Team Russian (Saints Team Series Book 4)

by Ally Adams

  The Russian clearly wasn’t expecting her as his eyes narrowed and his entire body stiffened next to me ... no, I don’t know if that part stiffened, but I hope not!

  “Leesa, what are you doing here?” he requested, in a low voice.

  “Interrupting something, clearly,” she said, glancing at me and my overnight bag. “Hello ... Carla, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and gave her a small smile. “Hi Leesa.”

  She knew very well who I was and I wasn’t going to play the same bitchy game.

  The Russian hadn’t moved, he stood frozen with my luggage in one hand and the other arm around my waist.

  “I don’t wish to be rude, but we’re busy here,” he said. “Just passing through, are you?”

  “Can I talk with you alone?” she asked, not making eye contact with me at all and giving him the most seductive look she could. Hell, it worked for me and I’m straight. Anger washed over me; I had so been looking forward to tonight and even though I felt sorry for her, enough already!

  “No,” The Russian said, and I looked sharply at him. No ... he was saying no to her outright and upfront. I turned back to her ... it was a bit like watching a tennis match. “We have to go now,” he said, “so ... take care and thanks for dropping by.”

  I swear she was an actress, her eyes welled with tears and I felt The Russian soften next to me; he hated tears. No doubt she knew that, and she had played that card a few thousand times.

  “Why are you in town?” he asked.

  “I flew in to see you.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. I’m staying with a friend of Daddy’s ... an actor ...”

  “Of course,” The Russian said. “Well, we have to go Leesa, we’ve got plans. Do you need me to call you a taxi or have you got a car out there?” he said, pointing to outside his gated property.

  Then she changed. Miss Vulnerable went out the window and Miss Bitch appeared.

  “You know what Russian? I don’t need a fucking thing from you. I don’t know why I’m even here begging you to see me. What the fuck? Who do you think you are?” she screamed.

  The Russian moved in front of me.

  “That’s enough,” he growled, “I’m sorry your trip here was a waste of time, but let’s try to finish with some sort of respect for each other.”

  “Fuck you,” she said – actually, she almost hissed it. “You’ll be sorry you broke up with me. When your career is over, you’ll be nothing ...”

  “Right, well, thanks for that,” he said, interrupting her speech. He put my overnight bag down and moved towards her. The Russian took her arm.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” she snatched her arm away from him. “I’m leaving.” She walked a few paces down the path and then turned back. “Have you told your new screw that when the team wins you’re going to screw her all night, but you can’t get it up when the team loses? Has she enjoyed that yet? She’d better hope the Saints have a good season. Or how ...”

  The Russian’s growl was as loud as his movements were fast, and he had her arm again. I heard him saying something about her father and doctor, and thanks to Lucas, I knew the context of that statement. The Russian had her down the driveway in moments and then she pulled away and strode off. He stood, watching, making sure she got to her car. He webbed his fingers behind his head as he stood, watching her depart; my heart went out to him.

  That had been horrid, the whole thing was nasty. I could only imagine what their fights must have been like in the past ... Leesa working him up, The Russian losing it and having to channel his anger and frustration somewhere, always worried what the consequences might be if she was fragile. We, as a couple, were so not like that.

  I saw her leave in her car, and The Russian, his head lowered and his shoulders slumped, came back to me.

  “I’m really sorry ...” he began.

  I shook my head. “Don’t say it, it’s not your fault. And just for the record ... I can’t get it up if my team loses either.”

  The Russian chuckled. “What if the Saints lose?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I’m bound to have no libido either.”

  He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Have you got your phone on you?”

  “Sure,” I said, rummaging through my handbag and handing it over to him, confused as to whom he was going to ring now. He punched in a number and then I understood.

  “Charlie, it’s The Russian ... yeah, good, thanks, and you? Good ... listen, can you please ensure that Leesa Hart is not given entry anymore please? Thanks, that would be appreciated ... no, under no circumstances. Yep, that’s it, thanks.”

  The Russian hung up and gave me the phone back.

  “Gated security,” he explained, and then exhaled. “Can you take a beach walk in that dress? I just need to let off some steam.”

  “It’s perfect for the beach,” I said and removed my sandals. We put my shoes and bag back in the car, I locked it and The Russian slipped my keys into his pocket. He reached for my hand and we walked across his front lawn and entered the sandy edges of the beach. He kicked off his Converse trainers and left them on the edge of his property, and then, taking the small drop to the sand, he reached up for me, put his hands around my waist, picked me up and deposited me beside him. He took my hand again and we walked.

  He was right; the beach was very therapeutic and the dark of the evening was calm and cooling. I tried to break the tension.

  “Your three-course meal won’t be burning in our absence?” I teased him.

  He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “No. Lucky for you that it is all done and just ready to be served. Best meal you’ll ever have.”

  “Your mom again?”

  “Ye of little faith,” he clucked. “Just the dessert. I did the starters and the main is from Scarpio’s,” he said, revealing he had organized dinner from one of the best restaurants in town. “I didn’t want you to run away screaming, and I figured there’s only so many nights I can feed you pasta.”

