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)
“It was grown in the purest organic soil in the best greenhouse in Moscow,” Alexei informs her. “Harvested this morning and delivered straight here to ensure maximum freshness.” He catches my gaze. “Try it, Alinyonok. It may surprise you.”
I heave a sigh. “All right.” Kale, I can tolerate, but these bitter greens… Still, I shovel in a forkful of salad, if only to show that I’m on Alexei’s side in this argument. I do not want to have to eat cabbage soup that’s mostly lard; I still have awful memories of my late grandmother, my dad’s mom, force-feeding me her version of this Russian classic when I was three or four.
The salad is surprisingly good. The miso-based dressing is sweet and savory, masking the bitterness of the greens, and chunks of orange and avocado lend acidity and creaminess to the dish.
It’s as flavorful as anything served in a top restaurant, and I tell Alexei as much.
He squeezes my hand where it rests on the table. “I’m glad you like it. I made it myself.”
I’m not surprised—Alexei has been cooking all our meals lately, as if reluctant to entrust my nutrition to anyone else—but Ruslan and Sonia express their disbelief.
“What about the rest of the meal?” Ruslan asks, gesturing at the artfully arranged dishes all over the table. “Surely Vika was involved? She’s still your chef, right?”
“She’s visiting her family in Chukotka right now,” Alexei says. “But yes, when she returns, I expect she’ll resume cooking for us.”
I’m not so sure that’s true. I think Alexei may be enjoying doing this on his own. More than one morning, I’ve caught him looking up new healthy recipes and tinkering with the ones the dietician provided. I suspect this newfound hobby may be his way of dealing with his worry about my health, especially the fear of my cancer returning—a fear I very much share but am handling by beginning a new, doctor-approved exercise routine and working on my video game.
I also started therapy this week.
I’ve only had one session so far, so I can’t say if it’s helped one way or another, but I’m willing to give it a shot. The therapist, an older woman with the kindest face imaginable, got my entire life story out of me during our two-hour initial meeting, and then she assigned me homework—breathing exercises and a very specific kind of journal, one in which I’m supposed to write out my worst fears and what would happen if they came true. I think the idea is to make me see that I’m capable of surviving whatever curveball life throws my way.
The thing is, I already believe that I am. The cancer has left me weaker physically—something I’m working on with the new exercise routine—but mentally, I’m in a better place than I was before the diagnosis. A healthier place. I still experience worry and fear, grief and pain, but I no longer let the negative emotions weigh me down to the point that I need to seek escape in pills.
Maybe it’s because that which I once feared most—marriage to Alexei—has turned out to be the best thing in my life.
Every morning, I open my eyes to find him watching me. It’s both creepy and exhilarating, this unconcealed obsession of his. I no longer have any doubt that he wants me. He’s almost always touching me, even if it’s just a casual hand on my knee, and we’re rarely apart. Even when I’m deeply absorbed in coding, I’m aware of him casually sitting next to me, busy with his own work. And even though I’m feeling infinitely better these days, he insists on taking care of me, doing everything from cooking for me to helping me unpack and organize all the things I’ve had moved here from my Moscow penthouse.
Our sex life is also off the charts—not that I’m surprised by that. Now that I’m regaining my health, Alexei seems determined to make up for all those years of abstinence on his part. We have sex multiple times a day, to the point that I’m often sore and aching. At times, it’s quick and rough; at other times, it’s a tender, drawn-out lovemaking where he worships every part of my body and leaves me a boneless lump in the aftermath. Frequently, he pushes me to my limits and beyond, yet I’m always left craving more at the end. More of the extreme sensations and more of him.
Alexei is my new drug, and there’s no saving me from this addiction.
My brothers seem determined to try, however. They don’t believe me when I tell them, over and over, that I want to stay with him. Each time they visit, they try to get me to give them the green light for whatever plan they’ve hatched for my “rescue”—a green light that I refuse to give, and not just because I’m afraid of the potential bloodshed, as before.