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 simply can’t bear the thought of being apart from Alexei… even though he still hasn’t told me he loves me.
I try not to let it get to me. After all, some men just have trouble with that word, that very concept. And not just men. If it weren’t for my illness, it would’ve taken me much longer to come around, to accept my feelings and the vulnerability that inevitably accompanies them. Staring my own mortality in the face helped me let go of the decade of denial, of the fear of repeating my mother’s errors and enduring her fate.
If I hadn’t gotten cancer, Alexei and I might still be at odds with each other. At the very least, it would’ve been much harder for me to see him as anything more than a cruel puppet master—an aspect of his personality that is still very much there but that I no longer view as solely negative.
If anything, I’m grateful for his machinations now.
After all, they brought us together.
By the end of the third week, we’re fully settled in, and I invite Natasha to our house for lunch. It’s just us girls—Alexei left for a business meeting—and I relish the ability to catch up undisturbed with my childhood friend.
“So, you and Alexei Leonov, huh?” she says after we’re done squealing over each other’s hairstyles—hers a sleek blond bob, mine now something approaching a cute pixie cut. “I knew it!”
I was leading her to the kitchen, where the sushi I ordered is waiting, but at her words, I stop in my tracks. “You did? How?”
Though I consider Natasha my best friend, I never told her about my betrothal to Alexei or our complicated, decade-long cat-and-mouse relationship. As far as she or any of our friends in Moscow knew, Alexei and I were less-than-friendly acquaintances, nothing more.
She bites her lip. “Remember that weird ring you got at my house when we were fourteen or something? You never told me what that was about, but I heard Lyudmila talking about it on the phone later. It was from him, wasn’t it? He was ‘AL?’” Before I can confirm or deny, she presses on. “And the way you two were all buddy-buddy at my gala right before you disappeared on us? Yeah, that was a dead giveaway. Not to mention—” She stops.
“Not to mention what?”
She gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, there were rumors about the two of you. Ever since your eighteenth-birthday party. People said they saw him give you what looked like an engagement ring, and then you two had a fight or something. Next thing we know, your parents are telling everyone that you felt sick and had to leave early.”
“I did feel sick.”
“Right.” She flaps her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’ve suspected things for a while now. A lot of people have. And in my case”—she grimaces—“I more than suspected. I… knew.”
I frown. “What?”
What does that mean, she knew?
Color creeps up her cheeks. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but Alexei sort of… forbade it. But since the two of you are married now, I figure it’s all good.” She grips my hands. “It is, right? You’re not mad?”
“Mad about what?” I ask, even though I already have a suspicion. An ugly one.
Her grip on my hands tightens. “All I did was answer some of his questions, I swear. Harmless stuff—like what kind of shampoo you liked, what size shoes you wore, what skincare you used. Just basic things about you. I thought it was sweet that he wanted to please you, you know?”
I pull my hands away. “You… spied on me for Alexei?”
“No!” Her color heightens. “I just answered his questions, that’s all. He told me you two had a secret on-again, off-again thing going on, and it made so much sense—why you never dated anyone and never told me anything. It was because of your families, right? They were business rivals and all that?”
“You mean like Romeo and Juliet? Is that what he told you we were?”
“Kind of. You’re not mad, are you?” She gives me a pleading look. “Please tell me you’re not mad. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but Alexei said you’d be mad and not want to talk to me.”
I stare at her, my mind whirling. This explains a little mystery that’s been nibbling at me: how Alexei knew what brands of makeup I preferred and so on. On the yacht, I’d offhandedly wondered how he knew so much about me, whether he’d somehow snuck some cameras into my penthouse despite all the security measures or bribed some of our staff. But this—simply asking my best friend about my likes and dislikes—is something I’d never imagined he’d do.
Mostly because I couldn’t imagine Natasha would answer him and not tell me.
Why would she do that?