Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“This is your dad’s phone?” I ask, too shocked to wait for him to finalize his question.
“No.” For one short word, it takes him almost three seconds to deliver it. “This is дядя Mikhail’s phone.”
My Russian is decent, but it takes me longer than I care to admit to remember that дядя is uncle in Russian.
The knowledge that Mikhail isn’t hiding a secret child from me should weaken the churns of my stomach, not triple them. It doesn’t. I feel as uneased now as I did in the seconds leading to Mikhail announcing that Andrik is married.
“Is your dad with you, Zakhar?”
“He was, but he went to speak with Anoushka. I think I got him in trouble. I’m not meant to stay up so late, but Daddy said it would be okay. Don’t tell my mommy, though. She says bedtimes are important because sleep helps your brain grow.” His tone dips as if he is confused. “But sleeping around makes you stupid.” My heart beats at an unnatural rhythm when he asks, “What is sleeping around? Is that like a sleepover?”
“Um. Yeah. Kinda.” This is not a conversation I want to have with an adult, much less a child, so I strive to end it. “I should probably go. I have a plane to catch.”
Zakhar’s voice jumps as high as my brow when he squeals, “Daddy! You came back!”
It feels like the sun circles the planet a million times when his wheezy squeals are overtaken by the breaths of a man aware he’s about to be caught in a lie. “Who is this?”
I freeze while recalling the last time I heard that clipped, stern rumble.
Its commanding aura usually dots goose bumps across my skin.
Tonight, it cakes it with dread.
I suck in a sharp breath when my caller identifies my gasp as readily as I did his voice. “Zoya.”
Just the way Andrik says my name breaks my heart further.
And it makes me angry—furiously, undisputedly angry.
He made me become the one thing I swore I’d never be.
He turned me into my mother.
Andrik must hear the devastation in my breaths. “Zoya, don’t—”
“Goodbye, Andrik,” I murmur, my tone, for once, full of honesty.
I am done with this game once and for all.
“Zo—”
I throw my phone to the ground hard enough to shatter the screen and pop out the battery before I race into my room to pack the last of my things.
In an ashamedly quick three minutes, all my most valuable possessions are stored in a ripped duffle bag. There are only three items missing from my bag.
The one hundred thousand dollars I had no intention of spending until now, the dirtbox that will ensure I can do it without interruption, and the necklace I’m leaving behind.
43
ANDRIK
“Anything yet?”
Konstantine has been with me for years, so he knows who my query centers around even with me not saying her name.
After a quick breath that flares his nostrils, he shakes his head. “You’ll be the first I inform when I find her.” His next words are barely a whisper, but I still hear them. “Perhaps you should send Mikhail out in the field. It’s his dirtbox making my life fucking difficult.”
I had considered his suggestion. The thought only lingered for thirty seconds. It wasn’t solely jealousy that squashed it like a bug. It was knowing there’s no better man to explain to Zoya why I need to continue with my ruse than me.
As I said weeks ago, betrothed or not, she wants me.
She will have me. There’s just a handful more obstacles I need to find my way around first.
“If she had kept her necklace on, we wouldn’t be facing so many issues.”
Yes, I placed a tracker in Zoya’s necklace. It wasn’t solely to keep an eye on her. It is the fact the diamond would cost over eight million dollars to replace. A tracker lowers its insurance premium.
Yeah, right.
Konstantine only shared the tracker’s brilliance with me after I instructed the jeweler to place it in Zoya’s necklace.
Konstantine hums in agreement as his focus returns to his laptop. After his brows furrow, he releases the breath he just sucked in.
“What is it?”
Mindful there are more strangers in my house this morning than there has been the prior ten years, he twists his laptop around to face me so I can unearth my own answer instead of him vocalizing it.
With my ruse back in full swing, a handful of Arabella’s school friends arrived for her bachelorette party tonight. Although I’m frustrated by how many people are trampling my personal space, this is only one skit of many I’ll be forced to endure while endeavoring to secure Zakhar a new heart. It is by far the least harmful since the festivities are about to move to a hotel not too far from my home base. It is the same hotel I have a meeting at with Maksim Ivanov tomorrow morning, though he may need to postpone if the footage Konstantine is showing me is un-doctored.