  We walked along for a while and let the tension fall from us; it was magic, such a beautiful night, and The Russian was right ... by the time we got back to his place forty-five minutes later, everything that had happened was forgotten, and then something happened that I would never, ever forget, ever.

  Chapter 32

  Carrying my bag again, The Russian led the way upstairs, unlocking his house. He swung the door open for me and I entered and gasped. I now knew why he had wanted to go on the beach walk first. The room was filled with roses – filled completely.

  He grinned with delight seeing my reaction.

  “Happy anniversary,” he said.

  “Oh Alex,” I sighed. I stood in my rose-print dress, looking at the bouquets all around the room.

  “There’s one hundred ... one for every day we’ve been together,” he said, leaving me for a moment to put my bag in his room.

  There were one hundred – ten bunches with ten in each and the scent and the sight was breathtaking. I didn’t move as I took it all in, and then I moved from one bunch to the next, touching them, studying them and inhaling.

  “I don’t know which is my favorite ... the red roses are divine, but the yellow are magnificent, and the white ...” I swanned from one bouquet to the next. The room was like a glorious florist shop, and behind the bouquets, the glistening ocean water reflected the moonlight. I would never forget this moment.

  The Russian leaned on the back of his sofa, his arms folded watching me. “You don’t have to pick a favorite,” he said, indulging me. “They’re all yours and the florist said they'd collect and deliver them to your place tomorrow if you’d like, or you can leave them here and visit them.”

  “Oh Russian,” I said, again, and inhaled a pale lilac bunch. I moved over to him and wrapped my arms around his body. “Thank you, that is the most amazing gift I have ever received.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said.
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  “I need a photo,” I said. “Of me in my rose dress surrounded by your roses.” I grabbed my phone again and gave it to The Russian. I slipped my red shoes back on and made him take at least half a dozen shots – a wide shot with all the roses in, closer shots to show off the roses and a selfie of the two of us in front of the red roses.

  “Thank you,” I sighed, “I’m blown away. And I bought you sports socks,” I said, and The Russian laughed.

  “That’s a perfect gift,” he nodded. “Very thoughtful ... I like practical presents.”

  “Me too,” I agreed. “But this is unforgettable.” And then something even more amazing happened. The Russian pulled away from me and dropped to one knee.

  I gasped, taking in his pose, the roses around us, the moonlight, the moment. He pulled a small black box from behind the vase of roses where I stood and opened it. There was the most amazing diamond ring I have ever seen – huge, an emerald-cut center diamond, with a band adorned with round brilliant-cut diamonds.

  “Brooker … Carla,” he said, “in one hundred days I have loved you in one hundred ways, will you marry me?”

  “Russian,” I said; I knew my eyes were wide and my heart was pounding and I didn’t want ever to forget this glorious moment. “Yes, yes, absolutely yes,” I said, and then I cried.

  The Russian rose and slipped the ring onto my finger. He picked me up and we kissed ... long, deep, passionate and I drank him in. Then he put me down.

  “I got it from Tiffany’s, but if you don’t like it they said you could pick out something else,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked, “it is the most stunning ring I have ever seen, thank you, I love it.” I extended my hand to look at it and the glistening diamonds on my engagement finger.

  I looked up at him and saw his delight. I cupped his face.

  “I had no idea you were up to this. I love you, I love how special this is, thank you Alex,” I said, using his real name to make the moment more intimate.

  “Thank you for saying ‘yes’, Ms Carla Brooker-Renwick? I’m trying to be as politically correct as I can and my sisters thought that would be what you would go for.”

  “Did they? Did you tell them? That’s cute ... I think—since we’re going to be together forever—I like Ms Carla Renwick better,” I said, and The Russian showed me his appreciation for that comment, picking me up and twirling me around.

  When he put me down, I bounced up and down. “I’m so excited, Russian, we’re engaged.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” he teased me. “I’ll get us a glass of champagne, before you do more damage to that knee. We’ll go to the balcony,” he said.

  I just wanted to tell everyone in the whole world and share my happy news with my best friends, but that would have to wait as The Russian returned with the champagne. We went to the balcony, stood on the edge looking over the beach, and he popped the cork – love that sound. The Russian filled our glasses and we clinked.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, forever,” I added. We sipped and just stared at each other, being in the moment. Knowing that we had found each other, that we both wanted the same thing, and that we’d be together forever now. I was engaged; I was loved by The Russian and he saw his future with me. I teared up again.

  “I didn’t think you would say yes,” he said, “given some of my performances to date.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said, grinning at him like I was high. “In a hundred days you have been my first thought of the day, my last thought, and every other thought in every waking moment.”

  He smiled and I leaned in to kiss him ... a slow, champagne tasting kiss. We pulled away and I looked at my ring hand again ... I was engaged!

  “Think we should announce it?” I asked.

  “You’re a chick, I know you’ll be keen to,” he teased.

