Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Yes, it is.”
I looked up at him, expecting to see him looking out the window. But he wasn’t. He was looking at me.
Chapter 21
Anton
“Is your room to your liking?” I asked my lovely little maid, after knocking and entering her chamber. It felt illicit to be in here. Exciting, even though the door had been open.
But Mishka was nowhere to be found.
I had found her looking around one of the spare rooms in the massive suite I had reserved for us. The rooms were empty and would remain so. My men were stationed at every exit, with their own suite nearby for rest and eating when they were on breaks. They didn’t get much time off on trips like this, but they didn’t dare complain.
In fact, no one in my employ had ever complained as far as I knew. If they had in my father’s day, they would have lost a tongue. I vaguely remembered my father doing just that, though I was not sure what the offense was.
My men, and my brothers’ men, were loyal, and not just because they were well paid. They were loyal because we were all steeped in blood. Some of them were blood. Distant cousins and the children of my father’s men. Some were even the grandchildren of my father’s men.
But I could not imagine anyone other than housekeeping who had not spilled blood for me, at least once.
We employed multitudes, always. Many of the families around the estate had worked for the Aslanov for generations. Our people had been loyal because of fear and self-preservation, especially in the old days. But sometimes, I liked to think, that my men actually gave a damn about me.
My brothers, too.
Unlike our father, we were known for being fair, even amongst the extreme violence that sometimes was part of the job. Often, really. Though my appetite for cruelty was waning these days. I used to pride myself on being cold hearted. But lately things were changing.
And it was all down to one beautiful little Russian doll.
“My room?” She asked, turning to face me. I nodded. “It is lovely, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You look worried.”
“I… I didn’t realize we would be sharing.”
I leaned against the doorframe, staring at her.
“Sharing what?”
“A suite.”
“It’s a big suite.”
She nodded.
“It is. I will stay in my room,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Unless you need me,” she added hastily, as if she had forgotten I was there.
I smiled at her, hoping I didn’t look threatening.
“I will let you know.”
She blinked.
“I will let you know if I need you,” I amended. “Have you seen the terrace?” I asked.
She shook her head and I held out my arm to show her the way, so that she had no choice but to obey my unspoken command. She passed by me and I smelled her intoxicating scent. She smelled of soap… lotion… and warm skin.
I joined her as we walked through the suite, which was as big as a medium sized house, and took almost the entire floor of the hotel, plus the additional outside rooms for my personal staff.
The terrace was on two sides of the suite. The view of the city was unparalleled from this height. No one could see us as we were in the tallest building in view. We could have sunbathed naked if we liked, though I might be wary of that in the days of drones. But we could see everything.
The sky was still dark, with light just starting to filter through the tall buildings that stood below us in every direction. With the soft lights and glowing sky, the view was unforgettable. Just like the extraordinary woman standing beside me.
Her delicate hands rested on the thick stone that enclosed the sweeping terrace, complete with couches, a table with a flame that leapt from it, chaises, and a dining area.
I could spend an entire day with her on that terrace. A night, too. Talking, eating, drinking… making love under the stars. I forced myself to change the stream of my thoughts.
“Do you want coffee and breakfast? Or shall we start shopping?”
She looked over her shoulder at me.
“Whatever you wish,” she said, making me think of that line from the Princess Bride. But she was not the farm boy. She was the Princess. I was the one who was in love with her. I wished to serve her.
She had only to give me permission to adore her and our entire dynamic would change in an instant.
“I will see if there is coffee for us.”
“I will go,” she said quickly, passing me before I could stop her.
“Bring yourself one, too,” I called out. “We are not in Moscow.”
She glanced back, nodded, and curtsied.
I wondered if she would always do that. Even if she was my woman. When she was my woman, I corrected myself. When she was my wife.