Page 49 of The Fixer
Blood drummed louder and louder in my ears as I caressed up along Sascha’s chest. His heart beat strong under my hand, and my own stuttered from the sudden surge of affection that sloshed against my ribs. My eyes stung fiercely, reminding my brain that I needed to blink as he overtook all my thoughts— even the unconscious ones. “When we went out to Bruv’s for your birthday… do you remember? We walked down the Moskva afterwards, and I told you about my family and who I worked for.” I popped open the top button of his shirt, my gaze never wavering as he nodded. Sascha’s orbs filled with memories; it’d taken me a lot to actually explain my job to him. “I told you… you could walk away, and you said you had to think about it.”
Another button slipped from its fastening. Goosebumps blanketed my back as Sascha’s fingers crept up, and my lungs sputtered in my chest.
“I hoped that the good would vastly outweigh the bad and I wasn’t wrong.” His smile ruffled his beard, his voice thick with his conviction that he’d made the right choice back then.
Four and a half years ago, I’d been adamant to work up the courage to give him the option, to explain my life wasn’t one I would’ve chosen for myself. Before we’d gotten together, before I’d even moved out from under my parents’ thumbs, I told Sascha about the family business. So he could turn around and walk away, and I wouldn’t begrudge him. After a few, maddening days, Sascha texted me to meet up at Red Square. At the time, I’d been so sure he’d tell me he didn’t want to go further. I was nearly 18 years younger than him; what did I have to contribute to a relationship when he’d experienced so much?
“Ophelia—”
I blinked, training my eyes on the Sascha of the present even though the past still clung to the backs of my eyelids. He’d always had a beard, but it was a few strands greyer, now. Gingerly peeling back his shirt, I scraped my teeth along my bottom lip as heat pooled in my abdomen. Sascha had a nice,comfortablebody. He inhaled a deep, slow breath to push against my palm. Deftly unfastening the rest of his buttons with my one working hand, I sat back when he arched his back to shuffle out of the fabric. “I’m so in love with you. So… why do I feel so disgusting?”
His brows furrowed, lips thinning in concern, Sascha sat up to wrap both his arms around me. “When bad things happen to us, it’s natural not to want to get someone you love involved, Ophelia. This wasn’t unexpected or even that shocking to me, honestly. To be honest, everything was going so well for so long that we both became complacent.” Somehow, he managed to touch all of me at the same time, his cheek resting firmly on my crown.
Hoovering up as big a breath as I could, I took his smell deep down into my being. I held my breath.
Sascha sighed, squeezing me a little tighter. “When you told me about who you were, I almost did cut things off.Bratva… you’re on the edge and it affected you so much. Your parents didn’t love each other or you and no one saw you as a child, a teenager, a young woman… They saw your last name and heaped responsibility on you because you’re good at it. All those reasons I shouldn’t have stayed were what made me want to.”
My heart stuttered when Sascha uttered that phrase—Bratva. The Russian Mob. Makovich Industries was a pseudonym, the safer thing to call what we were, but when the dust settled, nothing could hide it. My family were criminals.Iwas a criminal. I fixed messes, made legal repercussions go away— kept this criminal enterprise from being exposed. Aleksander Makovich was the worst criminal of us all, and I answered when he whistled.
Soaking in Sascha’s unfathomable warmth, I closed my eyes as our skin on skin shored up my wavering soul. Despite bullying the Ukrainian Prime Minister ? among other, worse things ? Sascha was still by my side. Knowing I had suggestedremovingpeople that posed a danger, or needed to be dealt with, and those people had beenremoved… he was still by my side. Sascha didn’t see me as a criminal.
Sascha saw me as the person I could’ve been if I wasn’t born a Cherinivsky.
“It shouldn’t have been a question of weight.” I sighed.Still…Ever since my parents were murdered, my own turmoil might’ve been great, but the situation was rather calm. I was a mess, but everything around me was still standing, tall, proud and strong. Inside this eye of the storm, everything was reversed. “Even though it’ll hurt… if you’re not happy, you can walk away, Sascha.”
“I know, Ophelia.” Pulling back to cup my cheek, Sascha’s eyes danced with earnestness. His breath rolled down the bridge of my nose and through my eyelashes before he spoke softly, “I believe with all my heart that you can make Aleksander Makovich look stupid.”
Tentatively lifting my lips to his, my eyelids fluttered closed. Sascha’s kiss was firm, his mouth gentle— his tongue considerate as it asked so politely for entry. Behind my shuttered lids, the memory of our first kiss played, but this one was better. Somehow, my fingers found their way into his hair as the base of his skull, and I opened my mouth willingly.
Holding our bodies tightly together, Sascha laid down on his back and rolled us onto our sides. Slinging my knee over his waist, I simply enjoyed his closeness, the purity of our kiss despite being half-naked. His heartbeat in sync to mine, his fingers grappling my ass in a perfect fit to draw us even closer. The heat drew sweet sweat from my skin.
“I love you, Oppie. I can never say it enough— but I believe in you. I’ll support you. I’ll stand by you.” Murmuring against my lips, Sascha inhaled deeply through his nose to sick the heat from my face. Not once did he ever say ‘always’ or ‘forever’ when he talked about us. He was pragmatic, and this was incredibly comforting. There would never not be the chance he’d want to turn his back on me— when things would simply become too much.
But it wouldn’t be today.
“I love you so much, Sascha.”
He smiled so beautifully.
My mouth and eyes dried as I struggled to take it in. “All I want is to be with you and be happy— and make you happy.”
“You’re the smartest person I know and you know what they say- work smarter, not harder.”
Thisbrought a small smile to my own face, and I worked my arm under Sascha’s head to press my forehead against his. His handsome face distorted from how close we were. Twirling his hair around my finger, I hummed softly at the pure bliss of this moment. Even though everything around me tilted backwards and upside down, Sascha was the same—wewere the same. “I thought I could do this without you, but I can’t. I thought— if I can’t handle one meeting on my own. Like if there’s no autonomy, and I can’t do my job without you…” Trailing off as my words failed me, shamed clawed up the back of my throat and flooded my cheeks. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me, Sascha.”
“Well, we’re going to figure out what we want. What we can endure…together. That’s the only way to do things, Ophelia. Being your own person is great, but being aseparateperson is wrong.”
My brows twitched in confusion at this. I honestly didn’t see the difference.
Sascha slung his arm heavily around my waist to sigh through his nose. “This episode of grief and upset isn’t your whole life…it’s not our whole life. We’ll get past this. When things start looking up, we’ll cherish those moments, and when things are rough, we’ll weather through. Who knows? You’re going to meet my brother. I haven’t seen him in over a decade. He’s a very successful doctor, now. Maybe we’re so different after so long apart that we’re strangers…”
“Are you worried about seeing him?”
Sascha inhaled deeply before pulling back to prop his elbow on the sofa cushion. Gazing down at me with glimmering, brown eyes, he slowly shook his head.
My confusion intensified while I rolled onto my back, holding my injured wrist between my breasts.
“That’s something that just comes with age and life experience, Oppie. Things are never going to be the way they were. There’s no such thing as static when it comes to people. We change a little bit every day until we’re unrecognizable. My brother isn’t the 15-year-old he was when he left, and I’m not 21. Our parents aren’t together and we’re not as miserable anymore. You can’t base your hopes on the past. You’ll only end up disappointed.” Reaching his free hand to stroke my cheek, Sascha smiled small and tender. Taking my injured hand, he tugged gingerly, insistently.