Maybe a little bit of both.

  “It is a gift.” His expression dared her to deny it.

  “Some gift,” was all she said.

  “Grayson Enterprises is already improving.”

  “With you at the helm, I have no doubt.”

  “I am not exactly at the helm. I kept on the main management as I agreed to do for your father.”

  “But you’ve given them both direction and limits, right?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Being your normal tsar-like self.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Oh, I do.” She leaned up and kissed him. “I have a strange desire to make love to a tsar. Do you know anyone who might fit the bill?”

  He had and the time that followed had left them both replete and winded.

  But memory of those blue scarves niggled at the back of her mind, reminding her that he wasn’t the only one holding something back in the emotions department.

  * * *

  Maxwell’s wedding day dawned bright, the sunshine burning through San Francisco’s morning fog.

  Romi had spent the night before at her childhood home with Madison Beck.

  Viktor had called to complain. “I don’t know why I have to spend the night before your wedding alone.”

  “Because we will always give those two whatever they ask.” Which did not mean Maxwell loved Romi.

  Just that he recognized how necessary her happiness was to his contentment.

  Viktor didn’t bother denying the truth. “I have to admit I’m surprised you’re getting married, Maxwell.”

  “Yes?”

  “Business was always your mistress.”

  “The same could be said of you.”

  “Yes, well, as strange as it is to admit, there are things more important than business.” Viktor still sounded a little bewildered by that realization.

  “I have always known it.” Recognition. Respect. These things were as important as his business success.

  “I think we’re talking different things here.”

  “You are happy with Madison.” Maxwell hadn’t made it a question because the truth was there for the most dull-witted to see and he was an astute observer of human nature.

  “Happier than I knew it was possible to be.” Viktor did not sound embarrassed to admit it, either.

  Giving Maxwell the impetus to make his own admission. “Romi fits me and my life perfectly.”

  “That is good to hear. So, do you have someone to stand up with you?” Viktor asked.

  Maxwell had not even considered it. “Do I need someone?”

  Viktor made a comment about oblivious bastards.

  “I do not suppose it is a task you would care to take on?” Who else would Maxwell ask?

  Other than Viktor, he had no friends. Just business contacts and acquaintances.

  “I would be honored.”

  Maxwell breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Romi would have been unhappy if you’d been standing up there alone. She would have felt sorry for you.”

  “No one ever need pity me.”

  “Don’t I know it? But women see things differently.”

  Maxwell chuckled. “You are barely married and suddenly you are an expert.”

  “My grandmother told me.”

  “Why did Mama not realize this?”

  “I don’t know, I think your mom is still adjusting to her Maxika having another woman at the top of your priorities.”

  “She is too pragmatic for such sentiment.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” Viktor said pityingly.

  And Maxwell realized the other man was probably right. “She wanted Romi to be sad?”

  “Give Natalya the benefit of the doubt. Has she ever even attended a wedding?”

  “Not since we emigrated.”

  “There. She didn’t know.”

  “Isn’t it common knowledge?”

  “You didn’t know.”

  There was a lot about social niceties Maxwell chose not to learn. If it didn’t enhance his business, he wasn’t interested.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “You are welcome. Just be grateful you don’t have to deal with the father-in-law from hell.”

  “I thought you and Archer were friends.”

  “We were, until he threatened to commit his daughter. He apologized, but I have random moments when I want to drop him from the windows in his top-floor corner office.”

  Maxwell laughed. “Romi’s father is not mercenary. At all.”

  “No.”

  “He’s not weak, though.” Maxwell had thought at first the man was nothing but weakness.

  He’d come to appreciate the strength it took to give oneself so completely.

  It wasn’t in his makeup, or at least he’d always believed it wasn’t.

  “Madison thinks he’s Mr. Dad.”

  “Her and Romi both.”

  The men shared a silent moment of understanding.

  “Just think—you have something to look forward to,” Viktor said as they were preparing to hang up.

  “What is that?”

  “Considering how close Madison and Romi are, we will probably spend most major holidays together.”

  The idiot was still laughing when the call disconnected.

  But Maxwell wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing. Having a friend rather than friendly rival might actually be worth something.

  He was remembering that conversation as he waited in the front of the church for Romi to enter.

  A love song popular back in the seventies began to play and then Romi was there on her father’s arm.

  The older Grayson looked a little rough around the edges, but better despite that. Romi was so beautiful, Maxwell’s heart tightened in his chest and it was not a new experience. He still wasn’t sure how to handle it though.

  She wore a straight gown of pale ivory. It hung straight to the floor with daisy appliqués that were so her. She’d worn a veil like he asked, but it was attached to a 1920s-style headpiece.

