Quarantales: The Complete Contemporary Romance Box Set, page 27
The question hits me like an ocean wave. And I lean back as I try to figure out if my own answer to that question is yes or no.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cheslav keeps his promise about not getting back in touch with me. Vlad is the one who ends up texting me to make sure I know he’ll be the one escorting me to my 12-week ultrasound.
It is super awkward having someone who looks like he could play Russian Henchman # 3 in that crime movie waiting for me when I get done with my appointment. But he takes a print out of the ultrasound from me and places it in his inside pocket without a word.
And when we pull up to my condo after my checkup, he says, “Okay, I’ll be seeing you in July,”
“I can go to the rest of my appointments by myself,” I let him know.
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be here,” Vlad answers.
Then before I can protest again, Vlad says, “He hangs back even though it’s killing him not to be there for the first ultrasound. Take the win. I know you’re mad, but he’s a mess right now, and he won’t be able to handle it if you cut him all the way out.”
I want to feel resentful that Vlad is acting like Cheslav was the one who was hurt most by our breakup. But the only emotion weighing me down as I climb out of the car is sadness.
Anyway, I take an online version of the CPA exam shortly after and find out immediately that I passed. Which means an automatic pay increase at my job. Yes!
The raise thrills me. But for some reason, not being able to tell Cheslav, threw a cloud over the whole thing. Like my victory wasn’t a victory if he wasn’t there.
Luckily, I have work to distract me. Just as I’d predicted back in the spring, June is the new March. And after a few congratulations from my co-workers and boss, I’m buried with work.
So my life is boring again. Just as I like it. And I’m pretty sure my lawyer and Cheslav’s will figure out a way to split custody of the baby in a way that’s fair, even if Cheslav decides to take his brother up on the opportunity to buy the Minnesota Razors.
But then I wake up from a “Did you see this???” text from Cynda.
My mouth drops open when I see the screaming headline from a popular sports site: “King Chess Refusing to Return for Rest of Hockey Season.”
Then I blink several times as I scan the article about how Chess has decided not to finish his last season because he has a baby on the way and doesn’t want to do anything that would put the child or its mother in danger.
I snatch up my phone. “What are you doing?”
Cheslav’s answer comes back just a few seconds later. “What is best for our family.”
What the hell?
“We’re not a family. We’re two people who need to get a long-distance custody agreement in place. And this is your last chance for a Stanley Cup,” I inform him.
“I already have two Stanley Cups. Endangering you or the baby isn’t worth my last chance.”
I read and re-read the text message, having no idea what to do with it. “Don’t do this. Tell them you’re good to play. There’s no reason to make this sacrifice because I’m NEVER coming back.”
His reply takes a lot longer this time. But when it comes, it hits me like a punch. “If there is even 1% chance you return to me then it is worth season.”
I choke. No one—and I mean no one has ever done anything this big for me.
That he would be willing to give up his last season.
Just to be with me.
Just to protect me.
He is everything my absent father and horrible brother aren’t.
And for a few moments, I’m overwhelmed with clashing emotions. But eventually, sensible accountant Billie makes me type, “There is no percent chance!!!!”
This time he doesn’t answer.
And eventually, I decide it doesn’t matter. Our crazy relationship is done. And though Cheslav plays to conquer, he’s going to have to figure out how to move forward without me in his life. Just like how I have figured out how to keep it moving without him.
That’s my decision. And it’s final. I’m no longer an idiot who believes in modern day fairytales. My mind is totally made up.
Yet, on the morning of my second prenatal appointment, Cheslav comes back from his morning run to find me waiting on his couch. Directly in front of his chess set.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he asks. God, he looks handsome. I realize he must have been grooming just for me. He has a full-on beard now, and his dark hair is sticking to his sweaty face, which means he probably hasn’t hit it with his electric razor since I left.
“Apparently, you never took me off the family list for this place. The doorman didn’t stop me, and Vlad wasn’t manning the elevator,” I answer. Then I hold up a chess piece. “Wanna play?”
Cheslav hesitates, glancing from the chess set to me as if he’s trying to figure out if this is a dream.
But then he says, “Da, I will play. Let me wash up first.”
He disappears down the hallway and comes back just a few minutes later. The sweat is gone, and he’s wearing a beanie over his unshorn curls. He’d almost put me in mind of a hipster if his eyes weren’t boring into me. Green and intense. Not laidback at all.
“Cool,” I say. “Since you like to gamble so much, let’s make a little wager—oh, that’s right. You never bet little, and you always bet big. So let’s make a big bet.”
I pause, pretending to consider possible stakes. “If I win, you agree to whatever custody arrangement I want.”
Shock flits across his face but is quickly replaced with a hard, determined look. “So this is about custody. And if I win?”
“If you win, then you get another five days with me,” I answer.
His expression darkens. “Only five days?”
“I’m told that’s how long it takes to get someone out of your system,” I answer, my face just as hard, if not harder than his.
