Page 19 of Knocked Up By the Russian

A smile played on the corners of Amy's lips, stealing his breath. "This thing?"

"Whoever's threatening your life," he answered, eyes dropping to her lips. She'd tasted like champagne and strawberries earlier, and something inside him urged him to find out if she still did.

"And when we get divorced?"

When. Not if. Some indistinct feeling left his heart pinching. He pulled his eyes from her lips and ran his fingers through his hair. "The house is in your name. If we divorce, then you'll get to keep it—and the security it provides."

"That's pretty expensive collateral, Ivan."

He snorted. "It isn't collateral, Mishka. Just a gift."

"A gift that cost how much?" He shrugged, avoiding her eyes as he grabbed the cardboard takeout box next to his keys."Mira said we could take the top of the cake. She said it's tradition. Would you like some? It's chocolate." Her favorite.

Amy let out a sigh, the wrinkle between her brow letting him know she wasn't happy about the change in subject. "No. I think I'm gonna go to bed. I'd like to get out of this dress. It's been a long day."

It had, but Ivan wasn't ready to let her go just yet. He watched her climb off of the barstool. The dress caught on something as she did, and her lips pursed in annoyance as she gently unhooked it.

"Have a drink with me?" he asked, desperate to keep the moment going. Today was the first time in over a week that she hadn't stormed off because of something he'd done or said. He wanted more, and his mind raced to find something they could discuss. The only thing that he could think of was their new arrangement. Anything else would leave her suspicious.

Now that the wedding was over and done, there were just a few things they'd have to sort out to make their marriage legal in the eyes of the government. He wasn't too stressed about that though, because, in the eyes of the Bratva, she was his.

"I don't think that's the best idea," Amy replied hesitantly as he grabbed the bottle of Rip Von Winkle bourbon Kostya had bought him as a wedding gift. It was the only gift he'd thought to bring with them; Mira had already tasked someone to bring the rest later.

"We need to discuss our next steps."

"Our next steps?" Amy echoed, turning to face him again. Her hands went to her hips—a pretty picture in a dress that accentuated every fucking curve. It was just what he needed to damn himself. Too bad she would disagree. "I married you. I've moved in. I thought that was it. I'm not saying everything has toautomatically return to normal, but I thought I'd at least be able to return to work tomorrow and pretend it has."

Scratching at the scruff of his jaw, Ivan shook his head. "Not quite, Mishka."

"What does that mean, Ivan?" she sighed heavily, choosing to sit on the couch this time. With the bottle of bourbon in hand, Ivan grabbed two glasses and joined her.

"It means, I don't know. Everyone's going to expect us to go on a honeymoon—or stay home for a few weeks at the very least. Despite the planning I put into it, there's no denying that we just had a shotgun wedding. The men are drawing their own conclusions from that. You can't just go back to work and expect things to go smoothly. We need to show some form of wedded bliss."

"I can't leave the city." She worried her bottom lip as he opened the brandy and poured them both a full cup. Then her brow furrowed, and she sat up straighter, legs crossing the way she did in meetings. "Wait. What do you mean they're drawing their own conclusions?"

Heat gathered under his collar. Ivan tugged his tie loose, throwing it onto the coffee table as he shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. The party-boy persona he cultivated up until now had just been an easy way of getting his brother's men to loosen their lips. But it seemed that was enough for everyone else to make their own excuses on why they got married so quickly. He didn't want to tell her, but a few messages came through from the men. Most of them congratulated him on his nuptials... the rest... Well, it was safe to say there were only a few reasons Bratva men got married. Money, power... or for an heir. With his reputation and Amy's complete lack of association withthe criminal underworld, it was safe to assume that everyone thought he'd finally knocked someone up.

"For fuck's sake, don't tell me everyone thinks I'm pregnant," she hissed, tone full of disbelief and indignation, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing. His little bear was just too damn cute when she got riled up.

"I didn't say that, and I'm not expecting you to leave the city—" he started to say before she shook her head.

"Nuh-uh. You don't get to change the subject that easily," she grumbled, staring him down. Hiding his amusement with a serious expression, Ivan nodded.

"We've been keeping quiet about the package you received. It doesn't look good to have your life threatened like that, especially not right after I said I'm marrying you." Shrugging again, he muttered under his breath. "I can't help what everyone's assuming, though."

"You've got to be fucking kidding." Amy rolled her eyes as she grabbed the tumbler he offered her. "God, please don't tell me anyone said anything to my family."

"I doubt it," he replied softly as she set the tumbler on the table and rubbed her temples, muttering to herself.

"That's the last thing I need right now." After a few minutes, Amy blew out a breath and turned to face him. "Fine. Let's discuss our next steps. You know the Bratva. What exactly are they expecting? How do we make this thing believable."

"I don't know. Go on a few lunches with Mira and Zia. Attend a few family events," he shrugged.

"I already do that," she reminded him.

Which was true. She'd been attending family dinners and parties ever since Zia married Lev. He glanced around him, browfurrowed in thought. "I don't know," he finally answered her. "Act like my wife? Make yourself at home. Redecorate. I don't know, okay? Lev's dropping off your new car tomorrow. I'll go to the bank and link you to my accounts—"

"You can't do that!" she blurted, interrupting him.

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