  Romi carried a bouquet of white daises tied together with ribbons of blue and dark gray.

  He was sure Madison would insist the color was pewter.

  It was only in that moment seeing the two colors entwined symbolically that he realized the gray ribbon was the color of his eyes.

  Romi’s were shimmering with the love she told him of at least once a day. His favorite was when she called him my love while they were having sex.

  It always made the experience hotter and more intense for him.

  She looked nervous, too. And happy. And so completely focused on him, he actually started forward to join her rather than wait for her to come to him.

  The titters that washed through their guests barely registered.

  He only stayed in place because Viktor had grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry, she’s coming to you, Maxika.”

  Even the diminutive use of his name was not enough to make him turn from the vision of his bride to glare at his best man and only friend.

  Romi’s smile was blinding as she reached him. She leaned forward and whispered. “A little eager there, Maxika?”

  Oh, hell. His mother had a lot to answer for. That name was never going to leave him. He just knew it.

  “Very eager to make you mine,” he replied, making no effort to keep his own voice down.

  Even the priest cracked a smile at that.

  The wedding went by in a blur. Everything except the promises.

  He soaked in every word of Romi’s vows, pulling them deep into his soul.

  She seemed to be doing the same and when he ended his vows with a “No expiration date,” she started to cry.

  Thank goodness he got to kiss her then. He hated to see the woman cry. Even if it was in happiness.

  * * *

  Romi danced in Max’s arms at their wedding reception.

  Madison had gone all out and the ballroom at Parean Hall was decked out in white linen, the fixtures polished to a golden shine, the marble floor pristine. The accent décor and centerpieces were beautiful and every single one of them reminded Romi that she and her gray-eyed man had promised one another fidelity, honor, and to cherish the other. With no expiration date.

  Her dad looked more peaceful and happy than she could ever remember. He’d even brought Mrs. K to the reception. Romi had invited the housekeeper as a guest, but her dad didn’t have to be her escort.

  That was all on him and she was proud of him for making the effort.

  Jeremy Archer was there, but he was keeping a wide berth of pretty much everyone who mattered in his life.

  Romi took pity on him and told her dad to go make nice. They’d been friends for years. Jeremy Archer wasn’t perfect, or even nice, but he was a human being and his estrangement with his daughter clearly hurt him.

  “You are too softhearted,” Maxwell said.

  Romi smiled up at him, not worried in the least. “You think?”

  “Does he deserve your consideration?”

  “Do any of us deserve the second chances we are given?”

  Max’s smile melted her to her toes. “Perhaps not, lyubimaya.”

  “What does that mean?” He’d never used it with her.

  “I will tell you some day.”

  “But not today?”

  He shook his head, the expression in his dark gaze flashing briefly with a vulnerability she could not push against.

  She tipped her head back and waited. His kiss came less than a second later.

  “Later,” she whispered as he pulled his mouth away.

  He kissed her a second time and promised against her lips, “Later.”

  * * *

  They spent that night glamping, sleeping in a tent at one of the luxury camping resorts that had sprung up around the country. Their accommodations would have made any pasha proud.

  In the morning, at the unholy hour of 5:00 a.m., because apparently they had a takeoff slot at six-thirty—though she had no idea where they were going—she asked with a yawn, “So, we spent our wedding night in a tent because why?”

  Not that it hadn’t been amazing, but even glamping wasn’t something she would expect her Corporate Tsar to aspire to.

  He smiled enigmatically. “We were practicing for the next two weeks.”

  “Practicing what?”

  But he refused to answer. They spent the private plane ride talking, making love and sleeping cuddled side by side in the leather seats of his private plane.

  She started to get a glimpse when the door of the plane opened to reveal the private airfield on Haiti. They joined a group from a worldwide charity that built houses and spent the next two weeks building homes for people who wouldn’t have them otherwise.

  Watching him pour concrete in a pair of designer jeans and long-sleeved Calvin Klein T-shirt, his head protected from the sun by a San Francisco Giants gimme cap, she realized that even if he never said words of love, and she was starting to suspect lyubimaya meant something in that regard, her heart was safe with this man.

  And it always would be.

  What other man in Max’s position would give his new wife a honeymoon that required him to get dirty, sweaty and exhausted every single day and not one of them from really athletic sex?

  Okay, so they had their own tent and bodyguards in the one right next to them, but that was hardly the privacy most men dreamt of for their honeymoon.

  Not to mention that exhaustion thing. Building a house?

  Not for the faint of heart, especially on the schedule they had.

  It was neat seeing Max respond to the other members of their group, too. He was the unquestionable leader in any situation, but he took direction when he didn’t know how to do something. And he did not know how to build a house.