He regards me for a long time. Then he says, “Da, I will take your bet, Billie.”
Billie, not krasotka. I can tell he really means business.
He plays aggressive and fast. He knocks over all of my pawns in less than five minutes, and just a few minutes after that, his knight is perfectly poised to take my queen.
But instead of moving his knight to a space where he can easily knock my queen over, he moves his king into checkmate. Which means that though I’ve only got three pieces left on the board, I can totally take his king and win the game.
And this can’t be a mistake on his part, I realize with a shock. No, it’s not a sloppy or ill-considered move. He did it on purpose.
“But why?” I ask him. “Why would you purposefully throw the game?”
“Because I do not wish to play any more games with you, krasotka,” Cheslav answers, his voice hard and final. “I love you, and I want to be with you. And I already know five days will not be enough. If I cannot have you for whole lifetime, then I will not have you at all.”
“Oh…” I answer.
I glance up at him then back at the chess piece.
Then I shrug and knock over his king. “In that case, I win! Suck it, Loser!”
He sits back, his jaw tight. “What is custody agreement you want?”
“What do I want?” I grin back at him, not bothering to hide the triumphant gleam in my eyes. “I want you to promise never to lie to me again about anything, then I want you to agree to marry me and raise this child together as a family. That’s the custody agreement that I want.”
It takes a few moments for Cheslav to fully register my words. But I can tell exactly when he does because he leans forward in his seat. And he looks very much like the dangerous Russian mafiosos he’s descended from as he says, “Do not fuck with me, krasotka. I have held myself back for weeks, but if you provoke me…”
I don’t let him finish. “Cheslav, I’m in love with you. That’s the truth. One I couldn’t deny no matter how much I tried to push it down. And I want to be with you. That’s the truth. Now you tell me the truth. Do you want the same thing?”
He abruptly stands up and reaches across the table to pull me to my feet.
“You know this is what I want,” he says, his voice fierce and strong. “But I cannot promise you what you want.”
The fierce expression softens. “There will be birthdays and anniversaries where I will want to give you special gifts. Many lies will be told to make sure you are 100 percent surprised. You cannot deny me that.”
I laugh. This fool…
Then I say, “Okay, I can live with that.”
“Okay?” he repeats. “You will come back to me and let me marry you and love you the way I want?”
“Yes, okay,” I agree with another laugh.
“Okay,” he says in a tone that sounds the exact same as a relieved sigh.
Then he scoops me up into his arms, and we seal the deal with a kiss as he carries me to his bedroom.
We both said “okay,” but as he lowers me to the bed, I have a good feeling that we’re going to be better than okay.
He may be a beast and a fool. But he’s mine. All mine.
And that means we’re going to be great.
Epilogue
Let me tell you, I’ve become a lot better at chess.
As romantic as my challenge was, Cheslav was appalled by how easy it was to beat me. Or as he put it, “What fun is there in crushing too ripe peach?”
His new favorite sex position is sitting with me reverse cowgirl in his lap, while he teaches me to “defend yourself against my inevitable victory.”
I can’t say I hate being his student. His long arms scrape against the sides of my sensitive breasts when he reaches forward to make his move. And he has a very generous habit of rubbing lazily at my clit with his left hand while he moves his pieces with his right.
I’ve learned to quickly assess the board so that I can get back to the fun rubbie rub sooner. But if I get too rushed and sloppy, he nips me on the shoulder and tells me, “You can do better than this, krasotka. I believe in you.”
It’s a very effective strategy. And by the end of July, I’m able to hold my own against him for almost twenty minutes.
Also, I know the better I play, the harder he’ll fuck me when he inevitably wins.
Which he does. After he knocks over my king, he sweeps the game off the coffee table. And my heart thrills as he leans me over the black slate surface and starts taking me from behind.
“I am so lucky to have you as an opponent,” he murmurs, resting a hand on my back.
“No, I’m lucky,” I insist on a pant. “So, so lucky!”
We have this argument often. And so far, no one has won.
But maybe that’s the point of good relationships. Neither of you ever stop thinking you’re the luckiest one.
And proving just how fortunate we are, my phone doesn’t start ringing until we’ve both come and are almost recovered from another chess lesson.
I stay sagged against the coffee table, perfectly happy to ignore it.
But Cheslav reaches around my slumped head to pick up the phone that just narrowly escaped his chess game sweep. “It’s Cyndarella,” he says.
“Cyndarella” is what he started calling Cynda after hearing how she left her shoe behind in her then lover’s apartment three years ago. And he insists on calling himself “your Russian beast,” when he refers to himself in the third person.
Cynda thinks it’s a hoot. And she even started referring to our love stories as Quarantales.
