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)
I show her with my body what I can’t tell her with my words, make her come over and over again, and when she’s finally worn out and asleep, I hold her tightly as I lie wide awake, my mind cycling through all the possible weak spots in my security arrangements, all the ways she could be taken from me… all the ways I could still lose her.
Like I lost Ksenia.
And my mother.
And now my father.
I shouldn’t care about the latter. Even before I learned about Ksenia’s terrible secret, we weren’t close. So it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t hurt, but it does, and I don’t fucking know why.
The funeral is tomorrow afternoon. We’ll fly out early in the morning, and then we’ll be home, the difficult days of Alina’s treatment behind us as we start our new life together as a married couple.
It’s everything I’ve always wanted, so why can’t I close my eyes and just fucking sleep?
My head is pounding as our jet touches down on our private airstrip in Moscow. I’d just finally closed my eyes when my alarm went off. The morning flew by in a blur of preparations and coordination with my security team, and then we were off. I was hoping to sleep on the plane, like Alina did, but I was too wound up.
The good news is we’ve made it to Moscow in one piece. Nobody attacked us on the way to the airport or while we were in the air—not that I was really expecting the latter. The Molotovs wouldn’t do anything to endanger their sister, I’m reasonably sure of that. Now we just need to get through the funeral, and I’ll finally be able to relax in my own bed.
With Alina.
My wife, who says she loves me.
Fuck. If I could just fully trust her, I—
“Are you okay?” Alina’s voice is soft, her eyes filled with sympathy when I meet her gaze.
Since we’re heading straight to the funeral, she’s already wearing a long-sleeved black dress, her slender, shapely legs clad in opaque black tights that disappear into high-heeled black ankle boots. It’s a simple, monochromatic outfit, but my Alinyonok looks amazing in it, as always. Her full lips are once again painted red, her green eyes are lined with the black stuff that makes them especially cat-like, and the paleness of her porcelain skin forms a dramatic contrast with her dark outfit.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, reaching over to clasp her slender hand. For now, I choose to believe that this is for real, and if it’s not, I’ll deal with it like I’ve dealt with every other obstacle my stubborn wife has thrown in our path.
She puts on a black wool coat, and then we exit the plane and go straight into an armored SUV. From there, it’s an hour’s drive to the scenic rural area my father chose as his burial site. It’s not a cemetery, just a piece of land we own. My mother is buried there too; my father didn’t want her to be among random corpses, he told me once.
The same reasoning must apply to himself.
Ruslan is already there when we arrive, having flown in separately from us in case of a Molotov attack. Other attendees include high-ranking officials and politicians, business acquaintances, and various relatives. To my surprise, the latter includes Aunt Sonia, our mother’s sister, who must’ve flown in all the way from Krasnodar. At a glance, I count at least two hundred people, but it could easily be closer to three hundred.
The priest is still getting ready, so I walk around and introduce Alina to key people. I don’t know what I expected, but my wife is pleasant and courteous, polite to everyone. There isn’t even a hint of the enmity that’s existed between our families for so long, nor any sense that she’s reluctant to be here, with me.
Real or an act?
Fuck. I can’t stop wondering.
Aunt Sonia approaches just as Vitaly Petrov, Moscow’s new mayor, is expressing his condolences. I excuse us and go give her a hug. Though she’s never been a fan of my father, she’s stayed in our lives since my mother’s passing, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
In some ways, she’s been like a second mother to me and Ruslan, and even more so to Ksenia, who spent most of her summers with her in Krasnodar.
Once she releases me from the hug, I introduce her to Alina, who seems slightly taken aback when Aunt Sonia pulls her into a hug as well. But she recovers quickly, and I’m glad to see her smiling warmly at my aunt—who’s admittedly a bit much at times.
“Oh, just look at you,” Aunt Sonia gushes, clasping Alina’s face between her palms as if my wife were a cute toddler. “You’re just as beautiful as Alexei has always told me—that short hair is the bomb on you. I’m so glad you’re feeling better too! Though you must be so tired after your long flight. You are, aren’t you?” She grabs both of Alina’s hands in hers. “You poor thing, you haven’t even had a chance to rest and change before needing to come here. Are you hungry?” She shifts her grip to Alina’s elbow. “Come, there’s a nice spread over there—”