She laughed, the sound soft and more enticing than he was sure she meant it to be. “I guess.”
“It might be a good idea to come clean before some enterprising reporter does it for you.”
“I guess,” she said again, not sounding nearly as amused or enthusiastic.
“As much as you enjoy being Maddie Grace, Madison Beck will be able to effect more widespread change and influence.” Just giving Madison his last name verbally was satisfying in a way Viktor didn’t understand or analyze.
“But will she get to teach a first-grader how to read?”
“Yes. That’s what the charter school is about, right? Helping children one-on-one.”
“It is.” He could hear the smile in Madison’s voice.
“So Grace for Romi Grayson?”
“No, my grandmother Madison.”
“That’s right.” He’d forgotten.
“You don’t mind?”
He pulled into a parking spot on the side of the road, wanting to have this conversation face-to-face. Cutting the engine, he turned to face her.
Brown eyes stared back at him and he frowned. “Can you take those out?”
“What? Oh...” Comprehension dawned.
She pulled a small case from her backpack, so different than the trendy designer bags he usually saw her wear, and proceeded to take out and store away the contacts.
“This persona, she’s more you than the famous designer wedding dress?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I just really love my Chanel, you know?” Madison’s pretty bow lips twisted in a wry grimace. “I like to pretend that I couldn’t care less about the latest fashions and keep up with them just to be Madison Archer, but the truth is? I like both.”
He nodded. Not because he understood. He wore tailored designer suits as a sign of power, not because he thought about how they looked. But because he was glad Madison Archer, soon to be Madison Beck, wasn’t someone she didn’t want to be.
“So, the question was do I mind? Yes?”
Madison’s beautiful blue eyes shone at him. “Yes.”
“Do I mind that I am going to marry a woman who cares so much about helping others she has created an alternate persona so she can do it? No, Madison. I do not mind at all.”
Giving in to the urge that seemed to grow with each passing day, Viktor leaned across the console and kissed Madison.
He lifted his mouth to say, “In fact, I think it’s amazing.”
Madison sighed and leaned back into the kiss, delight radiating off of her and twisting its way around Viktor’s heart.
* * *
Viktor’s deda and babulya had them over for dinner a couple of days later and dropped their own bombshell.
Stunned at his grandparents’ request, Viktor could only ask, “You want us to what?”
“When we moved here, we gave up all the old ways,” Misha said. “We changed our last name from Bezukladnikov to Beck—we even changed our baby boy’s name from Ivan to Frank. Very American.”
“I know all this.” It was family history he had shared with Madison years ago.
Her lovely face expressed memory of the event too. Viktor just didn’t understand why his deda felt the need to rehash those realities now.
“We did not speak Russian in our home. We encouraged our little Ivan to become fully American.” Babulya’s voice broke on his father’s original name. “Frank, who spoke without an accent and did all the things the other children at school did.”
“You wanted him to embrace and be embraced by his new homeland,” Madison offered in understanding while Viktor reeled with alien confusion.
His grandmother smiled appreciatively. “Exactly, but we gave away too much and he became the man he is today.”
“A flake. You can say it, Babulya.” Vik frowned with frustration, really not liking the idea his beloved grandparents were trying to take responsibility for his father’s lifetime of selfish and poor choices. “My dad is a deadbeat.”
“Do not speak of your father that way,” Misha said, but with little heat.
Viktor didn’t argue, but he didn’t promise not to, either. He couldn’t.
Madison looked at him with something far more attractive than compassion. Her eyes glowed that way they did when she called him her white knight. Viktor had no clue what in this particular situation would put that look on her face, but he would not question the obvious lack of the one emotion he hated above all others.
Pity.
His babulya’s eyes usually filled with a tranquility he’d always relied on, but now shimmered with regret. “We think we let go of too many traditions and he felt himself cast adrift.”
“Oh, for...” Viktor clenched his jaw to bite back the first words that came to his mind. “Dad did not become a con artist because he didn’t have a traditional Russian wedding. The one right and good thing he did in his life was his marriage to my mom.”