I take the phone. I’m surprised she’d call again. We’d talked less than an hour ago before Cheslav and I began our chess game. In the wake of the George Floyd murder, Cheslav and Artyom had been trying to think of ways for the Minnesota Razors to support black communities around the Twin Cities. After making donations to local bail funds and individual activists, the brothers had decided they also wanted to endow a few health and wellness clinics in some of the underserved neighborhoods around the arena where they played. We’d had a whole conversation about what Cynda and her fiancé could do to help that vision come true.
But now she’s calling again? Oh well, I’m just relieved that she’s calling with audio, not our usual Facetime.
“Hey, Cynda, what’s up?” I say, picking up.
“I’m not sure,” Cynda answers. Her voice sounds weirded out. “I just got a call from Gina’s boyfriend.”
I sit up. “Tommy called you?”
“No, not Tommy,” Cynda answers with a totally wry tone. “This boyfriend’s name is Jeb. He’s from Wisconsin. And apparently, he’s one of her boyfriends. Like, one of three.”
I jerk. Then blink. Then I ask, “WHAT?!”
* * *
Thank you for reading Billie and the Russian Beast. I was so happy when another Rustanov presented himself for this special tale.
Want more Rustanovs? Check out my fan favorite Ruthless Russians series.
And read KEANE: Her Ruthless Ex to find out what happened to Cheslav’s teammate.
Now, keep on scrolling to read
the third scorching hot Quarantale,
Goldie and the Three Wisconsin Bears.
GOLDIE AND THE THREE BEARS
"Give me a glass of ice, cold water PLEASE for this repeat read!People, you will never and I mean NEVER visualize Goldilocks in the same way after reading Theodora Taylor's take.I wish I could give it 10 HOT smexy stars! -Dee, Amazon Review
One calls me mija. One calls me baby. One makes me call him....
What would you do if you found yourself stuck in the wilderness, with no one to turn to but three large and extremely hot football players?
Well, that's my situation.
And I'm not sure I can handle these three bears.
Can you?
READER WARNING: The QUARANTALES series starts off steamy and gets hotter with each read before its sweet finale. This is the blazing Quarantale. Please do not read this next story without the proper...ahem...support for any feelings that might arise upon reading this crazy hot story.
This one’s for all the survivors.
Once upon a time…
A golden princess on the run
found a cabin in the woods.
A hidden refuge.
But little did she know,
the cabin belonged to…
Three
Very
Hungry
Bears
Chapter One
GINA
Chevy Nova starts sputtering about one hundred and fifty miles before I make it to Duluth. Then it jerks to a stop with a sickening metallic gurgle.
I curse when I climb out of the car. There’s gray smoke spilling from the hood, and it smells like old rust and burned oil. I’m no mechanic, but I’m sensing it will take more than a walk for gas to get me off this two-lane highway.
This extremely remote two-lane highway.
With nothing but dark woods on either side of it.
An icy wind blows as I look into the carless distance and think about the worldwide coronavirus pandemic that has so many people scared. I’m alone out here. More alone than I’ve ever been.
Panic descends, threatening to overwhelm me. I knew I couldn’t do this. Knew I couldn’t escape on my own. Tommy was right about me. I’m too stupid and weak to do anything—
It doesn’t matter what you think you can do, another voice reminds me, quiet and desperate. You have to do this.
Yes, I have to do this.
I shake off all that fear and force myself to be grateful I made it this far. I’d only been able to withdraw five hundred dollars from my bank account before I left Georgia. That was enough to get me all the way to Wisconsin. So, mission almost accomplished.
I used my bank card to buy gas in Madison, which was risky for sure. Tommy was probably monitoring our shared bank account to track me, or he would have closed it as soon as I disappeared. I’d hoped I was close enough to my final destination for it to be safe to make one transaction. If everything had gone as planned, I would have been across the Canadian border before the charges even registered on my bank account.
But now my only means of transportation is spitting smoke. Dammit.
I place a hand on top of my stomach and try to stay calm.
“I’m going to get us out of this,” I promise the baby growing inside of me. I whisper the same words now as I did a few weeks ago when I peed on a stick and saw two thin blue lines.
Zipping up the hoodie I bought at that Madison gas station over my turquoise blue ribbed bodycon dress, I start forward with a determined stride. Walking a mile or two to find a mechanic is a small price to pay for our freedom.
Only it isn’t a mile or two. At least I don’t think it is. I left my phone along with most of everything else I owned back at the house in Jonesboro for fear of Tommy using it to track me. But I’m pretty sure after what feels like an hour of walking that I’ve gone more than a couple of miles.
It was technically a good idea to stick to back roads whenever possible, so there would be less chance of a surveillance camera picking me up. But this one might be a little too backcountry. In the time I’ve been walking, not one car has passed by. Also, it’s getting dark….
I eye the setting sun with a fearful heart.
Something rustles in the woods.
I snap my head toward it. What was that?
Okay, time to turn back, I decide, reversing direction. Better to wait in the car where wolves and bears and back road murderers can’t get me than out in the open.
