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“Planning a big wedding would require too much time.” He shifts his ministrations to my upper back, melting my bout of anxiety in an eyeblink. “I was thinking our story would be that we fell madly in love, fast, then took a trip to Vegas and eloped.”
Startled, I turn over. “Vegas?”
“Why not?”
I turn back because I miss his hands on me. “No. It’s a great idea. The expectations for our union will be lower—thus less shame on me when we divorce.” Not sure why, but the D-word tastes very bitter in my mouth. “More importantly, Vegas has so many amazing all-you-can-eat buffets, with scrumptious desserts.”
“That’s your fruit craving talking again.” He kneads between my shoulder blades.
“When did you want to do this?” I ask breathlessly.
He digs his thumbs into my shoulder muscles. “How about today?”
I turn my head with a start. “Today?”
He shrugs. “As the Russian saying goes, ‘Strike iron without leaving the cash register.’”
I blink at him. “And that means…”
“You should always act while the circumstances are favorable. Our story can be that we met at this banya, clicked, had a few drinks, and took a romantic, spontaneous flight to Vegas. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That could work.” I put my head back down. I need the relaxation from the massage if I’m not to panic and flake on the whole deal.
Vegas.
Today.
With him.
I’m not sure I’ll survive this banya without exploding from the pent-up sexual tension, much less a long flight. And this is after that marathon of riding the unicycle.
He works my neck next, which feels amazing but also gives me an idea of what it would be like if he decided to choke me a little bit in bed.
“How about this for a plan,” he says. “We stay at the banya a while longer. Order more drinks. Pretend to get drunk. Loudly state our intent to go to Vegas. Take more pictures throughout.”
Again, I feel uneasy despite what his hands are doing. “Do you really think that immigration peeps investigate marriages to the point where they’d ask people in this place about us? That’s more of a murder-investigation level of detail.”
He sinks his fingers into my hair and begins a heavenly head rub, melting my bout of unease. “A lot of Russians know me. Hopefully, someone will spread rumors throughout the Russian community, and if we’re lucky, the rumor might make it into the Russian newspapers here. If so, that might get on the immigration people’s radar.”
Ah, so this is what he meant earlier when he said this banya might serve our purpose better. More people, more chance for rumors.
My eyes are starting to roll into the back of my blissed-out head. “The Russian community has newspapers?”
“There are two that I know of, but there may be more. The community is huge.”
“Okay,” I say, fully in bliss mode now. “Let’s do your plan. Just keep in mind I’m not a big drinker. Those two shots already have me buzzed.”
Yeah. That’s why my thoughts are so inappropriate.
He chuckles. “Same here. I don’t normally drink at all.”
Ah, that’s why he was making those faces while downing the shots. A rare Russian who doesn’t drink.
I turn my head languidly. “Does that mean I took your vodka virginity today? You took my banya one, so it’s only fair…”
His eyes gleam—probably with a hunger for alcohol. “No. If I’d never tasted vodka, Russia would’ve denounced me long ago. I actually lost that part of my innocence when I was ten.”
I goggle at him. “As in, elementary school?”
