Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
When he steps away from a man I’ve never seen before to hold out his hand in offering, I take it before acting the part I only had to play in public in Russia. “Sorry I’m late. I had a little bit of trouble fitting into my dress.”
Our guest’s eyes shoot to my stomach before they return to my face. “I see.” He has dark yet kind eyes, and his accent is a mix of many. “And how are you, Katie?”
His use of my name throws me off character for a second, but Kirill’s firm grip on my hand pulls me back into line just as swiftly. “I am very well. Thank you. I’m not loving this humidity, though. It does crazy things to my hair.” It is flat and lackluster since Ghost’s fingers haven’t entwined in it for weeks.
I also haven’t washed it, but that is a story for another day.
“I think your hair is lovely.”
The stranger’s praise sounds genuine, and it heats my cheeks. “Thank you.”
He takes a moment to assess my reply before dipping his chin. “Shall we eat?”
“Yes, please. I am starved.”
That is a lie, one of many I’ve issued the past month, but no one in this room would know that.
When the gentleman with the black hair and pricy suit gestures for me to lead the way, Kirill’s eyes silently warn me to behave. Although I don’t have much to lose, I will obey as taught. Not because I’m the coward every man in this room thinks I am, but because I recognize a handful of faces mingling in the dining room. Particularly the little cherub already seated at the table.
Lera has arrived stateside, and the knowledge almost breaks me.
Her freedom was meant to be Ghost’s legacy.
Now he has nothing.
“Katie,” Lera exclaims excitedly when she spots me.
The heavy lines of suspicion on the stranger’s face soften when I bob down to greet her with a cuddle. “Hello, Lera,” I whisper in Russian. “Did you have fun on the plane?”
When she nods, I drag my index finger across her ruddy cheeks before returning to a standing position. Not willing to let me go any more than I am her, she wraps her arms around my leg like she always did to Ghost. She smears her jellybean-stained face into my dress with no concern she’ll defuse my cloak of purity before she peers over my shoulder. “дядя?”
When her brows furrow while her tear-filled eyes bounce from man to man to man, I lie so I’m not the one forced to break her little heart, “дядя is still on the ship. He will be here shortly.”
Before the wetness welling in her eyes angers her father, I guide her back to her seat then plonk onto the vacant chair next to her, our hands never losing touch. It exposes to Kirill that he has more chips than he realized when it comes to controlling me, but so be it.
I have enough strength to fight for us both, and I won’t give up until we both make it out of here alive.
Dinner goes well, but a second after our guest leaves, Kirill orders me back to my room.
“It’s okay,” I assure Lera, although certain she still can’t understand me. “I will see you again soon. I promise.”
I wipe away the sneaky tear that escapes her eye before heading for the stairwell that is once again brimming with goons and their angry snarls.
“I’ll take her,” a man offers when my elbow is suddenly clutched by Watermelon Head. I still haven’t learned his name, even with him watching me for months on end.
My heart drums in my ears when I sling my head in the direction of the badly accented voice. We’ve met before. He was at my auction, and at one stage, I believed he was on my team.
“Get the rest ready for my return.” His snicker doesn’t match the gleam darting through Watermelon’s hooded gaze. He didn’t order for his sheets to be turned down. He gave Watermelon Head dibs on the throng of women the Bobrovs are rarely without.
Mercifully, they’re not the same women I was locked in the orlop with.
Once we clear the landing of the stairs, Aaren drops his hand from my elbow before he walks ahead to open the door for me. It would be a more chivalrous act if he didn’t greet me into my room with the same horrid accent he used downstairs.
I’m aware some of my anger resides from his false pledge to help years ago—if he had kept his word, I may have seen my parents again before they died—but most of it is my wavering mood swings.
I am so hormonal.
Also, he can’t punish me, so I bite without the fear of being smacked over the nose for disobedience.
“Your Russian is horrendous.”
Aaren follows me into the bathroom so I can wash my face of the dirt I feel coating it anytime I am in Kirill’s vicinity. “Sorry? How can it be terrible? It is how I speak.”