Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
It'll just be much easier to lock him away on a tiny, private, tropical island somewhere near Fiji.
Acquiring the land won’t be too difficult.
I’m fairly certain I already have a real estate broker that can acquire it on my behalf.
“It’s, unfortunately for me,” my tone helplessly becomes light, “not that kind of headache.”
“Unfortunate for Yavok, too.” His teasing tone is accompanied by the repositioning of himself on the edge of my desk closer to me. “V chem delo?”
“I’ve got a couple of missing documents.”
My husband’s eyebrows twitch in confusion.
“And missing money.”
This time they shoot to the ceiling. “Chto?!”
“And the signed Maya Angelou poem we keep in the lobby of the foundation has also just…fucking…vanished.”
“Chto?!”
“The Knigi Foundation has somehow managed to…displace the updated list of organizations we’re currently contributing to as well as misplace various amounts of financial contributions that some of those groups should’ve already received this month yet haven’t.” Unconsciously, my fingers fly to fiddle with the jewelry making itself at home against my tits that are barely being covered by my low plunging, red jacket. “Finding where that document fucked off too is important but finding where that money is hiding – and I just fucking know it’s hiding in someone’s offshore account – is much more crucial.” Twirling the keys around my tips continues. “The Knigi Foundation isn’t like all the other fucking charity shit we throw cash at. It isn’t used to launder money or evade tax issues. It’s the one fucking thing we give to in an actual attempt to make a positive fucking difference in the rest of the world.”
He slowly nods while fighting his grin. “Da. I…very…remember.”
Ugh.
Of course, he does.
Considering Knigi is Russian for books and the fact that the idea to create a foundation that provides money to other organizations – all of which aid in assisting homeless or orphaned children – to acquire literature for those within their reach was spawned during one of our random afternoon book dates in our library while I was pregnant, it’s safe to assume it’s improbable for him to ever forget that.
Add in starting it on my mother’s birthday about six weeks after Kat was born, and we’re pushed into impossible territory.
Being a mother sparked something inside me to want to honor our mothers, just like being without them pushed me to want to do something for all the others who grew up without theirs as well.
I swear I’m not going fucking soft in spite of how it sounds.
Creatively crucifying whoever has stolen from me will reiterate that shit in the most satisfying ways.
I may even add beating them to the point of near death with my own personal copy of Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” to the list of punishments.
“My search for answers isn’t going as swiftly or as cleanly as I had hoped.” The sigh that escapes is followed by pulling my previously discarded pile of paperwork back to me. “Rowan is busy doing what he does best in between his regular work, and I’m currently trying to do what I do best in between mine.”
“Know people.”
“Knowing people and their personalities helps predict their patterns and their possible motives for the shit they do.”
“What willing to fight for.”
I struggle to fight the smirk that tickles my lips. “Da.”
“How can…pomoshch'?” He kicks his chin towards me, genuine concern clouding his stare. “What can Yavok do to…help…Kessler?”
His acknowledgement of the appropriate label to be used in my office receives a spiteful grin. “You can start by not stomping in here to pout about the way I’m raising our daughter while I’m trying to navigate this shit storm.”
Culpability doesn’t hesitate to carve itself into his glare. “Not…pout.”
“You looked exactly like Vlad when we take away his toys before an afternoon nap.”
Pet immediately releases a loud, hearty laugh, which – to this very day – is still a sound I can’t get enough of.
One that does make me soft.
Same as it does when I hear our children make it.
And they get it from him.
They get so much from him that there’s no denying that they’re his.
I just hope when the days arrive for them to prove they are mine that they can.
“U Vlada budet bol'she prostranstva dlya manevra.” Knowing I’m unfamiliar with the phrasing prompts him to use both hands in his pursuit to translate. “He…he…have more room…to…move? More than Kat? Not have to…do…same…training?”
Annoyingly anxious to soothe my husband’s woes leads to me gently resting a palm on his nearby toned thigh. “Yes. Vlad can just be…a kid, so to speak. His future isn’t predetermined for him like our little ballerina’s is.”
He sweetly smiles and slides his hand onto mine. “Won’t let her hate you for that.”
“You have to not hate me for it first.”
More guilt creeps into his gaze. “Not hate, vaimoni. Never. Hate. Just find…whole…thing…frustrating.” His thumb delivers a loving stroke to the area under its possession. “Just want to protect her.”