“That was amazing!” she sang, clapping gleefully as she watched the fire dancers leave the circle where onlookers and tourists had gathered to see the street show.

Vitali circled her waist from behind, pulling her back into him and placing his chin on her head in an utterly intimate and familiar manner. It felt good to be held by him, especially in that easy, playful way he’d been doing all week. In six days, they’d explored the colorful and austere Kek Lok Si Temple, and climbed into the Batu Caves while dodging mischievous monkeys and their little hands. In Bangkok, they visited national palaces, tip toed—awestruck—through the many temples and places of worship, and she’d spent what felt like a fortune in Chatuchak Market on all the silky, dangly, glittery, pretty things. By the time she’d covered her arms in bangles and her shoulders with scarves, she’d finally had the grace to feel guilty about making Vitali pay for all of it. He laughed it off, saying that if she could spend his fortune in one day, he’d gladly make another fortune for her to spend the next day.

She laughed at his words, but something in them rang through her, like a truth that was just out of reach.

She loved all the sight-seeing, food tasting, and travelling, but when they weren’t exploring their destinations, they were exploring each other. That was one of her most favorite parts of their trip. Away from their businesses, the busyness, and the pressures of life, Vitali had lightened up, becoming more her friend and her lover than the sizzling yet chilly stranger she’d married. And the more she got to know him, the deeper the ache, the greater the fear. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew that the feeling growing in her chest had nothing to do with the spicy food—hell, she’d grown up using a habanero as a pacifier—and everything to do with how utterly taken she was with him. She cared about him, and the condition was only getting worse.

Not knowing if he felt the same—if he could ever feel the same—was making her sick with worry. What if, when their honeymoon was over, he went back to his billion-dollar corporation and sent her back to her lonely life in Chicago, only her new last name to keep her company? What if this was all just a fun fling for him, one he’d be more than happy to end once he had his fill of her…and Asia?

That’s not fair. No…she wasn’t being fair to Vitali. Not once had he given any indication that this was anything less than a man and his wife enjoying one another. He smiled, he laughed, he joked. And in those quiet moments, when the lights were out and they were lying side by side in the dark, he’d shared about his time in the orphanage, about his brother and their upbringing in a cold and heartless system. He shared about buying his first farm stand in Ivanovo, and how he’d been determined to make a life for himself, a life where he never had to worry about starving or freezing or being beaten and robbed. And there was more to the story, more he wasn’t telling. That was the part she most wanted to know, because not only had his life of scraping and battling for every bite of food honed him into a perfect specimen of manhood, it also sculpted him into the man who ruled over a billion-dollar empire from his cell phone.

The intimacy she’d wanted was developing between them…but she still couldn’t shake the creeping wariness that was stealing some of her joy. But she refused to let that stop her from living in the moment with him.

And now, watching the sunset over the crowds in Koh Tao, she was more deliriously happy than she’d ever known in her life. It was because of the man behind her, snuggling her into him where everyone could see. That was another thing about Vitali that she had learned over the week; he wasn’t ashamed of her, of showing affection toward her around curious and sometimes shocked eyes. She could imagine the picture they made; her the petite and curvy Latina, and him, the tall, broad, sexy Russian demi-god.

Vitali groaned into her hair. “You smell divine—is that the fragrance you bought in Chatuchak?” He chuckled. “One of the five.”

She snorted, not feeling the least bit guilty about it now, especially since he appreciated her purchases. “Why yes, it is,” she drawled, spinning in his arms to face him and throw her arms around his neck. She stood on her tip-toes and brushed a kiss over his smiling mouth.

He’d been doing that a lot lately; smiling. And she’d been smiling like a fool, too.

Just in that moment, within his arms and beneath the weight of her emotions, she remembered something he’d whispered as she was going to sleep one night…maybe sometime last week. She couldn’t be sure, and she really didn’t know what he’d said, only that what he’d uttered had felt…important.

“Ya lyublyu tebya…”

Vitali stiffened immediately, pulling away until her hands barely touched the hardness of his chest. She could feel his heart thundering beneath her fingertips, and the look on his face was one of stark fear.

“What did you say?” he asked, his voice as flat as his lips.

Her heart plummeted into her toes, and a roiling-twisting began in her stomach. She swallowed the sick feeling rising into her throat. What had she done to ruin the mood this time?

“I don’t know what I said,” she replied honestly. “You said it, several nights ago, as I was falling asleep.”

She could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in a nervous manner, as though he were choking on her answer.

“Why? What does it mean?” she asked, and the sickness turned to the heat of anger in a split second. Would she ever understand this man and his mercurial moods? He’d swing from left to right, hot to cold, stiff to playful in the blink of an eye, and she was getting dizzy from all the changes.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Vitali?” Mariana snapped, and he recoiled as if she’d slapped him. I should have!

“Nothing. I was just shocked to hear you say that.” This time, when he spoke, his voice was tight, his expression taut. “Let’s just forget about it.” Before she could tell him to kiss her ass, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the dispersing crowds toward a taxi stand. He opened the door to the first taxi, sat down, and dragged her in after him.

“Stop pulling on me!” Mariana shook off Vitali’s arm. “And I wish you’d stop switching from fire to ice every five seconds. I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to say or how I’m supposed to act from moment to moment, and it’s driving me fucking nuts!” Panting, her rage boiling over, she clamped her mouth shut lest she say something she’d truly regret. Instead of completing her rant, she crossed her arms over her chest, and turned to peer out the window at the temples, huts, market stands, and colorfully dressed people whizzing by.

He didn’t bother saying another word until they were back in their hotel room, and the weight of what was left unsaid was hanging over them like a thundercloud ready to douse them in acid rain.

Plunging his fingers through his hair, he strode to the bar and helped himself to a glass of Scotch. He threw it back and grimaced as the burn hit his throat. She watched, waiting, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Mariana couldn’t help the feeling of dread mounting within her, the sense that something was about to happen that would rip her world to shreds. And she hated not being in control of her emotions, her thoughts, her own fucking life—for the first time since she graduated high school.

Vitali sucked in a deep breath, turned back toward her and pinned her with cold, dull, lifeless green eyes.

“I think it’s time we take you home,” he announced, and an invisible blade pierced her chest.

“Back to Moscow?” she asked, knowing full well what he would say but hoping she was wrong.

His brows furrowing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, perhaps trying to shut out the sight of her—to brace himself for what he had to say next.

“No. Back to Chicago,” he murmured, then opened his eyes. Two green shards of ice stared back at her. “This is over.”