored him, and he gritted his teeth. "Fine, then I'll phone your mom."

That got a reaction out of her.

"I. Fucking. Dare. You," Amy said icily, her hand slamming her laptop closed.

Ivan met her stare with his own, folding his arms. It was a low blow. He knew that. Much to her disgust, Amy's mother had been over the moon to hear they were getting married.

They'd had dinner with her and the rest of Amy's siblings the same day he moved her things into his apartment. That had been one of the worst fights they'd had so far, but Ivan had no choice. Besides the fact that her family needed to know what was going on, he needed to set up men around the area for their protection.

Of course, the moment Amy's mom, Paisley, heard the news, she'd burst into happy tears that ended with her embracing them both as she blubbered how happy she was. Amy had gone stone cold in seconds—that was the main reason he’d given up his pillow-top mattress for the leather couch in the living room. He'd hoped it would sweeten her to him. It hadn't.

The second reason was that he’d set up a dress appointment with Madam Puritt for the following day and he'd hoped it would soften her up. It hadn't. Then his late mother's dressmaker hadsidedwith his wife-to-be, and he'd had to sit through that appointment like a naughty child.

"Amy, wait—just listen. I get that you're overwhelmed, but I'm trying here," he muttered as she brushed past him.

"By bringing my mom into this?" she shrieked over her shoulder as she stomped out of the office.

Ivan followed her a few steps behind in case she decided to throw something at him again. He'd already cleaned up the remains of four vases and three lamps this past week. "Fine. I won't involve your mom. Can you help me out, though, please? I can't do this on my own. We have to get the dresses sorted so that Mira and Zia can go with your sister for their fittings tomorrow."

Swinging around to face him, she stood on the toes of those ridiculous slippers and snarled, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not fucking interested in getting married.You wanted this," she poked him in the chest. "So you figure it out."

"Amy, come on. You're being ridiculous right now. You know this is for your safety. It's just a fucking show," he shouted at her retreating back, dodging the slipper she bent to pick up and swing at him. The second one hit him on the forehead.

Ignoring the dick-trunk elephant slippers, he followed Amy to the kitchen where she emptied a container of strawberries into a bowl and grabbed the honey. The dinner he'd made her an hour ago sat untouched in the microwave, just like every other meal he'd tried to cook her.

"You can't keep leaving me to do all the planning. Your mom's going to know the second she sees it that something's not right," Ivan argued, arms crossed.

"Not my problem," Amy sneered as she drizzled honey all over the strawberries. "You wanted to get married. Figure it out."

She barely glanced at him as she stalked toward the living room, taking a sharp bite out of the fruit she'd pinched between two fingers. Ivan tried not to stare but the honey dripped from her fingers to her wrist, and the way she licked it off left his mind blank. In his growing frustration, he turned to face the office, gripping his hair with both hands.

Color. She needs to pick a color.

"Amy, the longer you take to choose the color, the harder Madam Purrit's going to have to work to get this all sorted. She's in her sixties, have a little sympathy," he snapped as he let go and turned to face her. It was harsh, but come on. She was purposefully making his life hell now.

"Have a little sympathy," she echoed, slamming her bowl on the table. Rising from the couch, she stomped straight to himand poked him in the chest. "Where the hell is your sympathy? A week ago, I witnessed a man die, Ivan. Maybe that's normal for you but it sure as hell isn't normal to me. I saw the bullet hit his body and it's starred in my fucking dreams every night since then. Do you even know what that's like or are you so fucking used to seeing that shit that it doesn't bother you—"

Ivan swallowed hard at her accusations but Amy wasn't finished. Shaking her head, she slammed her palm on his chest and stood on her toes to glare at him, her voice a quiet hiss. "Actually, no. You know what? Don't answer that. Regardless of that, I told you I didn't want this. I haven't been home in over a week... hell, I haven't even left your apartment since that dinner with my mom. Where'syourfucking sympathy, Ivan? Because it sure as hell isn't in the room with me."

Grabbing her hand, he softened his voice. "You're right. I haven't been very sympathetic. I'm sorry for that. I'm trying my best to make sure you're safe and at the moment that means making sure this wedding looks as realistic as possible. I need your help with that."

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