Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
If I had any doubts left that my husband and I need to have this conversation, they evaporate in this very moment—because if the suspicion forming in my mind is right, Alina is not the only one dealing with a major trauma.
Pretending all is normal, I turn away from Nikolai and walk over to grab Slava’s hand. “Come, darling, let’s get you into bed before you crash. We’ll feed you dinner there.”
“I do it,” Lyudmila offers, but I shake my head with a smile.
“Let me. I’ve missed him.”
“I’ll join you,” Nikolai says, his gaze hooded, and my pulse speeds up further as he picks up Slava and carries him upstairs in front of me.
* * *
The two of us bathe Slava and tuck him into bed, where he eats some soup and promptly falls asleep, his burst of energy expiring quickly.
“Is it always like this with children?” Nikolai asks in a hushed tone, smoothing his broad palm over Slava’s forehead. His puzzled gaze shifts to me. “When they get sick, I mean? Zero to sixty and then back again?”
I smile despite the turmoil in my chest. “No, not always. Slava’s just Superman. Haven’t you heard?”
His answering smile sets off an explosion of endorphins in my brain. “Oh, yeah, there is a rumor going around.”
And for a couple of heartbeats, that’s enough—this uncomplicated moment of shared joy, of relief that the child we love is going to be okay. But then Nikolai’s smile fades, and my pulse shifts into high gear as the space between us fills with simmering awareness, with that scorching chemistry that feels like a charged wire dancing across my skin. We’re sitting just a foot apart, but even that small distance suddenly feels like too much… too much and not enough at the same time.
I swallow as he lifts his hand and curves it around my cheek, his rough-edged thumb stroking over my lower lip, making it tingle.
“Zaychik…” His voice is dark velvet. “I’ve missed you.”
And I’ve missed you too. So, so much. The words pirouette on the tip of my tongue, ready to take flight. It would be so easy to fall back into his embrace, to forget what I saw on his phone and not rock the boat. To dive back into our faux-honeymoon routine and pretend there’s nothing frightening about a husband who obsessively watches me when we’re apart… a killer whose complicated past is still a terrifying mystery.
“Nikolai, I…” I draw in a breath and force out a different set of words, the ones I’ve been avoiding. “We need to talk. It’s time you told me exactly what happened with your father.”
43
Chloe
It’s as if a dark shutter falls over Nikolai’s face, transforming it into that of a stranger. All warmth leaves his voice as he pulls back his hand and stands. “Let’s go then. We’ll talk in my office.”
My heart hammers as I follow him out of Slava’s room and down the hallway. As we walk, a chime sounds in his pocket, and he pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. He must’ve reclaimed the device immediately upon arrival.
Whatever he sees there makes his jaw go taut, and when his gaze returns to me, his eyes are filled with a peculiar light.
A terrible premonition tightens my stomach. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“There’s something you should see,” he says, and as soon as we enter his office, he goes straight for his laptop and opens it, bending over his desk. His fingers fly over the keyboard for a second, and then he turns the screen toward me.
My heart leaps, and my knees turn into rubber.
Displayed on the screen is a popular news site, where the major headline reads in all caps, “LEADING PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE ASSAULTS WOMAN IN SHOCKING VIDEO.”
Icy needles dance over my skin as I grab the laptop and carry it to the small round table, where I sink into a chair and read the article in full.
The story is still developing, but it seems that just under an hour ago, a video of Bransford attacking a young woman appeared on Twitter and instantly went viral. According to the news site, the “graphic and disturbing” footage shows him hitting her in the face and ripping her shirt open while she desperately fights back. After a couple of minutes of violent struggle, she escapes by kneeing him in the groin and running out the door while he screams obscenities at her.
“You can watch the video if you want,” Nikolai says quietly, and I realize he’s come to stand next to me, his gaze glued to the screen from above. “Konstantin’s team has worked wonders with what Masha sent him.”
My voice is thin. “This was filmed today?”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “Early this morning, some twenty minutes after you and I talked. She had him swing by her ‘dorm’ before work to sign off on her internship papers so she could volunteer at his campaign and get credit for her AP American Government class.”