Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
He walks to the dresser and takes out his cell phone. Frowns at it. Then sits at the tiny desk, which is dwarfed by his large frame, and types into the phone, scowling.
What is his world like? What work does he actually do when he’s not baby-sitting me? I don’t know anything about the man.
His low command startles me. “Go to sleep, Vera.”
I close my eyes, sighing, and finally feel the pull of sleep.
I wake up the next morning to the sound of my cell phone ringing and stare at the screen. Four forty-two a.m. My alarm is going to go off at any minute.
I look beside the bed and find it plugged in. Well. I definitely didn’t plug it in. I look around for Markov, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Markov?”
It’s a tiny room, and the bathroom’s vacant. Where is he?
The cell phone keeps ringing.
“Hey, Mom.” I’m hit with a pang of guilt. I texted her when we landed but got so caught up in the hustle of everything that I didn’t call her. I do a quick calculation—it’s only nine forty-two in the evening the day before for her. It’s so strange to be in a different day than the person I’m closest to in the entire world.
“Vera! Oh, thank God. I’ve been calling and texting.”
I sit straight up in bed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course. I just hadn’t heard from you and was getting worried.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” I say. I feel a little guilty. I should’ve maybe called her last night instead of getting. . . distracted by Markov.
God, I miss her, and it hasn’t even been that long. Hopefully, it’ll get easier. “I was sleeping. Remember the time difference? You’ll be getting ready for bed soon, right?”
She sighs on the other end of the line. “I know, I know, I just. . . I felt so awful sending you off with that silent man who doesn’t even speak the same language as you. It felt like feeding my child to the wolves.”
“I’m not a child, though,” I say gently. I look around the room again. “And you’d never guess but he actually very much does speak English.”
“What!”
I fill her in but leave significant chunks of details out, like my faux marriage. I tell her about the program, getting to meet Dr. Morozov in person, and the other people joining me when the door opens, and Markov comes in, dressed in running gear, scowling at me.
“Let’s go.”
I sit up and glance at the time. Oof. It’s well past the wake-up time.
“Mom, I have to go. I’m going to get a run in before I go to my first session, okay?”
“You’re so dedicated and disciplined,” she says tearfully. “Yes, yes, of course, sweetheart. Text me some new book titles before you go. I need something to occupy myself with you gone.”
“I will, promise.” I got my love of reading romance from my mom, so we swap titles all the time. Not sure how she’ll feel about my latest obsession, though.
I hang up the call and get out of bed. “Did you plug my phone in? That was really sweet.”
Shrugging, he walks over to the bed to tidy the blankets. He lifts the sheets and quickly snaps them into place.
“I did. It was responsible, not sweet. You can’t start the day off with a dead phone. Are you going to get dressed, or are you going to stand here and tell me making the bed is sweet?”
“In science, we learn that two apparent contradictions can coexist,” I say over my shoulder as I walk to the dresser to grab running shorts and a tee. “The duality is a foundational concept in quantum mechanics. Or take the classic example of Shordinnger’s Cat—”
“Vera,” he growls. Oh, I love me a good growl.
“Yes?” I ask. I slide out of my pajamas and get dressed in front of him. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder. He seduced the fuck out of me last night, so I have no intention of being modest. I smile to myself at the sound of his muffled groan.
“I was going to tell you to stop jabbering on about duality or whatever the fuck it was and get dressed, but apparently, you can do both at the same time. Impressive.”
His lips are pressed in a thin line when I turn to face him and pull my sports bra on. “All I was going to say was that someone can be grumpy and sweet at the same time, and you’re a classic example.”
“Call me sweet again and see how that goes for you,” he says as I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. “And where’s your top? You can’t go out dressed in shorts and a bra.”
I shut the door. “Of course I can. I get hot as hell running.”