Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Ania hands me the phone. I almost push it away and tell her I don’t want to talk to him. I want to sleep, forget, and go back to when he was just the broody, intense CEO and nothing else. Another part of me yearns to hear his voice, even if it’s only been a short while since I last saw him.
“Hello?” I say.
“Lia,” he says, with the same passion I feel, as though the short time apart has felt just as long for him. “You’re coming to eat with us, right?”
“I wasn’t sure…”
“I want to see you,” he says. “So if you don’t want to eat with us, I’ll come to the house. After, I’ve got to go back to the city.”
I get the message. This is our last chance to see each other until at least tomorrow. Tomorrow shouldn’t conjure up feelings and images of waiting for the rest of my life, but that’s what it feels like. Something immature pulses deep within, screaming at me to be with Dimitri.
“Okay,” I say, but I don’t want to make it too easy for him. “But don’t forget, we have to talk, Dimitri. About who you are. About what you’ve done.”
I hang up before he can reply, shocked at my boldness. Ania looks at me with the same sense of surprise, her eyebrow raised.
“This isn’t easy for me,” I tell her. “A few hours ago, I was a cleaner, a painter, that’s it. I was flirting with a CEO. That was an adventure, but I never thought I’d be shot at.”
Or that a man would kill to protect me.
“They’re not bad people,” Ania says.
“I don’t know anybody here,” I reply, my voice harsh.
Ania looks down, breaking eye contact and making me feel terrible, but it’s true. Even if I feel friendly with Ania, we met less than thirty minutes ago.
“Can I have a look at those clothes?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course,” Ania says.
I don’t tell her I’ll be looking for something that will hopefully make me more attractive than the competition. Then that thought pisses me off. Who am I competing with? Who am I competing for?
I’m supposed to be happy on my own and able to handle anything that comes my way. Ultimately, I choose a simple shirt and a pair of jeans.
CHAPTER 11
DIMITRI
“Your father collapsed in his office,” Angelo, our primary police contact, says over the phone. “His illness caught up with him, and he collapsed. That’s what the official records show.”
I remember the video call and the spatters of blood on the ceiling. “Thank you,” I tell him.
“The last thing we need is the Sokolovs losing control.”
I don’t mention the marriage pact or the fact Nikolai Petrov is sniffing around. If the cops knew Nikolai was trying to make inroads into Vegas through me, they’d probably be less willing to help. At least now we don’t have to worry about the wider world knowing.
After the phone call, I step into the large dining room. Mikhail is already sitting at the table, typing quickly on his phone. He glances up when he hears me enter.
“I don’t know how you can see past all that hair.”
He smirks and brushes his floppy hair aside. “It’s called style, brother.”
“Clean and efficient, that’s enough style for me.”
“Yeah, true, you are the GI Joe of the family.”
I laugh grimly, then sit down. “Where are the others?”
“Mila’s getting ready, I think,” Mikhail says. “Ania said she’s bringing Lia over soon.”
“Thanks, Mikhail,” I say out of the blue.
“Huh?”
“For giving Mila something to do.”
“It’s not charity,” Mikhail says. “She’s really helping us.”
Before I can reply, Yuri knocks on the door. “Sirs, dinner will be ready in roughly thirteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Yuri,” I say.
“Roughly thirteen minutes? Make that make sense.”
Less than a minute later, Mila walks into the room wearing a dress that looks fairly expensive. She stands awkwardly at the table’s edge, and Mikhail stares at me. I get it. They want to know where my so-called bride-to-be is going to sit.
I don’t want Lia to see us sitting beside each other, so I gesture across the table to Mikhail’s side. “You can choose your own seat, Mila,” I say.
She walks around the table and sits down, leaving one chair between her and Mikhail.
“Does my brother stink?” I say, laughing.
“I thought it might look bad,” Mila mutters. “If our guest sees your future wife sitting beside your brother…”
“We can trust our guest,” I say. “She already knows this marriage is a sham.”
Mila shrugs, then moves up a seat closer to Mikhail. From how Mila glances at Mikhail, I wonder if a crush is starting. If that’s the case, she won’t have much luck. Mikhail might be happy to advise me regarding the ladies, but he’s never had a serious relationship. Both the Sokolov brothers are too cold for that. Mikhail doesn’t even return her searching gaze. Eventually, she looks down at the table.