Page 20 of Knocked Up By the Russian

"I can," he replied, and she stood up abruptly. Her eyes were wide and her hands shook as she started to pace.

"No. Absolutely not. This..." she waved her hand at him, "This is too much. The ring, the house, and now the fucking car? I'm not your wife, Ivan. This thing we're doing? It. Isn't. Real."

"That car was yours before we got married," he said, and Amy scoffed, eyes flashing with anger.

"You better not be bringing up that old argument," she hissed, swallowing the last of her drink before heading to the kitchen. "There's nothing wrong with my car. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Ivan followed behind her, his jaw ticking with annoyance. There was a lot with her car, but saying what he was thinking would only lead to a fight, and things had been going so well up until now. He'd agreed to let her house it in the garage, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to replace it now that he could. Her keys were already waiting in the tray, the key ring adorned with a silver bear charm.

"People are going to expect more from you now that you've married me," he said instead, and Amy let out a sarcastic laugh.

"How fucking amazing for you."

She tried to walk past him, but he blocked her path and she shot him a furious glare. "Just listen to me," he murmured, and her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms.

"No. You can listen to me for once,sir," she snapped and his eyes narrowed at the title. He fucking hated when she used that title instead of his name. "You are not my husband. I don't give a shit what we're making everyone else think. You are my fucking employer, Ivan. If you want me to redecorate, then fine. I'll redecorate, but that won't make your apartment my home. I have a home, and I'm not going to give it up while we're busy pretending to be something we're not." She held up her left hand, flicking her wedding ring in a way that made the amethysts sparkle. "As for this and everything else you keep shoving in my face? As soon as we're done, I'm going to give this all back to you. I don't need expensive rings, or cars, or a fucking house to replace what I already have."

With a scoff of his own, Ivan took a step back as she pushed past him. "Don't tell me you're keeping your apartment—"

She spun around to face him. "There isnothingwrong with my apartment."

"Amy, the place is in the middle of one of the worst parts of Chicago. The security's shit and your landlord hasn't fixed anything in over three years. You know how I know that? Because you told me that." His tone dry, he added. "It's also a rental. Keeping the lease is a waste when you'll be here for the next six months." And if she did decide to leave him, well that's what the house was for.

"Says who? I can make up my own damn mind about that. God, this is exactly the problem. You never listen. Stop doing things I didn't ask for. You don't know what I need," she shouted angrily. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"It has everything to do with me!You belong to me," he bellowed back, fingers gripping his hair in frustration. And justlike every other argument with her, he let his mouth run only to realize what he'd said after Amy went dead quiet. "Even if we get a divorce, I won't let you go back there. It's a piece of shit. You don't need that."

His mouth snapped shut, and Ivan met her glare with his own as her face reddened. The woman was fucking unreasonable; that was his only excuse.

"What the hell do you mean 'even if'?" she snarled, stepping toward him and deepening her voice to mimic his. "We had a deal."

A deal he was trying his damnedest to get out of. Ivan scratched his jaw, looking for a way out of the hole he'd just dug, but Amy wasn't interested. She exhaled heavily and straightened, that ice-cold facade falling into place like it always did. "You know what? I don't have the energy for this. I'm going to bed. I can't fucking believe I thought agreeing with you would make things easier."

She turned around and stalked toward the stairs leading to his room, and he glared at the couch. There wasn't even a blanket laying around for him to use this time.Idiot.

Chapter 9 - Amy

After spending all night tossing and turning, Amy woke the next morning determined not to let Ivan make all the decisions in her life for the next six months. Their arrangement was complicated; there was no avoiding that, but that didn't mean she had to do everything his way.

With the sun just starting to rise, bathing Ivan's industrial bedroom in a soft pink glow, she got out of bed and started to get ready for the day. Her suitcases were against the wall, and Amy rolled them over to the bed, ignoring the crumpled heap that was her wedding dress. After she'd stormed out on their conversation last night, she'd been too angry to do anything besides leave the expensive dress right where it fell. It felt wrong, considering how much work Madam Purrit must've gone through to create such a stunning piece, but Amy didn't want anything to do with Ivan or that god-forsaken wedding she'd been dragged to.

I can't believe him,she thought furiously as she pulled out a black pencil skirt and a polka-dot blouse from one of her suitcases and her toiletry bag from the other. Actually, she could believe it. He was a control freak.Give him an inch and he takes a mile.She should've known he would pull something like this as soon as she gave in.

She zipped the suitcases closed with a scowl. The next six months were going to be difficult if she had to keep all her things in a suitcase the entire time, but she didn't see any other option. Ivan didn't have a spare bedroom, and she sure as hell wasn't about to put her things in his closet. That was something girlfriends or actual wives did, and she'd been serious in what she said last night. This thing between them was for the publiconly. She didn't care if the thought of kissing him again gave her butterflies.

Amy went to shower, spent a few minutes doing her afterward, and then left. On her way out of his bedroom, she grabbed her favorite pair of black pumps and went downstairs, intent on getting breakfast. Most mornings Ivan woke up before her, but she'd learned he didn't like waking up at the crack of dawn, and if that's what it took for her to avoid his cooking every morning, then that's what she was going to do.

Stuck in her thoughts, she quietly padded down the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she bent to slip into her heels and promptly froze at the sight of Ivan Nikolai snoring on the couch.

He'd swapped his suit for a pair of gray sweatpants and had fallen asleep on his back with one arm dragging on the floor near the empty Rip Von Winkle bourbon bottle, while the other covered his irritatingly beautiful face.

Did he drink the entire bottle on his own?she thought, frowning at his still form. His chest rose and fell gently with every breath, and she swallowed hard, dropping her gaze. This wasn't the first time she'd seen him without a shirt, but it was the first time he wasn't awake to notice her perving.

Peeking through her lashes, she found herself stepping quietly toward him to get a closer look at what he normally hid underneath those designer suits, and boy, there was no way she was going to forget this anytime soon. His biggest tattoo appeared to be the one spreading from his left pec to his shoulder. It was a bear roaring, but there was something about it that struck her as odd, and Amy tilted her head to get a closer look. Somehow, the artist had created a dual image on his skin. Where most would see only the bear's snarling features, if shelooked a little closer, the bear seemed to fade into a forest and mountain landscape.

It was easily the most stunning thing she'd ever seen, but Amy hungrily moved from that to the next thing. She wanted to see it all before he woke up and caught her. So, stepping closer, she did. Along the ribs on his right side was a Russian scrawl, dainty and neat. His right forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, was wrapped in some sort of fir tree. His fingers, she knew, had geometric designs, and black feathers seemed to sweep across his left hip.

Taking a deep breath, Amy finally looked away even as her fingers tingled to touch his golden skin. Specifically, the scars that had just caught her attention. Slashes and bullet wounds, all hidden behind the stunning designs. It strangely made sense. His brothers... they all wore their scars proudly, but with Ivan, most people never looked past the ocean-blue eyes and disarming smile to realize they were talking to a wolf in sheep's clothing.Bratva.He didn't look like the kind of man who would be handling his brother's criminal enterprise—but that was the point. He was the poster boy, the playboy, thecharmer.He was there to distract everyone from the rest of the shit they were busy with.

---