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)
I reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not useless, Lara. You’re helping more than you know.”
She looks at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty, and I realize that for the first time in a long time, I want to tell someone everything. I need to tell someone everything.
So I do.
I tell her about the growing list of governments breathing down my neck, believing my wealth is tied to the Russian government. I tell her about the sanctions, about the lies someone’s feeding the authorities, about my connections to Russian money. I tell her about the yacht, the chateau, the properties in London and Paris, the Coutts bank account—all unfairly impounded. And I tell her how everything is falling apart faster than I can fix it.
And she listens. Really listens.
She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t push me to explain more than I want to. She lets me fall apart without judgment. She just listens, her eyes filling with compassion and becoming kinder with every word I say. The more silent she is, staring intently into my eyes, the faster the words roll off my tongue. I have never in my life spoken to anyone this way. Maybe it’s just because I want to tell someone, anyone. Maybe I can speak this freely because I know she will be gone from my life in a month. Or maybe it’s because I can no longer deny how I feel about her and I want to show her the real me, come what may.
“I wish I could do something,” she whispers almost to herself when I’m finished. “I want to help. I know I can.”
Her words linger in the air, hanging between us.
The exhaustion of the day pulls at my limbs, but something else—a raw, unspoken need—keeps me tethered to this moment. The vulnerability in her voice and the quiet confession of helplessness cuts deeper than I expect. I can see it in her eyes. She really wants to help me and that soothes me more than she will ever know.
I reach for her, pulling her closer, needing her warmth against me. I cup her face in my hands, the softness of her skin grounding me, calming the chaos inside me.
“Lara,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “you’ve already done enough. Just being here… that’s everything.”
Her lips part as if to protest, but I stop her with a kiss, soft and slow, pouring every ounce of gratitude, every unspoken word of thanks, into it.
“Just lie next to me. I’ll face tomorrow when I wake up.”
Her arm curls around me. “Okay, my great, big white swan. Let’s sleep now. Together.”
A few minutes pass, and the drowsiness creeps in, thick and heavy. My eyelids grow heavier, the quiet peace of the moment sinking into me. With her pressed against me, I feel the pull of sleep stronger than ever before.
I didn’t expect this—I never thought I could fall asleep so easily with her in my arms. The world outside the room fades away, and all that remains is us.
Just Leda and me.
Chapter Forty-Six
LARA
On our flight back to New York, I call my dad and he assures me all is well. He is going to his addictions group therapy, and the office is ticking along nicely. I end the call with him to take Leila’s call.
“What’s going on with you?” she demands.
I stare at her familiar face on the phone screen. It should calm me, but it only amplifies the mess in my head. I don’t know what I feel... numb? No, that’s not right. I’m overwhelmed. Completely. Everything is swirling together—the past few days in Ivan’s world are like trying to hold water in my hands, and I don’t know how to explain it.
Leila’s voice is louder this time, sharper. “Lara, did you hear me? What’s going on? Are you all right?”
I snap out of my daze. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.” It’s an obvious lie, and we both know it. The last two days feel like a whirlwind that I still can’t quite wrap my head around.
Leila tilts her head, raising an eyebrow in that unique way she does when she knows something’s up. “Don’t give me that horseshit. What’s going on? You’re acting all... I don’t know. Different. Weird. Please tell me you’re not falling for him.”
Falling for him. That’s very much already baked into the cake. My mind pulls me back to earlier this morning. To Ivan. The memory floats in, vivid and intimate.
It was one of those perfect mornings where everything felt easy. Ivan and I had stayed in bed longer than usual, the early sunlight filtering through the windows, casting a golden glow over us. He’d pulled me close, his arms wrapped securely around me, the weight of the world temporarily forgotten. His skin was warm against mine, his breath steady as he mumbled something in Russian I didn’t quite catch, but I didn’t need to understand. The softness in his tone said enough.