THE FIXER

I reach for her hand under the table and squeeze it, and she meets my gaze with a surprisingly vulnerable look. Like part of her wants to slam the door in my face, and the other part wants everything from me-more than she believes I’ll give.

It unsettles me. Not because I wouldn’t give her everything she needed. I mean, I hadn’t thought about it, but I probably would. I’m unnerved because I recognize that chaotic sense of falling. It mirrors my own.

I hadn’t felt it with her until this moment because falling wasn’t in question. She was an obligation. A duty. A job. I didn’t make myself vulnerable when I married her. I made myself rich. My heart was never in play.

But after cracking her shell-after things got real-it’s impossible not to care about her. She gave herself to me today. Not just the sex. I don’t believe a woman’s virginity is some huge momentous gift. I don’t think it’s something Sasha should’ve been required to save for her husband. But the fact is, she did. And I had the privilege of taking it.

“Look at you two, making googly eyes at each other,” Kayla says.

Sasha pulls her hand from mine and picks up her champagne flute. “Yeah, he might not be that bad, as far as husbands go.” She says it lightly, and Kayla laughs but something kindles inside me.

I wink at her. Maybe we’ll become more than an arranged marriage.

Kayla points at me and makes her face stern. “You’d better be good to her,” she warns.

My lips twist with amusement. “Or?”

“Or I’ll kick your ass.”

I nod and cross my heart with my finger. “She’s safe with me. I promise.”

SASHA

MAXIM IS damn sweet with Kayla. I haven’t had a boyfriend before, but Kayla, Sheri, and Ashley have, and I know from experience that a guy hanging around patiently for girl talk is unusual.

Maxim’s on his best behavior, though, charming Kayla without being flirty. Treating brunch like a continuation of last night’s party, with the champagne and orange juice. He lets us linger for two hours before he finally tosses cash on the table and stands.

I’m certain he’s going to say we have to go straight to the airport, but after we say goodbye to Kayla, he laces fingers with me. “Want to walk on the beach?”

I swallow and nod, stealing a glance at his handsome face.

Gospodi, I do not want to fall in love with this man.

I can’t be crushed again. And worse-he may want me dead although I don’t think so.

“Boardwalk or sand?”

“Sand,” I breathe. Living near the beach was one of the best parts of living in L. A. The weather, the ocean, the culture are all so different from Moscow. When I was here, I pretended I was something else. A native Californian, consumed only with my looks, my health and acting.

We walk down to the sand and take our shoes off. Maxim cuffs his slacks. His shirt sleeves are already rolled up his forearms, giving everyone at brunch a view of his heavily corded forearms and the colorless tattoos that crawl up them.

Maxim takes both pairs of our shoes in one hand and with his other intertwines his fingers with mine. The beach is noisy, teeming with perfect bodies and families with children.

“I loved living here,” I admit out loud. I don’t know why I’m sharing. Why I think Maxim would even care.

He glances down at me. “I can tell.”

My breath catches at those simple words. Like he’s been paying attention. What if he did actually care? Or come to care? The thought of it makes my heart race, and my hands grow clammy, like I’m still a teenager.

“I wish I’d come to visit you then.”

I look up. The wind ruffles his sandy hair. He fits in here with his broad shoulders and well-kept body. The expensive button-down shirt open at the collar. He just needs a tan and for his hair to pick up some highlights to look like Californian royalty. “Really? Why?”

One corner of his lips lifts for a moment then quickly fades. “I’ll bet you were something to see.”

I hip-bump him, interrupting our casual pace when he has to side step to recover. “What does that mean?” I demand with a laugh. I’m fishing now-I can’t help it. I’ve always been starved for attention, and here, I’m finally getting some.

“I liked seeing you with your friends.” He lifts our joined hands to his lips and kisses my fingers. “I got to see the real you.”

I’m embarrassed at how clammy my hand gets. How hard my pathetic heart starts pounding.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“I don’t even know the real me,” I find myself saying. It’s the truth although I don’t know where it came from.

“That was the real you,” Maxim says, like he knows for sure. Like he’s seen into my broken soul that quickly. That easily.

“What was?”

“Fun. Lively. The life of the party. But also generous. You’re a good friend-I can tell. You guys support each other. You want the best for each other.”

I think of my jealousy over Kayla’s career and feel a pang of guilt.

As if Maxim reads my mind, he says, “You wish you were still here. Living with them.”

The words are unexpected, and they bring up buried emotion. My eyes get hot and wet. I blink rapidly, tossing my hair in the breeze and pretending a little sand got in them. “Staying here was never an option.” My voice only chokes a little. “I knew I was on borrowed time the entire four years I was here. I was lucky Igor let me come at all.”

“He loved you,” Maxim says simply.