Spartacus now worked in an auto shop in a nearby village. He had quit the underground fights and had to work hard to support the family. Slowly, he was saving up, planning to eventually move to the city. But lately, he was no longer sure that’s what he wanted. More and more, he realized that home—this home—was pulling him back.
Vera, Klavdiya, other girls… they no longer mattered. He didn’t even notice them anymore. He kept thinking about her. About Nadya. His wife.
“Oh, great… just what I need,” he muttered under his breath with a sigh.
At work, the guys forced him to put out some drinks to celebrate. They teased him about the wedding, so he had to shell out a bit. By the time he came home, he was already a little tipsy—though he tried not to show it.
Nadya had decorated the house with balloons and flowers, starting from the gate. He hadn’t expected anything special, but as soon as he stepped through the door, confetti popped and streamers filled the air. The family—and a few invited neighbors—burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday!”
He stood there, stunned. Nothing like this had ever happened in his life. The dark winter evening lit up with colorful lights and music. The feast was fit for royalty. He started to sweat from the attention.
And then Nadya walked up to him—dressed in a simple but lovely dress, her jet-black hair falling loose around her shoulders. After the group greeting, she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. But Spartacus bent toward her, wrapped an arm around her waist—and kissed her on the lips instead. The alcohol had made him brave enough to finally do what he’d been dreaming of for months. It was a short but burning kiss. Nadya’s eyes flew open, wide with surprise. But Spartacus didn’t pull away. He kept his arms around her, watching for a reaction—expecting a slap, a scolding, anything.
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.