  He’d provided the building materials for the house they were working on, though. All of them. Apparently the cargo hold of his plane had been full and he’d had others shipped earlier.

  She loved this man and even if he never told her he returned the feelings, she knew he would never walk away from her.

  Not after building a house for a family in need to commemorate their wedding.

  * * *

  Maxwell critically surveyed the sturdy, simple three-room house.

  Two small bedrooms, a slightly large living area and tiny bathroom would house a family of three generations and six people. He wanted to add a second story, but the charity coordinators had been clear. They had more houses to build and the family was thrilled. They’d been sharing a smaller space with another family of five.

  He had to rethink how much of BIT’s profit he donated to charity.

  He didn’t have to rethink his decision to marry Romi. Any woman who would want to do something so worthwhile for their honeymoon was a keeper.

  For life.

  And that didn’t even scare him a little.

  He hadn’t said the words, but what others could describe the way he felt about her? The way he just felt happy to be next to her? The way he wanted to make everything better in her life? The way even his own mother stood second to his need to protect Romi’s feelings?

  He’d called her lyubimaya and he was almost ready to tell her what that meant.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE BEDROOM WAS dappled with afternoon light as Romi lay naked on her and Maxwell’s bed. Naked in more ways than one as she waited for her husband to join her for the afternoon tryst she’d set up.

  Lying beside her on the bed were the two blue silk scarves.

  She’d decided on her honeymoon that the time had come to show Maxwell she trusted him completely.

  Footfalls made by Italian leather against hardwood announced his arrival.

  “Now that is a beautiful tableau to come home to.” He stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Romi.

  She didn’t think he’d even seen the blue silk yet.

  She lifted it toward him. “I’m glad to hear you think so.”

  He stopped in his forward progression as he took in what she held in her hand. His pewter gaze locked on the silk for long, silent seconds before shifting to her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But I’m still that same guy. The one who blackmailed you into marriage.”

  “The one who tried to blackmail me. You know why I married you Max and it wasn’t because of your empty threats.”

  “They were not empty.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” she asked, her tone soft with the love she had no desire to ever hide. “Because I’m not.”

  “I’m not like your dad.”

  “Oh, I know.” But for the first time, she thought maybe Maxwell wished he could be like Harry Grayson.

  “And still you love me.”

  “And trust you.”

  He nodded toward the scarves. “Completely. Those say so.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  The lovemaking that followed was earth-shattering, but not because he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure over and over again before allowing her body to complete the journey. And while she learned she absolutely loved being bound by him, that wasn’t why, either.

  It was the tender way he touched her, the way he treated this like as important a gift as her virginity as her agreeing to marry him. None of which did her Corporate Tsar husband take for granted.

  * * *

  Romi walked into her childhood home, listening for voices.

  Max had told her to see him here and she assumed they were having dinner with her dad.

  She and Max had been back from their honeymoon for a month.

  The charter school was taking shape and Maddie had been thrilled to find out that BIT would be making such a large yearly donation.

  It was about half what Max had originally thought because after seeing the way he reacted to the people in need in Haiti, Romi had talked him into donating the rest to projects like the one they’d worked on.

  He’d been so moved by the family moving into their new home, Maxwell had insisted on buying them all new bedding and cookware. He’d told them it was his way of honoring the woman who had married him.

  Romi had cried. Unashamedly and unreservedly.

  It had been an amazing moment.

  She walked into the living room startled by the dearth of furniture. Some pieces still remained, but the sofa and her dad’s favorite leather armchairs were gone. Was he redecorating?

  Fifteen minutes later, she’d searched the house and found several rooms in similar states. Her father’s study was totally empty, even the bookshelves.

  Mrs. K was nowhere to be found and Romi’s father hadn’t shown, either.

  He’d only been out of the treatment facility for a week, but he’d gone back to work and showed a passion for his company he hadn’t in longer than she could remember.

  “Romi! Where are you, lyubimaya?” Max yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

  Her dad would never have done that, but Romi liked her husband’s lack of submission to certain polite behaviors.

  She rushed out to let him know she was there. “What’s going on, Max? Is my dad remodeling?”

  She would understand if he was. The house hadn’t been changed since Romi’s mother died. If Harry were willing to alter it, that would be a really good sign that he really was making strides in moving forward with his life.

  Maxwell reached for her, even though he wasn’t anywhere near enough to complete the intent. When he was within touching distance, he touched her. All the time.

  It was kind of amazing.

  His hand dropped by his side. “Not exactly, lyubimaya.”

  “Well, what exactly?” She stood at the top of the stairs, crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

 

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