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)
That thought is why I agree to attend Natasha’s charity gala, even though Alexei is supposed to be there.
My knees shake and tension bands my temples as I enter the ballroom and survey my surroundings. Everything glitters—the diamonds in women’s earlobes and on their fingers, wrists, and necks, the crystal chandeliers, the stainless-steel trays deftly carried around by uniformed waiters, the mirrors lining the walls and making the event seem that much grander. I glitter too. My blue silk dress is encrusted with tiny crystals around the bodice; my smooth, shiny updo is decorated with a diamond pin.
For a second, I’m tempted to turn around and go home, to turn on my computer and disappear into the neat, predictable world of code. Yesterday, to prevent myself from obsessing about tonight’s event, I pulled out my old Computer Science course materials, the ones I haven’t looked at since my first semester at college but kept for some odd reason. Immediately, I got sucked back in. In some strange way, it felt like coming home, and I’m itching to get back to it, to try my hand at writing some simple programs now that working on a computer for an extended period of time doesn’t make my head feel like it’s exploding. In fact, coding seems much safer, headache-wise, than being here tonight, as I can feel the tension in my skull growing, threatening to transform into the familiar pain.
I should leave. Coming here was a mistake, a stupid impulse I should’ve squashed.
I turn to go, but Natasha has already spotted me. She waves and hurries over, and I put on a bright smile. Because that’s what I do. I smile, I glitter, I pretend. Nobody, not even Natasha, knows my history with Alexei, or that I avoid him any way I can. As I should be avoiding him tonight, yet here I am, willfully putting myself in his proximity.
Maybe he won’t show. That’s all I can hope for right now.
Natasha and I exchange air kisses, and before I can make any kind of an excuse, she drags me into a circle of people, all of whom are eager to talk to me about tonight’s cause: providing educational technology to Russia’s rural areas. Every ruble donated will be converted into laptops, tablets, and other key learning tools for children from communities that may or may not have indoor toilets and running water.
It’s a noble cause, and I write a big fat check from my personal account for the venture, in addition to promising that each of my brothers will do the same. Then I’m technically free to leave and I’m about to do so quickly, since I still haven’t spotted Alexei, but Natasha intercepts me yet again, this time to introduce me to a few of her friends from college.
By the time I extricate myself from that conversation, a half hour has gone by, and I’m desperate to escape. Each second that ticks by puts me closer to Alexei’s arrival. Unless he won’t show, but I can’t count on that. I have to go, right now, before my stupid impulse leads to—
And there he is.
Our eyes meet as he cuts through the crowd like a shark through water, heading directly for me. My lungs expand, taking up the entirety of my chest and squeezing my heart into nothingness. I stop mid-stride, my feet welded to the floor, and watch helplessly as he comes toward me, a sardonic half-smile on his lips.
Why? Why did I come here? How could I have been such an idiot as to think he needed me in his grief when—
“What an unexpected pleasure,” he drawls, stopping in front of me, and my mind goes completely blank, everything around us disappearing as my thoughts transform into white noise. For the past two-plus years, my PI firm has tracked him, supplying me with a steady stream of photos and videos—which I’ve studied as if I’ll be tested on each one. And still, I’m not prepared for seeing him in person once again. All of my awareness focuses in on him, on the power and the danger and the cruel magnificence that is Alexei Leonov in a perfectly tailored black tux.
A pleasure. He said something about pleasure. Heat licks under my skin and deeper in my core, bringing with it a trickle of adrenaline. The white noise recedes, and I can once again hear the din of music and laughter, all the conversations surrounding us. With effort, I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “What are you doing here?”
Ugh, why did I just say that? Dumb, dumb, dumb. I should’ve—
He laughs, the soft sound mocking. “Oh, you knew I’d be here. Unless your PI firm dropped the ball?”
My pulse surges. “I don’t know what you—”
He tsk-tsks. “I thought we were past such clichéd denials, Alinyonok. I stalk you, you stalk me—isn’t that how our game works?”