Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

Volkov has been away for two days when the doorbell rings. Alexei’s tiny, lovely mother stands on the doorstep.

“Hi.” I blink down at her and she beams up at me.

“I didn’t know Cece was your mom!” she says by way of greeting, giving my arm a squeeze and breezing past me into the house, carrying two big bags. “I brought food. You need to eat.”

Why is your mother here? I text him as she heads to the kitchen.

“Alexei isn’t home,” I call after her. “And I was just about to leave.”

I wasn’t, but I need to get rid of her without hurting her feelings, because if I hurt Maria’s feelings, I’d never forgive myself. My phone buzzes in my hand.

I mentioned you were alone for a couple days.

I give my phone an emphasizing look, eyes wide, as if he can see it. What happened to you can’t get close to them? He was right. This whole thing is going nowhere.

The hate fuck was distracting, but I have a new memory taking up space in my head these days: Alexei driving in the car after soccer, admitting that he doesn’t know how to help Luca.

Another bouquet arrived at my office today. Sainfoin—agitation. Honestly, it’s a relief. The last thing I need is him losing his head over me. No feelings, no attachments, no complications. That’s what we agreed to, and that’s what’s easiest.

Maria’s making noises in the kitchen, opening drawers and turning on the oven. “It won’t take that long,” she calls to me. “Alexei said something about you surviving on protein bars.”

After I’ve eaten so much I might die, Maria insists on sitting in the front room with the bunnies, who freely roam the house when my horrible husband isn’t home.

“Who’s the sweetest baby in the world?” Maria strokes Stefan’s head and he lays there with his eyes closed. “You are.” She looks to Damon, sitting on my lap. “And you are, too.” She meets my eyes and smiles. “Alexei was worried about you, alone in this big house all week.”

I stifle the urge to snort. No, he wasn’t. “Worried I’d set the place on fire, maybe.”

She gives me an odd look. That’s not the kind of thing a loving wife would say.

“From my cooking,” I add. “I’m a terrible cook.” Something jumps into my memory, the perfect distraction. “There’s something I was hoping you could help me translate. I don’t know how to spell it. Gniloy kluben?”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Say it again?”

I repeat it. I’ve googled variations of it a hundred times but I can’t find it.

She squints for a long moment before recognition dawns. “Oh. Rotten tuber.”

I couldn’t have heard right. “I’m sorry, Maria, can you repeat that? It sounds like you said rotten tuber.”

“Yes. Rotten tuber.”

I’m going to murder him.

“Dirty rotten tuber,” she adds. “My parents were farmers, and they’d feed scraps and anything that’s gone bad to the pigs, but sometimes a vicious mold would infect the turnips. The mold is dangerous. Very deadly. You have to watch out for these decaying turnips because if the pigs eat them, they get very sick. They’re also quite stinky.” Her nose wrinkles. “The entire town would stink from it.”

Dirty, stinky rotten turnip? My mouth parts in shock, and I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“It’s expensive when the animals get sick,” she adds.

“Of course.” Don’t laugh, Georgia. “You’d have to call a vet in.”

Volkov has been calling me his dirty, decaying, rotten turnip that you wouldn’t even feed to the pigs. I have to hand it to him—I’m impressed, and very, very entertained.

But I’m still going to get back at him.

She tilts her head at me. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh. Something I heard in the news.” I’m going to get him back, but I’m not going to tattle on him. My gaze swings to the bag she brought. “What’s in the bag?” I ask, changing the subject.

She reaches over and pulls out a photo album. “I brought photos of Alexei growing up.”

My heart lifts. God, I hope he was an ugly child so I can mock him mercilessly.

Maria flips the book open, and on the first page is the cutest, chubbiest baby with leg and arm rolls and huge eyes. He’s wearing a little blue shirt and pants and gazes at the camera with a grumpy little frown.

“Oh my god.” I lean in, taking a closer look, melting. “I’d recognize that scowl anywhere. He’s so cute. How old is he here, like a year?”

“Four months,” she says gravely.

“My god.” My eyes bug out. “He’s huge.”

“I know.” She stares at the photo before shaking herself. “All he did was eat. Always eating. I couldn’t get a moment to myself.” She laughs before she gazes at the photo with affection, and a little plink of emotion lands in the center of my chest. “Having a new baby is hard, but I miss those days.”

The next page has a photo of naked baby Alexei laying on his front on a bed, giving the camera a gummy smile.

“Hah.” I pull out my phone. “I need to save this one so I can tease him about it later.”

Maria laughs while I snap a photo and send it to him. The phone starts buzzing with his replies but I silence it and turn back to the album. I flip through it for a bit, laughing at Maria’s commentary, and when I’m almost done, she stands.

“I’ll just text Nikita to come pick me up.”

She leaves the room, and I keep turning pages.

On the last page of the book, something catches my eye. It’s a photo of Alexei in a Montreal jersey, the team he got drafted to when he first started in the NHL. There’s a photo behind this one, though. I can see the corner peeking out.

I pull the plastic protective covering up, but when I slide the photo out, I almost drop the book.

It’s a picture of a younger Alexei, maybe early twenties, and a very tiny blond woman, about the same age. It’s one of those stiff studio portraits where she’s sitting with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and he’s standing behind her, serious and surly.

Alexei and Emma invite you to celebrate their marriage.

I stare at the invitation, reading and rereading. He was married?

He wouldn’t go to Jamie Streicher and Pippa Hartley’s wedding. At the double date with Hayden and Darcy, he said he didn’t go to weddings.

Is this why?

I study the woman in the photo. Emma. Blond, tiny, thin. So this is his type. My throat feels tight.

“Oh.”

I flinch to see Maria standing right beside me with a surprised expression.

“I forgot that was in there,” she says quietly.

“He was married?”

“Just engaged.” She watches me with concern. “You didn’t know.”

The sharp ache of rejection moves up my throat. I don’t know why I care. I know this isn’t real.

“It wasn’t serious,” Maria says, and I give her a look of disbelief, gesturing at the wedding invitation with a wry smile. She sighs. “It wasn’t like it is with you.”

A complete farce? A business agreement? I’ll bet it wasn’t.

“I kept it because I wasn’t sure if they would patch things up, and then I forgot about it.” She looks sad for a moment before she smiles at me gently. “Georgia, he’s so different with you. This was years ago.”

“What happened with them?” I don’t know why I’m even asking. I don’t care. I don’t want to know.noveldrama

She hums, pressing her lips together. “That’s for Alexei to tell you.”

I’d rather die than ask him about it. Instead, I give her a tight smile, close the photo album, and change the subject, asking Maria about her florist shop, what her favorite flowers are, keeping her talking until Nikita arrives to pick her up. He comes to the door to say hello, asks me how my car’s doing, and when they leave, I thank her for coming over and give them both a hug goodbye.

The entire time, my mind flits back and forth to that wedding invitation, and my reaction. Our marriage is a business agreement. That kiss at the airport was for show, and it was a way for him to get on my nerves and get back at me for the stuff in the hotel room. Us messing around at the benefit was a power thing for him, because I made him jealous.

None of it’s real, and yet I’m concerned at the sharp, ugly sting in my chest at the idea of him marrying someone else.