Knocked Up by the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #3)

Chapter 6 - Ivan

"Just pick one," Ivan demanded, standing across from Amy with four swatches of purple fabric in hand. This was his seventh, maybe eighth, attempt to engage her in the wedding planning process. But just like every other time, she didn't even glance his way before rejecting his offer.

"No."

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. If he'd thought living with Amy was challenging, it was nothing compared to planning a wedding with her. In fact, she was probably doing this on purpose to get him to stop. He pinched his nose, closing his eyes to distance himself from the mess of magazines and fabric swatches that cluttered the table. He had heard the term "Bridezilla" used before in wedding contexts, but could that apply when the bride refused to participate in any planning?

Probably not.

"Please?" He raised his eyebrows, adopting a puppy-like expression, hoping against hope that Adrian hadn’t bugged his office again. His family couldn’t know he’d reached this point—kneeling before his fiancée while pleading for her assistance in organizing their wedding. A wedding she didn't want, but still...

Amy glowered at him, her green eyes even more frigid than the cold shower he'd taken this morning in the downstairs bathroom. He'd been hard as a rock after he'd run up to grab clothes, stumbling into her—in nothing but a towel—looking through her suitcases.

Swallowing hard, Ivan flicked through the fabric swatches in an attempt to find his focus. It really wasn't going to help him get her on board with this if he kept acting like an idiot—it was hard not to, though.

Amy watched him stew with a stern expression on her face. Her wavy blonde hair was tied in that cute ponytail she wore right before a hair wash day, and she hadn’t worn anything other than pajamas since that night on the couch. Ivan would've been worried, but he was almost certain she was doing it to mess with him.

The first day, it was a long-sleeved nightdress covered in pizzas—he’d nearly drooled at the sight of her legs. The next day she'd worn a black shirt featuring a sleeping cartoon sheep, paired with pants that reached her calves. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked seeing the different types she owned. She'd rotated a couple since then, some with cupcakes and others with funny sayings, but none of them made his mouth twitch as much as today's.

Sitting with her legs crossed in his leather chair, she wore an oversized lime green nightdress that reached her knees, bright pink tights beneath, and those ridiculous purple elephant slippers. The elephant's trunk swung around like an arm—or a dick—every time she walked, leaving him on the verge of laughter every time she stomped around the room.

He wasn't laughing now, though. He just wanted to feel like a man who didn't have his balls in the hands of a vicious little bear in colorful pajamas.

A full week had passed since they found the package, and it wasn't going well. Not by his terms, at least. He'd given Amy his bedroom, hoping it would stop the cold shoulder she'd been giving him at the time, but he should've known that would only make things difficult. Eight days spent sleeping on the couch had left him with several knots in his back and a fucking migraine to boot. Or maybe that was his fiancée's fault. It wasn't like she was making this any easier. In fact, she was doing her damnedest to make everything more difficult.

Five swatches of purple fabric were clenched tight in his hands, and he relaxed his fists before spreading them near her laptop again. "Look," he pointed to the one that reminded him of a pair of amethyst earrings that Amy loved wearing on special occasions. "I think you'd like this one the most, but we can go with the lighter or darker colors if you'd prefer."

"Uh-huh," Amy muttered, ignoring him as she read through Eclipse's latest shipments.

Leaving the fabric next to her, he grabbed the rest that had been placed with the wedding magazine he was referencing. "If you don't want purple," which he doubted, because that was her favorite color, "then I've also got shades of green and blue to choose from."

"Don't care," Amy sang under her breath, and his right eye twitched.

Inhaling a breath to calm himself, Ivan laid the options out on the table. "Amy, I need to send one in today if we're going to make sure the bridesmaids match."

Amy ignored him, and he gritted his teeth. "Fine, then I'll phone your mom."

That got a reaction out of her.

"I. Fucking. Dare. You," Amy said icily, her hand slamming her laptop closed.

Ivan met her stare with his own, folding his arms. It was a low blow. He knew that. Much to her disgust, Amy's mother had been over the moon to hear they were getting married.

They'd had dinner with her and the rest of Amy's siblings the same day he moved her things into his apartment. That had been one of the worst fights they'd had so far, but Ivan had no choice. Besides the fact that her family needed to know what was going on, he needed to set up men around the area for their protection.

Of course, the moment Amy's mom, Paisley, heard the news, she'd burst into happy tears that ended with her embracing them both as she blubbered how happy she was. Amy had gone stone cold in seconds—that was the main reason he’d given up his pillow-top mattress for the leather couch in the living room. He'd hoped it would sweeten her to him. It hadn't.

The second reason was that he’d set up a dress appointment with Madam Puritt for the following day and he'd hoped it would soften her up. It hadn't. Then his late mother's dressmaker had sided with his wife-to-be, and he'd had to sit through that appointment like a naughty child.