  “I’m engaged to the most gorgeous guy on the planet, and I’ve just experienced the most romantic proposal ever ... hell yeah, I’m keen,” I said. “But we should tell our parents before social media,” I said.

  “My family knows, the girls helped me pick out your ring, and Tia is desperately waiting, well hoping, for an invitation to be a flower girl,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Your parents know too.”

  “That’s what you were talking about with Dad?” I asked.

  “I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage,” he said, holding up his hands in defense, “I know modern girls don’t need to be given away from one man to the other ... well, Nikki and Ana said that, and Tia just went along. Mom agreed.”

  “Thank God for that,” I said, because I seriously would have been pissed about that. I’m a stickler for my independence.

  “I just let your dad know that I intended to propose and that I hoped they would support us, which he was happy to do.”

  “So my fiancé, we probably should both call our parents though, and then we can put our announcements up,” I said, and grinned, liking the sound of the word ‘fiancé’. “And then we turn our phones on silent so the rest of the night is ours.”

  The Russian agreed.

  *****

  I went inside to get my phone from my handbag and The Russian grabbed his from the kitchen. He dialed his parents; they wanted to talk with me, and so did his sisters, which was really sweet. They were so excited for us, even though it had only been one hundred days. When eight-year-old Tia came on, I put her out of her misery.

  “I was hoping that you could do me a big favor and be my flower girl?” I asked and I swear she screamed so loud that my ear was likely not to be fully functioning again for a week. Finally, the phone went back to The Russian who asked for the dog, Brodie, since he was the only one who hadn’t gotten on the phone. I laughed and after hanging up, we called my parents. Mom was congratulatory but cautious, like she couldn’t allow herself to be truly happy because her other daughter would never have a wedding. Sigh. Dad was wonderful and of course wanted to perform the ceremony. While The Russian spoke with Dad to receive his congratulations, I quickly called Josh, Steffi and Aimee. I told them I couldn’t talk but wanted them to know first, before they saw it in my news feed. So exciting!

  We then quickly prepared an announcement each.

  “What have you got?” The Russian asked, grinning at me like I was an excited kid in an ice-cream shop ... I was much more excited than that.

  I showed him the photo I had just taken of my hand with the huge rock on it – seriously, that ring if sold could fund the elimination of polio worldwide – one of my ambitions, but that was another story. Behind my photographed hand and ring were rows of roses. I wrote “Breathtaking proposal ... in one hundred days, I’ve loved you in one hundred ways.” My hashtags were #engaged and #forevertaken.

  The Russian grimaced. “You can’t give away my proposal ... the guys will bag me for the next ten years,” he said.

  “Do you seriously think it is not going to get out there?” I asked him. “Hell, the first question every journalist and female will ask is how did he propose?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, but I may have to go undercover.”

  “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” I said, studying him, “we can keep it our secret.”

  “No, go on ... tell everyone you’ve got the best, most romantic fiancé in the world, they won’t be surprised, I’m sure,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile. Such a big head.

  The Russian got me to help him with his message; he used the selfie of both of us in front of all the roses, with just one hashtag - #shesaidyes.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Ready,” he agreed and we pressed send and put our phones on silent. I put mine down and picked up our champagne glasses, handing The Russian his glass.

  We looked at each other, just basking in the happiness of the moment. We clinked glasses and enjoyed the delicious bubbles, the quiet, the moment.

  “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” I said, softly.


  “Good huh?” he said. “We’ve got all the time in the world ... unless, you’re worried you don’t know me well enough?” He frowned.

  I shook my head. “I know all I need to know.” I assured him. “We are cut from the same cloth, you and me – made for each other.”

  Then he took my glass off me, took my hand and we went inside where we made slow romantic love ... touching every part of each other with renewed tenderness and passion, and being in that moment of subliminal joy.

  *****

  Later that night ... and it was late ... good thing The Russian didn’t have Saturday morning training, we lay in bed and laughed at some of the responses to our announcement.

  Sasha: OMG, need a wedding dress? So thrilled for you! So is Nik ... except I think he’s trying to work out ways to out-propose The Russian. Ha. Tell the Russian he’s a big softie.

  Lucas: WTF? You’ve raised the bar Russian. Damn U. Oh yea, and congrats

  Tomás: Is this because I can tango and showed you up? Congrats U 2

  Mia: OMG, OMG, so happy for you two! What a perfect couple!

  Spencer: Josh told me the great news. I knew you were perfect for each other. We love him. Give him a hug from Josh and me.

  Sure boys! All the Suns’ girls had sent me beautiful notes, and there were so many missed calls from journos and friends. We put our phones down and returned to each other.

  “Good night my fiancé, thank you for the most amazing night of my life,” I said, leaning on his chest and forgetting that Leesa had even come by earlier. I knew she would be in pain now, and I was sorry for that, but it just wasn’t meant to be for her.

  The Russian enveloped me in his arms. “Goodnight my fiancée. Thank you for making me the happiest man to walk the earth.”

  *****