Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Two hours later I stand in front of the mirror in my suite and stare at the stranger reflected back. The transformation is unbelievable. My hair is styled into a soft, romantic chignon, with delicate curls left loose to frame my face, making me look softer, almost ethereal. It is a style that feels both timeless and elegant, the kind you’d see in fashion magazines but never imagine having yourself.
The make-up artist has swept a rose-tinted blush over my cheeks, giving them a natural, flushed look, and lined my eyes with a smoky shadow. It makes my eyes seem twice as large and smolder mysteriously. And deep berry lipstick. I’ve never really used such bold colors. I never thought I could carry it off. But apparently, I can. I look sophisticated and classically regal; the likes of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy.
I almost reach out to touch the glass, just to make sure that’s really me. This isn’t just about looking beautiful; it’s about becoming someone else entirely—someone who belongs in this world, if only for tonight.
My hand flutters towards my stomach. I feel excitement and nerves, but also dread. I had fought this, and now it terrifies me to think that I might never want to leave, that, at the end of the day, I’ll find that he was right all along.
I do want this. But more than this I want Ivan.
I run my hands down the smooth fabric of my dress, adjusting it, feeling the soft rustle of the material as it hugs my curves.
There’s a knock on the door and my heart leaps. For a moment, I hesitate, then, my feet in their new gold shoes run towards the door. My hand hovers over the handle. I know who it is. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before opening the door.
Ivan stands there, and the sight of him steals my breath away. He’s in a tuxedo, perfectly tailored, the crisp lines emphasizing his broad shoulders. He looks every bit the part—powerful, controlled, but there’s something in his eyes when they meet mine. It’s like a spark, an intensity.
For God knows how long we just stand there, our eyes eating the other up, the air between us charged. I feel the heat in his gaze and it makes my skin flush.
“You look…” he starts, and for once, he seems to search for the right words. “Stunning.”
“Thank you, but you don’t look too bad yourself,” I manage to say, my voice no more than a whisper.
To my surprise, he flushes. Amazing. My simple compliment embarrasses him. There’s so much I want to ask, so much I want to say, but the words catch in my throat.
He steps closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is gentle, almost hesitant, and it sends a jolt through me. “Are you ready?”
I nod, even though everything inside me feels like it’s spinning. “I think so.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
IVAN
Iwalk into the hall with her on my arm and every set of eyes in the room seems to turn our way. I can’t blame them. She looks... breathtaking. She actually rendered me speechless when she first opened the door.
I must admit I was concerned when Greta told me Lara spent the whole day working in the garden—out in the sun, of all places. Considering how she dressed for dinner last night I pictured her arriving with flushed cheeks, exhausted, or maybe even disheveled. But instead, here she is, her skin glowing with health, her cheeks sun-kissed and radiant.
She's dangerous for me.
I realize that now, more than ever. She is like a secret I’m desperate to keep. The kind you never share with anybody. Not because you’re ashamed, but because you are afraid they will try and take it away from you. I’m aware that everyone is watching and speculating. I don’t want her here—at least, not here in front of all these people. I want her back in my bed, away from this crowd of piranhas. They’ll cheerfully consume you down to your skeleton if you let them.
As we move through the room, various people approach. High-profile executives, highly placed government officials and celebrities. An internal bunch of globetrotters, but they all have one thing in common: they want something from me. Each one comes forth with charm and smiles, but every one of them is curious about Lara.
“Mr. Ivanovich, so glad to see you. And this is...?” One of them asks, raising an eyebrow, the implication hanging between us.
“This is Lara,” I say simply, ignoring the unspoken question in their gaze.
The awkward silence that follows is delicious, watching them expect something more—a title, an explanation—but I give none. Lara stays silent, her arm looped through mine, meeting their curious gazes with a polite smile.
After a few strained pleasantries, they get the message and drift off.