Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Yes, they did. As far as our family’s friends and acquaintances were concerned, my father died of a heart attack, and my mother perished in a car accident on the way to the hospital. And even these fake facts were kept out of the papers by the sheer force of my family’s influence, to cut down on unsavory speculation.
“How did you find out the truth then?” I ask, trying to ignore the effect his touch is having on me. “Was it through my therapist, as I suspected?”
“Yes.” There’s no remorse in his tone, no guilt at this terrible invasion of privacy. “I had to know what was happening with you, so I could decide what to do.”
I squint against the sunlight reflecting off the water. “And what did you decide?”
He steps closer, pressing his body against my back and hooking his hands on the rail on either side of me, once more caging me in his embrace. Resting his chin on top of my head, he murmurs, “I decided to give you more time. Time and space to heal.”
Yeah, sure. Because he’s such a saint. “You were just afraid I’d slit my wrists if you came near me.”
He’s silent for a beat before admitting quietly, “That too.”
Chapter 14
6 Years and 9 Months Earlier, Moscow
“How do you feel?” Lyudmila asks softly, perching on the edge of my bed. “Can I get you anything?”
“Painkillers,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut against the stabbing agony behind my eyelids. “More painkillers, please.”
Everything hurts. My fractured wrist, my slashed forearm that required twenty stitches, my bruised ribs and stomach, and most of all, my head. It’s the aftermath of a concussion, the doctors told me. I must’ve hit my head during the car accident, the one that injured me and killed my mom last week.
They don’t know anything, of course. There was no car accident. My injuries are from the fight with my father, the concussion from when he threw me against the wall and I blacked out. Also, these injuries aren’t the reason I didn’t attend my parents’ funeral three days ago, like the public thinks.
“Here, take these.” Lyudmila helps me sit up and swallow two pills with a glass of water. The movement makes my ribs scream in protest, and I fall back onto my pillow with a groan, fighting a wave of nausea.
A cool, wet towel is laid gently over my forehead, relieving the worst of the stabbing pressure, and I take small, shallow breaths until the nausea passes and my thoughts begin to run together. A warm haze envelops me. These pills are the good stuff, not the weak bullshit I’ve been taking for the headaches since Alexei gave me that six-month reprieve. Nor are they the useless crap the doctors prescribed me in the first few days after the “accident” because of the stupid concussion. It took me writhing in agony for three days straight to get them to relent and give me actual painkillers. But now I have them, and they’re my best and only defense against the pain that threatens to consume my every waking moment.
The hours compress into minutes as I drift, pleasantly high and numb. When my mind starts to clear, I have Lyudmila give me two more pills, and once she leaves the room, I take two more on my own.
I don’t want to think, don’t want to process what happened.
I just want my mind to stay blank.
At some point, my brothers visit me. Konstantin, his face pale and drawn with grief. Valery, as cool and unreadable as always. Nikolai, who looks terrible, his chiseled jaw covered with a week’s worth of stubble and his eyes ringed by dark shadows. His visit unsettles me so badly I can’t stop crying for two hours, and then my head hurts so much I send Lyudmila out for a doctor.
The doctor comes, makes sure my healing is on track, and prescribes a stronger painkiller. He warns me not to take it until later today, when the other pills will be out of my system, but I don’t listen. As soon as he’s gone, I down the new pills, and when they make me throw up, I wait a few minutes and take them again—and manage to keep them down. They take effect almost immediately. My world turns hazy, all soft and nebulous, and the pain recedes until it’s but a distant memory. Same goes for the urge to cry. I can’t even recall why I was crying.
I fall asleep some time later, only to wake up from a nightmare with a scream that brings Pavel and Konstantin—who has temporarily moved into the penthouse to keep an eye on me—running into my bedroom. Once they confirm there’s no real danger, they question me about my physical and mental state before exchanging worried looks and leaving. A minute later, Lyudmila comes in and makes me eat something, then gives me another dose of the pills, which I supplement with a dose of my own a few minutes later.