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)
As soon as we enter, the nurses have me change into a hospital gown, and then Fasseau informs me that they’ll need to shave off a portion of my hair in order to perform the craniotomy.
“It won’t be as much as usual,” he says in a reassuring tone. “Our team tries to spare most of the hair by removing just a few strands around the incision and thoroughly washing the scalp to prevent infection. We understand that for women with long hair like yours, it can be—”
“Won’t I lose it anyway with chemo?”
Fasseau looks uncomfortable. “Yes, most likely, but—”
“Then just shave it all off. I want to get it over with.”
I don’t look at Alexei as I say this. I don’t want to see his reaction. If, despite all of his insistence to the contrary, he finds me repulsive with a bald head, it’s better if he walks away now, before I grow even more reliant on him.
Before I lose sight of how it all began and why we shouldn’t be together.
Fasseau shoots a helpless look at Ingels and the rest of his colleagues before turning his attention back to me. “Mrs. Leonov, are you sure about this? There’s a chance, albeit a small one, that chemo won’t be required—”
“Do as she says.” Alexei’s tone is harsh, but when he clasps my hand in his, his grip is extraordinarily gentle, as if he’s afraid I’ll break. “Shave it all off. Now.”
Fasseau pales. “As you wish.” He motions to the nurses, then pauses and turns to me. “Mrs. Leonov… you have such beautiful hair. Would you perhaps like to have a wig made of it?”
“No.” My answer is unequivocal. For some reason, the idea of wearing my own hair as a wig is giving me the willies. “Just get rid of it, please. Or… give it to someone.”
Fasseau’s eyes brighten. “Are you sure? If you’re certain you wouldn’t mind, we’d love to use your hair to make a wig for one of our pediatric patients. Her hair was almost exactly the same color and length as yours before she lost it, and she’s been devastated about it.”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “Of course I don’t mind. Please go ahead.”
Just the idea of a child going through this… If I can lessen her pain in some small way, it’s worth losing my hair a thousand times over.
A minute later, I’m seated in front of a mirror in the attached bathroom as one of the nurses shaves my hair with buzzing clippers, being careful to collect the falling strands into a bag as Alexei watches from the corner behind her.
She’s extremely methodical about it, doing her best to preserve nearly all of the length, and for some reason, the experience is not nearly as traumatic as I imagined. Maybe it’s because I know this will brighten a child’s day, or maybe because, after everything, I simply can’t bring myself to care about something as shallow as my appearance.
It’s odd, but something inside me appears to have shifted. I don’t know if it’s the man I killed or the baby I lost, but I no longer feel like myself.
“All done,” the nurse says cheerfully, and I blink, realizing I zoned out.
Though I’ve been facing the mirror the entire time, I somehow forgot to look at my reflection. So I look now—and I don’t entirely hate what I see.
Bemused, I raise my hand and touch the fuzzy stubble covering my skull.
It feels… pleasantly prickly.
And tickly.
Also, my head is a bit cold.
My eyes meet Alexei’s in the mirror. His gaze is demon dark and intense. And… filled with heat?
I blink, certain I’ve misconstrued his expression.
But no. The way he’s staring at me is raising the temperature in the small bathroom by about a thousand degrees.
I flush, no longer the least bit cold as he steps up to me from the back, forcing the nurse to step aside. Lifting his hand, he runs it over my shaved skull, the warmth of his big, callused palm perversely making me shiver.
His voice is a soft, raspy rumble as he bends down to murmur into my ear, “I fucking love it.”
The nurse clears her throat uncomfortably.
Ignoring her, he straightens and pulls me to my feet to face him. Clasping my face between his palms, he bends his head and slants his lips over mine in a raw, animalistic kiss that leaves me wet and trembling—and desperately wishing we were elsewhere.
“Um… excuse me…” The nurse’s voice is high and more than a little squeaky. “We have to prep Mrs. Leonov for surgery now.”
Alexei reluctantly straightens, ending the kiss, but his hands remain on my face, his gaze dark and scorching… and deeply worried.
I see the concern behind the heat, the fear that he can’t quite mask, and for some reason, it makes me calmer. More resolved.