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)
“Even with this?” she asks with a wry smile.
“Especially with that.”
As beautiful as her long hair was, it stole some focus from the striking perfection of her features. Now there’s nothing to distract the eye from the stunning symmetry of her bone structure and the sensual lushness of her lips. Not that I’d object if she grew out her hair again—she can do whatever she wants with her appearance.
No makeup, clothing, or hairstyle can change how utterly addicted I am to my wife.
Who, it seems, is finally warming up to me.
That thought is like a soothing balm over the raw anger inside me, and I calm further when Alina casually rests her hand on the crook of my elbow as we exit the building and head down the street. My guards follow, some discreetly, others less so. More of them are stationed throughout the neighborhood, snipers strategically positioned at windows and on roofs, ready for anything—such as an assault by Alina’s brothers, whom I don’t trust one bit. I’m armed to the teeth as well, just in case.
As we walk through the tourist-packed streets toward the waterfront, I ask Alina if there are any places she particularly likes in the city, given that she’s been here before. She tells me about a coffee shop she enjoys, and we stop by there to get a pastry and a cup of matcha latte—the latter with oat milk, as per her new diet plan. The pastry is not on the approved foods list, but the dietician said that occasional treats are okay, and I figure this falls into that category. I get one for myself as well, along with a black coffee, and we consume it all while strolling along Promenade du Lac and debating the merits of the Alps in the summer versus the winter.
It’s the closest thing to a date I’ve had with my wife, and I’m not surprised to find myself enjoying the fuck out of it. This is what our courtship should’ve been like, what I’d envisioned when I arranged our betrothal. I figured as our official engagement announcement approached, we’d get to know each other by going out to dinner and the movies, hitting up museums and art galleries, all the normal things. But Alina’s attitude toward me and our union, combined with her brothers’ hatred of my family, made it impossible, as did the awful tragedy of her parents’ deaths when she was nineteen. From that point on, all I could do was hope that once I made her my wife, she’d come around. And now that it’s looking like she has, I’m over the fucking moon—or I would be, if not for the lingering discordant echo in my mind after the conversation with my father.
I do my best to forget it as we continue on, discussing everything from the latest happenings in Moscow to the progress Slava has made with his English. Hearing about the latter is bittersweet for me. I miss my nephew. I wish I could see him grow up instead of hearing about it secondhand. Maybe one day, Nikolai will bring him to Moscow for a visit, and I’ll see him in person again. The odds of them inviting me to Nikolai’s compound in Idaho after my forcible retrieval of Alina are somewhere between zero and negative ten.
We’ve just stopped by a monument to watch a yacht pass by when an unfamiliar female voice calls out, “Alina?”
I whip my head around to see a tall, lanky blonde with facial piercings staring at us with wide blue eyes from some dozen meters away.
“Alina?” she repeats, coming toward us, and I realize who she is. I saw her in the footage my security team pulled up after the incident in the hostel.
It’s the young woman Alina stayed with when she ran away, the one she told me was not a witness to Alina’s self-defense efforts—a fact the cameras confirmed by showing her leaving the hostel an hour prior.
“Birgit?” Alina exclaims, extricating her hand from my elbow and switching to English. “I had no idea you were still in town!”
“And I had no idea you were here either. You just up and disappeared on me!” She sounds way more accusing than the length of their acquaintance warrants, and I narrow my eyes as I observe their interaction.
While Alina was recovering after the surgery, I had my security team look into this woman, and off-hand, I don’t recall anything too concerning in her file—though there was a mention of a brief relationship with a girl in college.
Could that be it?
Did she view my wife as more than a potential friend?
Motherfucker. Did something happen between them in that dingy hotel room?
“Oh, fuck. Your hair…” Birgit sounds shocked as she stops in front of us—close enough for me to slice open her carotid artery with the blade in my pocket. Her gaze jumps to my face for the first time, and she blanches at whatever she sees there, smartly backing up a couple of steps. But she regroups quickly, refocusing on Alina. “That diagnosis you mentioned…” Her gaze drops to Alina’s stomach. “Are you—”