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)
Alina is already hurrying past me to the indicated bathroom by the reception, her face pink as she avoids looking at either of the doctors. Fasseau goes after her, and I let Ingels show me where the other bathroom is.
Maybe it’s all the endorphins from our impromptu encounter in the dressing room, or maybe it’s the fact that she initiated said encounter, but I feel better. I feel… optimistic. No, that’s not it. I feel certain that everything will work out—that Alina will get well, and that she’ll grow to love me, as I’ve always known she would.
We just have to get through this surgery and whatever comes afterward.
Once inside the small, impeccably modern bathroom, I clean up the best I can and splash cold water on my face to fight off another wave of tiredness. I’m not going to rest until after Alina’s surgery is done. If she’s going to be awake while her skull is cut open, then fuck knows, so will I.
I will hold her hand through it all, and I will be by her bedside when she wakes for good.
Exiting, I tell Ingels to bring me to Alina. I assume, being a woman, she needs a little longer to clean up than I do.
He leads me to the bathroom by the entrance, and then we wait. And wait. And fucking wait.
After a couple more minutes, I turn to Ingels. “Where’s your colleague? Did he already take her in for the scan?”
Ingels frowns. “Maybe.” He steps up to the bathroom door and knocks on it lightly. “Mrs. Leonov? Are you in there?”
No answer.
“I guess he must’ve taken her there already,” Ingels says, looking a bit puzzled. “Let’s go.”
I follow him down the hallway again, a peculiar unease stirring in my chest. We find Fasseau in the MRI room, talking to two techs.
It doesn’t look like the machine is running—and Alina is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s my wife?” I ask sharply.
Fasseau turns to face me. “Oh, Mr. Leonov, hello. I was just wondering that myself. I asked Miss Weiss, our receptionist, to escort her here when she’s done. Is she not in the—”
I’m already running. No, I’m sprinting for the bathroom by the reception. It takes me only seconds to cover the distance at this speed, and then I’m pounding on the bathroom door and rattling the doorknob—which won’t fucking give.
“Mr. Leonov! Please, Mr. Leonov, let us get the key!”
The shouts of the doctors reach me just as I step back and slam my foot into the bathroom door, causing it to creak and crack. I kick it again, ignoring the shock of pain radiating up my leg, and the door flies open, squeaking as it hangs partially off the hinges. The doctors gasp at the destruction, as does the young receptionist who’s hurried over to watch the spectacle, but I don’t give a fuck.
Contrary to my worst fears, there’s no Alina lying passed out inside.
There’s nothing but a small open window looking out onto the tourist-filled street.
Chapter 3
Alina
My heart drums in a dizzying beat as I walk fast, passing two tour groups. I still can’t believe I’m out here, on the streets of Geneva… that I escaped.
I didn’t plan on it.
I didn’t even think it was possible.
When I entered the small bathroom to clean up, escape was the last thing on my mind. But there was that small open window, and suddenly, it dawned on me that I was in Geneva. Not in the middle of the Pacific, stuck on a yacht with no way out. Not in some heavily armed compound in Russia, where Alexei will likely have me reside.
No, I was in a regular medical facility in the middle of Old Town Geneva, and this was my chance.
I didn’t think twice about it. I didn’t analyze the consequences and implications. I just climbed up on the windowsill, wriggled my head and shoulders through the opening, and tumbled out, hands first, onto the cobblestone street.
Now my palms are scraped, and one wrist may or may not be sprained, but I have escaped.
I am free.
I turn the corner, heading for the lakefront. I don’t know where I’m going, but my instinct is to stay with the crowds, to blend in as much as possible. A clothing store appears to my right, and I hurry in there, only to remember that I don’t have my wallet or phone or anything that would allow me to pay—or to contact my brothers.
That is… assuming I want to contact my brothers.
I stop in front of a stylishly dressed mannequin, suddenly nauseated as the headache returns, squeezing my temples in a brutal vise. The initial euphoria of my impromptu escape is wearing off, and I’m realizing that I’m not out of the woods. Far from it.
For one thing, I’m less than five blocks from the clinic, and Alexei could find me at any moment. But even if I were to miraculously evade him and return to my family, what am I going to do if Alexei goes back on his word and comes after Nikolai and Slava again? Technically, I upheld our bargain by marrying him, but what if that’s not how he sees it? Not to mention, he could come after my other brothers in an effort to get me back. Assuming he’d want me back, given the diagnosis.