Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Alexei is waiting impatiently when I emerge. “We need to take our seats. Let’s go.”
Before I can reply, he shepherds me into the main cabin of the plane. It’s spacious and luxurious, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Like my family, the Leonovs are obscenely rich and have never shied away from using their wealth.
Ruslan, Alexei’s younger brother, looks up from his laptop when we take our seats next to him. His storm-gray eyes are uncharacteristically gentle as he meets my gaze. “Hey,” he says softly. “How are you doing?”
A couple of days ago, I would’ve snapped back with something sarcastic along the lines of, “How do you think?” But I don’t have the energy for belligerence, and there’s something so genuine in the concern on his hard features that my chest pinches with unwelcome emotion.
“I’m okay,” I mumble and focus on buckling myself in so I don’t do something embarrassing, like start crying again. I know Ruslan doesn’t truly care about me—he probably hates me, in fact—but he does care about his brother and what my diagnosis means for him… and illogically, so do I.
Alexei shouldn’t have manipulated our families into betrothing us when I was fifteen. He shouldn’t have stalked me for a decade or stormed my brother’s Idaho compound to force me into marriage. And he certainly shouldn’t have impregnated me against my will. But he has done all those things, and it was because he wanted me. Some fantasy version of me, I’m still convinced of that, but regardless, as much as I resent him for everything he’s done, I also can’t help but empathize.
It must be terrible to want something so badly and then to finally acquire it, only to have it snatched away from you by a cruel whim of fate… almost as terrible as not wanting something, having it forced upon you, and belatedly realizing you’d do anything to keep it.
My hand unconsciously covers my stomach, and I look up to find Ruslan staring at it. Flushing again, I move my hand away and fix my gaze on the circular window. I’m sure Alexei’s brother is fully informed of the situation, but I still don’t feel right broadcasting my barely-there pregnancy, especially given where it’s heading.
Outside, the thick cloud cover is receding to reveal the postcard-pretty Lake Geneva and the peaks of the snowy Alps. Normally, I’d enjoy the view, but now, I just close my eyes and listen to the changing hum of the engines as our descent steepens.
A big male hand covers mine on the armrest, and I know without looking that it’s Alexei lending me his warmth and strength. The sucky part is, I need it. His touch chases away some of the cold dread suffocating me, and a part of me wishes we were back on the yacht, just us and the endless ocean, back in the good old days when he was my biggest enemy, my worst fear.
I keep my eyes closed as I hear the screeching rumble of the wheels emerging from the belly of the jet and feel a soft jolt as said wheels make contact with the runway.
This is it.
We have arrived.
Within minutes, we disembark at a small private airport, where a luxury electric SUV is waiting for us. Alexei helps me into the back seat while Ruslan goes to sit up front with the driver, and then we’re on our way, the car’s smooth, soundless ride perversely aggravating.
I want jolts and bumps, the roar of a motor, anything to distract me from where we’re going and what’s going to happen there.
As if reading my mind, Alexei lays a hand on my thigh. “It’s going to be okay.” His voice is low and steady. “They won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” His dark gaze is unwavering as his eyes catch mine.
A tiny bit of tension drains out of me. I don’t know why that promise makes a difference, but it does. I still don’t want to be his wife, still resent him for binding us together against my will, but there’s something perversely reassuring in knowing that he still wants me, that he’s not afraid to face this horror with me.
He keeps his hand on my leg for the rest of the ride, and I don’t pull away. To distract myself from what’s coming, I keep my gaze trained on his hand, studying the imperfect ovals of his short, bluntly filed nails, the small scars on the edges of his callused fingers, the veins underneath his darkly tanned skin. It’s a strong, rough hand, one capable of terrifying brutality… and even more terrifying tenderness.
Finally, we’re there, parking in front of a pretty four-story building that looks like it was built a few centuries ago. I blink and finally look around. I’ve been to Geneva more than once, and though I don’t know exactly where we are, the cobblestone streets and the presence of tourists tells me we’re not far from the popular Old Town area.