Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
As much as I cried tonight, I feel better now that I’m awake.
Like I’ve purged the demons.
But I want my fighter.
Yes, we have a few bugs to work out, such as the lack of trust he showed me, but I want to work them out from my place inside of his arms. Nowhere else.
Quite simply, I love him.
The hammering grows louder and I frown, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I make a quick stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and use the toilet, before following the sound of the racket. It leads me to the kitchen and backyard beyond, where I haven’t even been yet. The patio light is on and it illuminates a large pile of lumber…
And a giant, shirtless Russian hammering boards together.
“Maxim?”
His hammer pauses mid-swing.
“What are you doing?”
He turns from his place in front of a sawhorse, sweaty and disheveled in the moonlight. “I am building you a stage, kotik. For you to practice.”
My heart trips over itself. “What?”
“When you need to run lines.” He turns partially and frames a section of the enormous lawn with his hands. “We will have some lighting installed and make sure there is overhang, for rainy days. I will be able to watch you from the gym.”
I’m still playing catch-up. “You changed your mind about me acting?”
He makes a sound in his throat. “Wouldn’t say changed mind about everything. But I want to make compromise.” As if he can’t help it anymore, he drops the hammer and approaches, tilting up my chin to study my face. “You are not so sad anymore, please?”
“No. I’m not so sad.”
“Then why do you have tears, Whitney?”
“Because you’re building me a stage.” I sniff. “In your backyard.”
“Our backyard.” Looking anxious, he brushes away the moisture with his thumbs. “These are happy tears?”
“Yes.”
He swallows, his heart in his eyes. “I build it because I love you.”
My knees turn to rubber. “I love you, too,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss his heart.
This man, he seems almost shy over my admission. He ducks his head and cuts a glance sideways, his mouth wrestling with a smile. “You will make me too happy, Whitney.” His voice shakes ever so slightly. “I will have no edge left to fight with.”
Now I’m wrestling with a smile. “What compromise did you want to make?”
He blows out a breath, still appearing awed by me saying I love him. “I was wrong to doubt you before, kotik. When you told me you did not go willingly in the club, I should have believed you without question. What you have gone through for all these years…” He stops to shake his head, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Never again. Never.”
“I know,” I murmur, running my fingers up and down his chest. “I’m safe now.”
“Very safe. But I want to prove that I trust you…the way you have trusted me, coming here and letting me keep you, even when I am very rough and sometimes yell. So…” He looks green. “When you must…kiss a boy…during the acting, I would like to have little talk with him beforehand. Hands will stay at sides. Lips will be dry and closed. If I see his tongue, I will rip it out—”
“Maxim.”
His voice is ragged, eyes pinched shut. “I will not budge on this.”
“Maxim, there are parts without kissing. Good ones.” I wait until he peeks an eye open warily. “I will audition for those. Only those. Maybe I’ll even write my own. Okay?”
All at once, the tension seems to rush from his body and he drops to his knees in front of me, wrapping his rugged arms around my middle, burying his face in my stomach. “Thank you, Whitney. I would have been miserable.”
“I know.”
His voice is muffled by my stomach. “You will only kiss me, da?”
“Only you. You’re the only man I ever want to kiss.” I thread my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, trailing them over his tattooed shoulders, smiling at the way he leans into my touch like he’s been starved for it. “Maybe I’ll write a play about an MMA fighter who falls in love with an actress who pretends her car is broken down…”
He smiles up at me. “It sounds familiar. But it will be very long play, kotik.”
“Why is that?”
Maxim stands and throws me up into his arms, carrying me toward the house—and no doubt, to bed. “Because there is no end.”
Epilogue
Maxim
Three years later
Where is my wife?
I bash my gloved hands against my head and continue circling my opponent.
I’m far more taunted by the empty front row seat than I am by this bastard.
She had dress rehearsal tonight for her one woman show, The Fighter’s Prize, which she has spent the last few years writing, while taking roles in various plays. After the night we met and she pretended to be stranded, I always knew my Whitney was an incredible actress, but when I saw her on stage, she made me feel very funny in my chest. More funny than usual.