Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
The closer we get, the more he’ll start to notice the changes in me. I’ll have to come clean that I’m pregnant with his baby and I’ve known since before his mom’s stroke. It was easier to justify keeping the secret when he was just my boss. Now it feels much more complicated.
He shifts beside me, nuzzling closer, and I hold my breath as his lips brush the top of my shoulder.
“You still awake?” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and thick with sleep.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just thinking.”
He lifts his head, eyes glinting in the low light of the room, and for a moment, it’s like he’s searching my soul for an answer I’m not ready to give him. Then he leans in and kisses my temple before settling back against the pillow, his arm tightening around me.
I feel safe and warm, possibly even loved. It certainly feels like love, even though I know that can’t be right. Not yet, at least. But it’s enough to make the guilt twist inside me like a knife.
He has no idea what I’m keeping from him.
I’m scared. Not of Sergei, of course, though he’s definitely got his own secrets. Seeing Sasha beaten within an inch of his life was proof enough of that. He’s trying to keep a huge part of himself hidden from me.
How do we recover from that? Is it a lack of trust in me, or is his lifestyle really so terrible that he doesn’t want to show it to me? Not knowing has to be so much worse than the truth. My mind has been running wild the last few days trying to imagine what could possibly have led to Sasha getting so messed up. None of the options have been particularly comforting, but at least they would provide some clarity.
But then I think about this baby. It took me a while to even get used to the idea of being a mom. And now that I have, it’s hard to imagine letting anyone else into our little circle. Even Sergei. Because his secret could affect our child and I only want the best for this little life inside me.
He deserves to know, and I’m painfully aware of it. But we have a serious trust issue. The thing is, I trust him with my body. I even trust him with my heart, even if I haven’t admitted that out loud.
But do I trust him with my life? With my child’s life? Those are much heavier questions.
He stirs again beside me, and I freeze, thinking maybe I’ve woken him. But he only sighs, murmuring something in Russian as he buries his face in my hair. I don’t know what he said, but even hearing his voice causes something in me to relax. I’m falling for him, starting to feel more at home with him. If I’m not careful, I’m going to lose myself entirely to this. I’ll let my guard down only to possibly be shattered.
I slide gently out from beneath his arm and sit on the edge of the bed, the silk sheet pooling around my hips. The floor is cool under my feet, a sharp contrast to the heat still lingering between my thighs. I rest my elbows on my knees and cradle my face in my hands. My heartbeat echoes in my ears like a clock counting down. I’m terrified of what happens when it gets to zero.
Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of sheets.
“Nicole?” Sergei calls quietly.
I turn, and he’s propped up on one elbow, looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes. His hair is tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He’s heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, concern tightening his features.
I force a small smile and reach for his hand, threading our fingers together.
“I’m just having trouble falling asleep,” I admit.
He tugs me back into bed. “Then come back here,” he says with a smile, pulling me against his chest.
And, despite everything, I stay.
22
NICOLE
Two weeks slip by, and somehow, I forget how to breathe without him.
It isn’t intentional. There’s no conversation, no formal decision. I simply climb into his bed one night and never really climb back out, aside from the couple of nights Liliya needs me late and I don’t want to wake him. Otherwise, we’ve become almost inseparable.
Whenever I crawl into bed, he wraps his arms around me as if he’s afraid I’ll float away. His touch is reverent and unexpectedly tender. The moment we connect, it’s impossible to break free of him, not that I want to.
Which makes it even harder to protect my heart. But at some point I stop trying. I’m falling hard, growing accustomed to him in a way that scares me. He still keeps his walls up, of course. He still has his secrets, yet they haven’t tempered my feelings for him.