Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            The driver must have finally caught on to her reluctance to converse, because he turned up the radio and settled into his driving. Elena returned her attention to the passing scenery. She didn’t recognize much of it. In the few months she lived with Vlad after they got married, they’d rarely gone out together beyond the borders of the suburb where he lived.

            But when the Uber driver took the exit, things started to look more familiar. Big trees and wide lawns on twisty-turny streets protected the rich and famous from the riffraff that might wander in without permission. When she joined Vlad in America—her visa was delayed, so she didn’t join him until a few weeks after they were married—she had expected a nice house because he was a professional athlete. Everyone knew that American athletes made a lot of money, and he’d already been playing here for a year. But when he’d pulled into his long, tree-lined driveway and she saw his soaring brick house for the first time, her mouth dropped open, her voice reduced to a useless squeak. A girl from Omsk could never imagine such grandeur.

            The effect was different this time when the Uber driver pulled in. The magic was gone.

            “Wow,” the driver said. “Nice place. Is your friend famous or something?”

            It was a safe assumption. Nashville’s suburbs were home to the world’s biggest country music stars. “He’s done well for himself,” Elena offered, opening her own door.

            The driver got out and went around to the back to get her suitcase. He set it on the paved driveway, and Elena thanked him as she hoisted her backpack on her shoulder. As the driver pulled away, she tipped him on the app and then climbed the cement steps to the small front porch. The door was black and flanked by two long windowpanes. The first time she’d come here, she’d been afraid to look inside as Vlad unlocked the door. Her stomach had churned and twisted as he opened the door and stepped aside for her to go in first. Her shoes had echoed on the glossy floor in the cavernous entryway, but his were a soft, gentle thud as he came up behind her.

            “Welcome home.” His voice was a honey glaze, warm and sweet and soft.

            In her peripheral vision, she saw him lift his hand as if to touch her. She moved away.

            Elena shook off the memory and pushed open the door. Not much had changed. The same decorative table that had been there before was still there, still a deposit for loose change and mail and other odds and ends from his pockets at the end of the day. Pulling her suitcase behind her, Elena walked toward the wide staircase that bisected the entryway. Ahead was the kitchen. To the left was a large living room with a fireplace and a wall of bookshelves. To the right was a dining room with French doors leading to a covered patio. Her first night there all those years ago, he’d ordered takeout and set it out on the patio with candles. She’d taken her plate and eaten in her room.

            “Who the hell are you?”

            Elena let out a startled shriek and slapped a hand to her chest. At the end of the hallway, a gray-haired woman with a deep scowl stood with her hands on her hips and a massive dog at her side. The black Newfoundland let out a thunderous bark and launched into a gallop toward Elena. She barely had time to stretch out her palms to ward off the coming attack before the dog jumped and planted his paws on her shoulders. Elena collided with the railing to the staircase as she stumbled under his weight. With another loud woof, the dog dragged his long tongue up the side of her face.

            “I said, who the hell are you and what are you doing in Vlad’s house?” the old woman demanded.

            “Can you please call off your dog?” Elena begged. She loved dogs. All dogs. In fact, she preferred dogs to most humans. But this one could fit her whole head in his mouth, and she wasn’t sure if the licking meant I love you or I’m going to eat you.

            “It’s not my dog,” the woman said.

            “Well, whose is it?” Elena asked. Had Vlad gotten a dog and not told her about it? She thought his rejection in the hospital stung, but not telling her that he’d adopted a pet would be an outright fuck you.

            “I’m not answering any of your questions until I know who you are,” the old woman argued. “Are you some kind of stalker? One of those lunatic groupies who chase after famous athletes or whatever? How did you even get in here?” She spoke over her shoulder. “Call the police, Linda.”

            Elena snapped out of her stunned state. “I don’t think so,” she said, gently pushing the dog away. He dropped all four paws to the floor and wagged his bushy tail. Elena gave him a tentative pat on the head and sidestepped him to face the intruder at the end of the hallway. “I will be calling the police.”