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

            A bubble of laughter found its way north as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “What were you going to do?”

            She sucked in a breath and stood tall. Then, in a clear but shaky voice, she said, “ ‘Bound for your distant home, you were leaving alien lands. In an hour as sad as I’ve known, I wept over your hands.’ ”

            The champagne bubbles rose all the way to his eyes and began to pop and fizz until a sheen of water formed across his vision. She was reciting the first stanza of another Pushkin poem, “Bound for Your Distant Home.”

            “Elena,” he whispered.

            In a breathy, smoky voice, she continued the story, a tortured tale of two lovers exiled from each other, surviving only on a futile fantasy of seeing each other again and sharing a long-awaited kiss. To Vlad, the poem had always felt despairing, forlorn and full of loss. But now, hearing it from Elena’s voice as she stood in his doorway, finally home and gazing at him with tears and the promise of something more in her eyes, the words became symphonic, the message hopeful. In her voice, there was nothing futile about having faith in a fantasy of finding each other once more.

            A whimper stole from Vlad’s chest, and he tugged her close again. As he buried his face against her shoulder, her hands threaded into his hair. She held him like that, cradled him, as she whispered the remaining lines of poetry until she reached a fevered verse about a sweet kiss at last.

            He couldn’t take it anymore. Vlad lifted his head and repeated the words with her. Then her hands came around to cup his cheeks, and she kissed him.

            Oh, how she kissed him. Slid her hand around the back of his neck, drew his mouth the rest of the way to hers, and breathed in the little sigh he made when he slanted and slid into her. She moaned low in her throat, and he was gone. Just like that. Gone. He dug his fingers into her back and poured all the longing and sweetness and fireworks he felt into his kiss. Their pose was awkward because of his crutches, but it didn’t matter. Their mouths mingled and merged in a sensual conversation that was six years in the making.

            He reached behind her and swung the door shut. Then he wrenched his mouth away to suck in a breath. If he could, he’d carry her upstairs right then, but Malcolm’s reminder was fresh in his mind. They needed to talk. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

            It took a giant’s dose of willpower to remove his lips from her body, to set her apart from him, to grab hold of his crutches instead. She followed closely to the patio outside. The guys had set it up exactly as he instructed. Candles flickered on the table. Their plates were set for dinner, which was warming in the oven, and on her plate was a wrapped present he should have given her a long time ago.

            When she saw it all, her hand fluttered to her mouth. “It’s just like . . .”

            “Your first night here. I wanted to try it again, since I screwed it up so badly the first time.”

            “No, you didn’t. It was me.”

            He nodded toward her seat. “Open your present.”

            Elena’s heels clicked quietly on the concrete patio as she walked to the table. She picked up the gift, the paper now dusty and faded. As she peeled away the tape, the paper fell away and revealed a picture frame.

            She bit her lip. “Where did you get this?” She slowly sat down in her chair, staring at the photo.

            He made his way to his own seat next to her and sat down. He set the crutches on the ground and stretched his leg out under the table. “My mom took it.”

            The picture was from their wedding just after his father had offered a toast. The moment was seared in his memory. He and Elena stood next to each other, and halfway through his father’s speech, Elena had looped her arm through his and leaned into him. Surprised by the affection, he’d looked down to find her smiling up at him. For one split second, it all felt real. And somehow, his mother had captured it in a snapshot.

            “Do you remember what I said to you when you walked down the aisle?”

            “That I looked beautiful.”

            He lifted a corner of his lips. “After that.”

            “You said everything was going to be okay.”

            “I promised you.” His voice wobbled. “I haven’t kept that promise.”