THE FIXER

Sasha flips him the bird, and Dima chuckles.

“Are you taking the Lambo?” Pavel asks. “Or does Money Bags not let you drive?”

“The car was my gift to her, and it’s my pleasure to let her drive,” I answer smoothly.

Sasha beams. “You spoil me.”

She drives to the theatre, and I direct her to the valet. When we get out, I slip a fifty in the guy’s hand and tell him to take good care of it. He stumbles over himself thanking us and making promises.

Sasha rolls her eyes. “Man club.”

“No. It’s not because I’m a man.” I show her the wad of fifties in my pocket. “It’s a trick Ravil taught me-he read it in an old article in Esquire Magazine. It’s called Twenty Dollar Millionaire. The theory was that you don’t have to be rich to get respect or treated like a millionaire, you just need to grease palms. Flashing a twenty dollar bill will get you most anything. But with inflation, I figure it’s fifties or hundreds now.”

“I don’t think that would work the same for a woman.”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Money gets you everything, caxapok, especially with the right attitude. And you have plenty of both. Don’t play small when you could be so very big.” I pull out a blank check I brought along and show her.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for the theatre company-if you wanted to get some attention with a donation. Make them remember your name.”

I hand it to her, and she tucks it in her purse. I wouldn’t say I’m a theatre guy. Yeah, okay, this is probably my first time-ever-seeing a live performance, but I enjoy it. I enjoy even more having Sasha on my arm turning heads. I enjoy her total absorption in the performance-the gasps and exclamations. Her standing ovation when it’s over.

“That ending,” she exclaims. “So powerful.”

We hang back in the lobby. I know what I would do to make things happen for Sasha, but it’s up to her.

“I’m going to find the director,” she says.

I smile. “That’s my girl. I’ll be by the doors.”

She finds me twenty minutes later, her eyes ablaze with glory. “I did it.” She beams. “I used the donation check to get his attention, and then I told him I’m an actor who just moved here from Moscow. He invited me to his partner’s acting class. It’s on Tuesdays. And guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re never going to believe this.” She grabs my wrist and squeezes it, bouncing a little in her heels. “They’re doing Anna Karenina next year, and he said he would love to have me audition for a part!”

I grin, trying to catch up. “They want a Russian in the part.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says quickly. “But at least my accent won’t hurt me.” She waves a business card in my face. “And I have a connection now.”

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against my body. “You did it. See? There’s nothing you can’t do.”

She kisses me in a flurry of happy pecks. “Gospodi, I love you!”

I swallow when the full brunt of those words hits me square in the chest.

She jerks back with a startled expression like she just did something wrong.

“I’m pretty nuts about you, too,” I tell her before she can take it back.

Vulnerability bleeds into her expression, but she hides it. “Yeah?” She slides her hands up and down my chest. “I thought you married me for the money.”

I go still. Is that what she thinks? “No. Your inheritance is a pain in my ass. The perk of this marriage isn’t the money, sugar. It’s you.”

She steps in closer, tugging on my tie, insinuating her curves against my body. “You mean the sex.”

I narrow my eyes, suddenly wary. I feel like Sasha’s playing some role right now. The one her mother taught her about how to keep a powerful man. She’s not being real with me. And feeling like I’m being played is a goddamn trigger for me, especially with her.

“I said you,” I insist.

She catches the offense in my tone and pulls back slightly.

No, I misread her. I’m being a dick. She’s fishing for confirmation that I feel the same. I capture her nape and tug her lips up to mine.

“Even the crazy parts. I love you, too, Sasha.” It’s awkward to say, but once the words come out, I’m not sorry. I’m as vulnerable as my bride. And that’s what love is. Revealing your weakness. Trusting the other person with it.

She’s given me that.

It’s time for me to do the same.

“I love you,” I repeat the words, staring straight into her blue eyes.

A shiver runs through her. “I used to fantasize about this moment,” she whispers.

My lips kick up into a grin. “I annexed you out of all fantasies for fear of my life. But let me tell you, sugar-I’m making up for it now. I have about a hundred that involve you bent over that new car of yours.”

“Oh yeah?”

I reach in my pocket for the valet ticket. “Want to go for a drive?”

Her smile is as wicked as my heart. She snatches the valet ticket from my fingers. “Always, big man.”

SASHA

MAXIM DIRECTS me to one of those high rise parking garages that goes up and up and up. We take it all the way to the rooftop and park. There aren’t any other cars up here. We get out, and I walk to the wall to look over the edge at the city. “I love this,” I exclaim.

It feels like the night belongs to us. It’s all ours.

Maxim loves me. I can’t-won’t-stop that thought from swishing around me like a warm, bubblegum pink dream.

It feels too good to be true.

Like any minute, the relationship police are going to show up and arrest me for impersonating a real wife.

I mean, he had to marry me. He didn’t even want me. How did I trick him into love?

How did he trick me?

Who is tricking whom?