Page 21 of Her Rustanov Husband (Ruthless Bullies #2)

“It is,” he agreed with a nod and a smile that actually reached his eyes. “And you know, your mom and I just secured a place on The Globe .”

“That private residential cruise ship that stops all over the world?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve been Mr. Minnesota for so long, figured it was time to see the rest of the world. With the woman who’s stayed by my side since we met at that frat party in college.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” I honestly couldn’t have been happier for them. “When do you leave on your first trip?”

He tilted his head with a considering look. “We were all set to board right after Thanksgiving. But now that you’re back in the family fold, too, maybe we’ll wait until after New Year’s.”

Back in the family fold.

The phrase landed like a punch straight to my gut.

“And who knows?” he continued on into my stricken silence. “Maybe someday we’ll get to schedule our travel around grandchildren. What’s the plan there, by the way? Are we thinking two years? Maybe sooner?”

“I…” My face locked into a rictus smile, sponsored by not wanting to be a disappointment and Yom’s ironclad DNA.

Just then, the puck dropped, and the crowd’s attention shifted toward the ice. A horn blared, and the refrain from Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” blasted through the arena as the home crowd roared to life.

Saved by the game.

Down on the ice, Yom was bombarded with daps and back claps from his teammates as the slo-mo replay of the first goal he’d scored—with some pretty violent stick work—played on the Jumbotron above. THE AUDACITYOM!!! scrolled over the scene in huge blinking letters.

The AudicitYom as Yom had apparently been rebranded in the years since I blocked all mentions of him from my internet, received his teammate's congratulations with that aggressively blank I’m a professional Russian expression I remembered from our university days.

But as he skated back to his position, he slowed to wave and flash a huge grin. Up at me. In the owner’s box.

Camera flashes went off everywhere, and something snagged in my chest.

“Well, that’s a first,” Mr. Carrington said beside me. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Rustanov smile before.”

I had. A few times. But only in private, usually when we were in bed together. And it had always felt like a rare and beautiful gift.

And no, I wasn’t a huge hockey fan, but the rest of the exhibition game against his half-brother Cheslav’s former team, the Charleston Knights, completely held my attention.

I’d assumed that since he was making the same “buy a team” move his Uncle Nikolai did when he retired from hockey, maybe Yom’s career was winding down.

But he still had it. The speed. The sharp instincts.

The way his body knew exactly where to be—when to strike, when to hold—then strike again and again until he reached his goal, which happened to be a literal goal.

He cut through the Knights’ defense like a blade through water: relentless, merciless, breathtaking.

When he landed his third goal, sealing the Raptors’ win a few minutes before the end of gameplay, the entire arena thundered to its feet. And so did I as the scoreboard lit up 5–2. With only minutes left, there was no way back for the Knights.

Technically, I still hated Yom. But my chest… it was bursting with pride anyway.

“What a game!” I said, grinning over at Mr. Carrington.

“That’s one world-class athlete you married,” he answered, squeezing my arm. “I was ready to sell, but I’m glad we’re keeping the team in the family….”

More guilt pricked at me. “Mr…”

I couldn’t bring myself to keep on maintaining distance. “Dad, I think maybe…”

“Yes?” He looked over at me so hopefully that instead of telling him he shouldn’t change any of his plans for a marriage with a pre-Christmas expiration date, I ended up saying, “My agenda’s pretty packed, but maybe we can schedule a time for Mom, you, and me to have dinner?”

Dad’s face lit up. “I know the both of us would love that. Maybe you and Mom can schedule it next Wednesday at your?—”

“Time to head down.” Ingrid suddenly appeared above my seat before Dad could finish his suggestion.

She all but hauled me to my feet. “Come, come! Yom has something special planned.”

After leading me to the service elevators that only the players used, she filled in the blanks. “He’s establishing a new tradition, to mark his first season as the soon-to-be owner.”

“Will this tradition involve me speaking?” I eyed the bullpen where the players met with the press after the game and grimaced. The last thing I needed was to add more real-life inspo to my recurring public-speaking nightmares.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Ingrid assured me with a pish-posh wave of her hand before pushing through the doors that led straight to the players’ rink entrance. “And between you and me, the lawyers are furious. It’s a liability nightmare. But he insisted.”

“Insisted on what?” I began to ask.

But then I saw the crowd of people gathered at the players’ entrance: wives, girlfriends, a couple of boyfriends, parents, children…

And suddenly, I knew what was happening—even before Ingrid led me straight to the front of the line.

This new tradition wasn’t new at all. In fact, it was the decades-old University of Minnesota-Gemidgee ritual of letting families pour onto the ice after a win.

A memory blindsided me: the first time I’d done this for Yom, back in college, after he’d moved me into his lake house and I was so unsure of what our status was. I’d felt bad that no one ever came out on the ice for him, so I’d shown up after one of his winning home games unannounced.

His face had hardened when he saw me step onto the rink, and I’d immediately regretted my decision as I slipped my way over to him. I’d opened my mouth to apologize profusely for overstepping?—

And that was when he’d pulled me into his arms for a kiss that cut me off mid-sentence.

The hard buzz of the rink doors jolted me back into the present.

The crowd roared again as all around me wives and girlfriends and kids were already gliding onto the ice like they’d been born with skates strapped to their feet.

Meanwhile, I stepped out like a baby giraffe in my new Italian leather Chelsea boots, every muscle in my body tensed for a fall.

Another memory…

Yom’s face the first time I admitted I didn’t know how to skate. You’d have thought I’d told him I’d never learned to eat with a fork.

“We will make sure the new Minneapolis home we pick has a basement, so that can turn it into ice rink, like my brother’s friend Keane,” he’d informed me with near-comical sincerity. “I will teach you, so that our future children do not suffer as you did.”

I’d heard nonprofit speeches about starving war orphans delivered with less gravity. “ Suffer is a wild word to use here,” I’d shot back at him. “I can barely balance on solid ground, and you want me teetering around on steel blades?”

That was six years and about thirty pounds ago. And if anything, I felt even less steady on the ice now. My foot slipped, arms windmilling. I had a single horrifying moment where I pictured myself sprawled out in front of the entire arena—before strong hands closed around me.

Yom. Even larger in all his gear. Effortless. Absolute. He drew me back before I could hit the ice.

Then, before I could re-gather my balance, he pulled me flush against his padded chest… and kissed me.

Not a polite brush of lips. Not a careful, public-friendly peck. A huge, searing kiss that set every nerve in my body sparking. My head spun, and my knees wobbled, threatening to give out while cameras flashed and phones recorded all around us.

The whole world was watching. And Yom wanted them to see. To see him stake his claim.

When he finally broke away, I barely had time to drag in a breath before he leaned close, his voice a dark growl meant for me alone. “Welcome back to my world, zhena . I believe you will come to like it here in my spotlight.”

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt. Panic, longing, confusion—all tangled into a knot I couldn’t unravel.

“Please…” The word tore out of me before I could stop it.

His eyes darkened instantly, sharp with hunger. “Please what?”

“Please…” I choked out my next words. “Get a second bed.”