"Amy, wait—just listen. I get that you're overwhelmed, but I'm trying here," he muttered as she brushed past him.

"By bringing my mom into this?" she shrieked over her shoulder as she stomped out of the office.

Ivan followed her a few steps behind in case she decided to throw something at him again. He'd already cleaned up the remains of four vases and three lamps this past week. "Fine. I won't involve your mom. Can you help me out, though, please? I can't do this on my own. We have to get the dresses sorted so that Mira and Zia can go with your sister for their fittings tomorrow."

Swinging around to face him, she stood on the toes of those ridiculous slippers and snarled, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not fucking interested in getting married. You wanted this," she poked him in the chest. "So you figure it out."

"Amy, come on. You're being ridiculous right now. You know this is for your safety. It's just a fucking show," he shouted at her retreating back, dodging the slipper she bent to pick up and swing at him. The second one hit him on the forehead.

Ignoring the dick-trunk elephant slippers, he followed Amy to the kitchen where she emptied a container of strawberries into a bowl and grabbed the honey. The dinner he'd made her an hour ago sat untouched in the microwave, just like every other meal he'd tried to cook her.

"You can't keep leaving me to do all the planning. Your mom's going to know the second she sees it that something's not right," Ivan argued, arms crossed.

"Not my problem," Amy sneered as she drizzled honey all over the strawberries. "You wanted to get married. Figure it out."

She barely glanced at him as she stalked toward the living room, taking a sharp bite out of the fruit she'd pinched between two fingers. Ivan tried not to stare but the honey dripped from her fingers to her wrist, and the way she licked it off left his mind blank. In his growing frustration, he turned to face the office, gripping his hair with both hands.

Color. She needs to pick a color.

"Amy, the longer you take to choose the color, the harder Madam Purrit's going to have to work to get this all sorted. She's in her sixties, have a little sympathy," he snapped as he let go and turned to face her. It was harsh, but come on. She was purposefully making his life hell now.

"Have a little sympathy," she echoed, slamming her bowl on the table. Rising from the couch, she stomped straight to him and poked him in the chest. "Where the hell is your sympathy? A week ago, I witnessed a man die, Ivan. Maybe that's normal for you but it sure as hell isn't normal to me. I saw the bullet hit his body and it's starred in my fucking dreams every night since then. Do you even know what that's like or are you so fucking used to seeing that shit that it doesn't bother you—"

Ivan swallowed hard at her accusations but Amy wasn't finished. Shaking her head, she slammed her palm on his chest and stood on her toes to glare at him, her voice a quiet hiss. "Actually, no. You know what? Don't answer that. Regardless of that, I told you I didn't want this. I haven't been home in over a week... hell, I haven't even left your apartment since that dinner with my mom. Where's your fucking sympathy, Ivan? Because it sure as hell isn't in the room with me."

Grabbing her hand, he softened his voice. "You're right. I haven't been very sympathetic. I'm sorry for that. I'm trying my best to make sure you're safe and at the moment that means making sure this wedding looks as realistic as possible. I need your help with that."

In the silence, he hoped his words reached her but Amy's lips thinned as she pulled away from him. "I'm going to bed."

"Amy—"

"No." She snatched her bowl of strawberries and stalked up the stairs to his room, leaving him to stew in his thoughts.

He stood staring at her back until it disappeared from his vision, but the open-plan design of his apartment meant he could still hear her stomping around as she got ready for bed. Fuck, he hadn't known she was having nightmares. Why hadn't he thought of that? He ran his fingers through his hair again, encountering a few knots that left him wincing.

Walking around the apartment, Ivan switched off the lights. He'd worn his gun every day since receiving the package, only taking it off at night and hiding it under the couch. It never felt like enough, though. The letter sat on the coffee table, mocking him, as he pulled off his jeans and flicked the TV on—just like it did every night.

Grabbing it, like he always did, Ivan read it through. The worst part of it all? The fact that she'd applied for a lower-paying job. That said a lot about why she wanted to leave.

Fighting with Amy used to be enjoyable, but he'd lost his appetite sometime after the third or fourth time he'd read the letter. If she wanted to leave, then how the hell was he supposed to stop her? And what the hell was he going to do when their current problem was sorted and she wanted a divorce?

Nothing. He couldn't deny her a fucking thing if she asked him.

He relaxed his fingers, letting the letter slip through until it fluttered to the ground.

***

Three days passed in a blur. Amy maintained her recent cold shoulder, and Ivan was forced to get the wedding plans sorted by himself. By the time the day finally came, Ivan was a little smug at how much he'd put together—and he walked with a cocky grin as he showed Paisley around.

