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)
Furthermore, I don’t need a test to know Zakhar is a Dokovic. He looks so much like Mikhail and me I’ve often wondered over the past month where the last thirty years went. When I stand across from Zakhar, it’s as if I’m back in the closet of my bedroom, hiding from a life I promised Mikhail and myself we’d never have to live.
I had no clue how many lies I’ve told in my life until Zakhar refused to believe my fib that I replaced Dr. Makarand with a colleague more specialized for a patient with his condition.
From the look he gave me, you’d swear he was conscious when my anger that I’d been manipulated saw me popping a bullet between Dr. Makarand’s dark brows.
A rare smile tugs my lips at one side when Zakhar giggles from the Q-tip scraping the inside of his mouth. “That tickles.”
Heat colors his face when he hears the response I can’t hold back from his croaky laugh rumbling through my chest. It’s an expression I gave often before my fifth birthday. It was only ever directed at one person. My mother.
I jerk my chin up in acknowledgement when the doctor who swabbed my mouth earlier like my DNA hadn’t been burned off with a gallon of whiskey says, “I’ll have the results back as soon as possible.”
Once he leaves, I pour Zakhar a glass of “vodka” to help with the tickle the swab caused the back of his throat.
“More, Zak,” I demand when he only takes the tiniest sip. “We need you fit…”
“Like a fox,” he murmurs, stammering through the spit the slightest slosh of water caused his mouth since he’s struggled to swallow the past few days.
His failing heart is his biggest health battle, but its downfall means the rest of his organs are slowly following suit. He is mere weeks from death.
“Like a fox,” I quote, struggling to speak through the guilt about the steps I’ve taken thus far.
Whether he is my son or not, Zakhar is a child. I should have never placed my needs before his. I’m a man. An adult. I’m not a child hiding in a closet, waiting for his mother to come back.
I stop filling a glass with real vodka when someone bursts into Zakhar’s room unannounced despite numerous requests from his childhood nanny for him to do the opposite.
Mikhail’s eyes widen to the size of saucers as they flick between Zak and me, and his mouth gapes like a fish out of water. In under a second, he sees what I saw—another innocent victim of our father’s.
Zak finds Mikhail’s expression hilarious. “You look like you need to go poopie.”
“I feel like I need to go poopie,” Mikhail replies when Zakhar’s boyish laugh snaps him out of his trance.
He mouths, What the fuck? to me before he moves closer to Zak’s bedside.
As he drinks in Zak’s undisputed Dokovic features, I signal for the two guards I placed at Zakhar’s door to stand down. Mikhail isn’t a threat to Zakhar any more than I am.
I can’t issue the same guarantee for anyone else currently residing under my roof.
38
ZOYA
My heart whines when I push a bundle of cash to the other side of my desk instead of stuffing it into my purse. The funds I handed a pharmacist this morning were almost in comparison to the stack of cash Mars is clutching close to her chest, but it doesn’t alter the facts.
Not a single note belongs to me, so I can’t accept them.
Mars earned those tips. I merely tallied them, lodged them for tax purposes, and then distributed them to their rightful owner.
After adding the funds I’d refused into the bundle I just handed her, Mars moans like she hates money. “The bartenders get a share of our tips, so why shouldn’t you?”
Not looking up, I reply, “Because the bartenders offer a service. I do not.”
“You could.”
Now, I look up.
“Don’t give me that look.” Mars purses her lips in a way I plan to replicate when I’m not exhausted from working nights after spending my days with Nikita’s grandparents.
Nikita will never admit it, but we were close to losing Grampies during his last downward spiral. One bad case of pneumonia saw his medication bill doubling, and Nikita’s savings returned to what it was six months ago.
Without a proper breathing machine, Grampies’s condition will continue worsening, which in turn means he will need more medication.
It is a cruel cycle I don’t see us winning anytime soon, but I refuse to give up. Grampies was the first man who was ever kind to me, so I can’t turn my back on him like my family did me.
Mars burns off any wetness attempting to fill my eyes before it can make me look stupid. “I’ve seen the way the patrons stare when Trace takes too long to refill your drink. You could earn triple what you do now and work far less hours.”