Instead, the guests burst into applause, shouting “Kiss again! Kiss again!” as if it were a wedding.

Nadya blushed and turned away, smiling—but she didn’t pull back or try to escape. Her reaction lit a fire in him. Spartacus leaned in once more, gently lifted her chin—and kissed her again. This time slower, softer, tender.

And after that…

The taste of her lips, the scent of her skin—it haunted him all evening. He couldn’t think straight until they were finally alone. During dinner, Uncle Pasha, already tipsy, brought up the sorest subject of all: kids. He turned to the couple, slurring a little, and asked when they were planning to have children.

“We’re not in a hurry yet, Uncle Pasha,” Spartacus mumbled, slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t drunk much—he didn’t want alcohol on his breath in case tonight went… where he hoped it would.

“If you wait another year, he’ll be ten when you’re forty-one,” the old man insisted, holding up a finger like he was delivering sacred wisdom. “Think with your head. You gotta raise a kid, teach him a trade. Although—look at that one!” He waved a hand at his own son, snoring on the couch, and poured himself another shot.

Spartacus gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Styopa’s still young. There’s time. And as for us… we don’t want to crowd you here. We need our own place first,” he added, glancing at Nadya.

She looked startled, but when he winked, she relaxed and nodded gratefully.

“We’ll build something right here in the yard,” Uncle Pasha said, waving toward the window. “No need to go anywhere.”

He stumbled out to the yard, humming to himself. Spartacus scratched the back of his head. Things were getting serious. No one but him and Nadya knew their marriage was a lie. And the worst part? He didn’t want it to be a lie anymore. He wanted her. All of her. Forever. The party died down. His mother shooed Nadya off to her husband, then grabbed a neighbor to help clean up.

Nadya entered the bedroom, feeling oddly nervous—like it really was her wedding night. Spartacus was already on the bed, waiting. The moment she stepped in, he rose and walked straight to her. He pulled her close and kissed her—this time with no hesitation. His lips moved from hers to her neck. She let out a quiet gasp as he bent down, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. His eyes were wild with heat. He undressed her quickly, shedding his own clothes just as fast. She shifted, trying to pull away in embarrassment, but he immediately drew her back in, his hands firm on her hips. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her lips, then her neck, whispering soft words against her ear. And when he felt her body begin to relax under his touch, he looked into her eyes and said quietly,

“Be my wife. For real, Nadya. I love you.”

The next morning, he slid a wedding band onto her finger. He showed off his own with a grin. Nadya smiled in surprise at the gesture. Wrapped in only a sheet, she lay on the bed, while he was already dressed in his home pants. Spartacus laid back down beside her and kissed her lips.

“I always thought you’d had other guys before,” he said warmly. “I’m so glad I was wrong.”

“With my father? That would’ve been impossible,” she replied.

“Well then… next time I see him, I’ll thank him properly,” he said, and kissed her again—slowly, deeply, as his hands began to roam across her body.

From then on, they no longer hid their happiness. Spartacus couldn’t pass by his wife without a kiss—or at least a gentle touch, a caress, a glance. Nadya’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.