"This is beautiful," she murmured, her bright green eyes looking around her in wonder. She looked like an older version of his fiancée—beautiful—but you could see life hadn't been easy for her. As a single mother to five children, he could see why. Paisley wore it well, though. Her hair was a lighter blonde than Amy's honey-colored locks, and the silver streaks looked purposefully placed instead of stress-induced.

Wearing a lilac sundress, her too-thin arm was wrapped in the crook of Ivan's elbow as he escorted her to the seats. The wedding was taking place at a five-star hotel that Mikhail was courting to purchase, and the staff were more than happy to ensure everything was perfect. The ballroom was massive, chandelier sparkling over the small wedding place that was set to hold just under thirty people—Amy's family, his own, and a few members of the Bratva that had to participate if they wanted this all to work out as it should. He'd wanted it to seem as normal as possible. Amy's family still didn't know everything and he planned to keep it that way as long as possible.

"How did you even get this in here?" Paisley asked as she stared up at the flower arch where he'd say "I do" a little later. They'd had to make do with jasmine, which didn't quite match the color scheme, but Mira had sworn the little star-shaped flowers would fit in with everything, and they did.

Ivan shrugged, ready to tell her his sister-in-law had helped, but Lev and Adrian hurried over. The first distracted Amy's mother with Alexander's gurgling, and the second granned his arm and pulled him a few steps away, hissing in his ear. "Amy's gone missing."

Excusing himself, Ivan tugged Adrian out of the ballroom. "What do you mean she's gone missing?" he snapped, his voice lowering into a growl as they spotted Amy's three brothers. Adam and Aaron were fifteen, while Ash, the youngest, was only ten. They hadn't spoken much but it was clear they were good kids. The fact that they weren't dealing drugs or stirring shit automatically made them innocent in his eyes. Ivan refused to let that change.

Thankfully, they hadn't spotted them yet, so Ivan dragged his brother away while he explained. "I had to drop off something in her room. Mira was stressed when I got there. Sounds like she was busy with the twins when Amy slipped out."

"She's supposed to have a guard on her," Ivan said between clenched teeth as worry made him frown.

"Of course she had a guard on her. Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" Adrian growled in return as he pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen. "Ilya's still following her now. There's also cameras in every fucking hall and spare closet here. She's heading for the parking lot. That's why I came to get you. I think she's planning on leaving."

"Fuck." Ivan didn't even stop to thank his brother before rushing off, and his phone beeped in response.

Choosing the stairs over the elevator, Ivan reached the underground parking in a couple of minutes. With a heavy breath, he stopped to look around. It didn't take a genius to realize she could've snatched Zia or Mira's keys. His panic eased when he overheard her furious words.

"—I'm just stepping out for a second," she said from the open window of Zia's newest SUV. It was clear she was frustrated, and his lips tugged into a grin as he heard Ilya's soft response. That woman deserved a fucking raise with the shit she put up with.

"I'm sorry, Amy, but I can't let you go without Adrian or Ivan's approval."

"Seriously, Ilya, you know me," Amy growled out as Ivan stepped into sight, catching both women's frustrated gazes.

Relief flickered in Ilya's eyes and she dipped her chin respectively before stepping back into the shadows. "Sir."

As soon as they were alone, Ivan turned to his fiancée, seeing tears in her eyes. His heart thudded. "Amy."

"Just let me go, Ivan." Her eyes were closed as she leaned back into the seat, head tipped toward the ceiling. "I don't want to marry you, and there's no way in hell you actually want to go through with this either."

"Where were you planning to go, Amy?" he asked instead, checking the fuel gauge. It was hardly above halfway, and even considering how eco-friendly Zia's Lexus was, it wouldn't have taken her much further than a couple of miles out of the city before she needed to refill.

A tear dripped down her perfectly made-up face, and she sniffed. "I don't know. I thought—" she broke off with a hiccup. "I thought maybe if I left then..."

"Then what? Whoever sent the package might realize where you've gone and decide it would be easy as hell to finish you off?" His voice grew hard. "This isn't a fucking movie. You would've been dead by the morning—at best. At worst, you could get kidnapped, sold to the flesh trade, or used as cannon fodder while the fucker shoots us down. Is that really a better alternative to marrying me?"

"No," she whispered, and his heart broke at the despair in her tone.

Touching her face softly, Ivan sighed. "Come inside. Marry me. It's probably not the most romantic proposal, but if you stick it out, I'll make you a deal."

Her eyes met his, makeup smeared in the corner, but she still looked beautiful. "What deal?"

The words spilled out without his bidding, and Ivan regretted it almost instantly, but he couldn't regret the relief in her eyes, even if it tore him apart to see it. "Six months. Let us get rid of the threat, and you can divorce me in six months. I won't even make a fuss if you decide to work for someone else."

Unless she changes her mind.

"Deal," Amy replied without hesitation, just like he knew she would.

"Good girl." He stepped back, waiting for her to get out.