Page 37 of Her BRATVA Protector
I’m married. I’m married to AdamfuckingMaksimov.
Epilogue
LISA
The pub is called The Black Sheep, and it sits at the end of a cobbled street in a village whose name I cannot pronounce and have stopped trying to. Adam’s hand is on my back, steering me inside. The bell over the door clangs, every head in the room swings our way, and the place fucking detonates.
“ADAM!”
“Maksimov, ye absolutebawbag…”
“Look who’s back…”
“Aye, and he’s brought the wife…”
The group of men at the bar get on their feet, all grinning, lifting their pints. A great deal of slapping on Adam’s shoulders ensues. With huge, welcoming grins and overenthusiastic handshakes for me. Adam takes it with the same deranged grin he’s been wearing since our wedding: radiant, cocky. Not bothered in the slightest. One of his hands stays flat on my back the whole time, his thumb stroking slow circles that make me want to drag him back to bed.
“Aye, lads, mind yer manners in front of the wife.”
“Aye, weknowwho she is, ye numpty, ye’ve shown us her photo eight times…”
“Eight times since you guysgot here,hen, no exaggeratin’…”
Adam’s mouth twitches. “Baby, meet the worst of Scotland. Or the best, dependin’ what ye’re after.”
The men dissolve into loud laughter. And shouts of,aye, the best, the best!Dinnae listen to him!Adam pulls me toward a corner where his sister, Fiona, is on her feet, arms thrown wide, grinning with her entire face.
Fiona’s twenty-three, beautiful, with the same blue eyes and dark hair as her brother, and a mouth that has never once in its life held back a thing. And we clicked from the second I landed three days ago. She’s hugged me approximately forty times, asked me a thousand questions. She’s the little sister I always wanted, and I’m not giving her back.
“Lisa!” she hollers across the pub. “Get over here, we kept the corner.”
Adam drops on the bench against the back wall and pulls me down on his thigh, arm around my waist.
“Aye, look at him, lads. Cannae sit two inches off her…”
“Maksimov’s gonesoft…”
“Cannae even let the lass sit doon proper…”
“Mate, I’m married, and my wife sits on herown…”
“Aye, well, yer wife isnae…”
Adam’s hand squeezes my hip through his laughter. The whole pub laughs.
One of the guys throws his hands up. “Mate, I swear, yer lass isgorgeous,I’m only sayin’…”
Adam gives him a death stare.
I’m laughing so hard, my face hurts, sitting on my Bratva husband’s thigh in a Scottish village pub that smells like ale and wood-smoke, men I’ve known for ten minutes roasting him, his baby sister beaming at us from across the table, and Adam’s hand splayed wide and heavy on my hip.Lord,this is the best night of my life. Again. I keep having those lately. Racking them up.
Fiona slides a drink across the table. “For ye, Lis’. Try it. It’s the local. It’s grim, ye’ll hate it.” Her grin is mischievous.
“Fee, dinnae poison my wife,” Adam says, grabbing the glass and throwing it back.
“Oh, she’s tough. She marriedyou,didn’t she.”
I laugh. “Fiona.”
