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* * *
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.
&n
bsp; * * *
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.
