Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Fuck.
Dmitri adjusted his grip and scooped her up. He couldn’t leave her alone like this because she was just as likely to drown in her own vomit as she was to wake up, trip over something, and hurt herself. He strode out of the kitchen and nearly ran into Mikhail.
His man raised eyebrows but didn’t comment on the fact that Dmitri’s wife was snoring softly in his arms. Dmitri gritted his teeth. “All the alcohol is cleared out of the house—now. You and Pavel are responsible for seeing it done. The men bitch, you tell them they can bitch to me directly.”
Mikhail opened his mouth but seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” He headed upstairs.
As tempting as it was to take Keira to his bedroom, he walked to the second floor, where he’d set her up in one of the guest rooms. She hadn’t had much time there, but there was evidence of her in the smell of smoke lingering and the sheets kicked onto the floor. He laid her on the bed on her side and then sat next to her, using his body to ensure she didn’t flop onto her back.
She might be out, but there was nothing relaxed about her. Her brows pinched together as she shifted, restless despite the alcohol in her system. She murmured words that sounded like her dead brother’s name, and shuddered.
Dmitri reached out before he could stop himself and smoothed a hand over her forehead. “Shh, moya koroleva. You’re safe now.”
It was the first lie he’d told her.
Keira woke up in her bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there. The last thing she could place was arguing with Dmitri in his kitchen and then… blessed blankness. Her head pounded and she desperately needed some water, so she rolled over, reaching for the cup she’d left on her nightstand the day before.
“You’re awake.”
She froze, blinking against the light from the bathroom door that had just opened. “Dmitri? What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” A quick mental check found her clothes firmly in place. He wouldn’t touch her without permission, but she had no illusions about herself—for better or worse, she wanted him. It would be just like her to get blackout drunk and throw herself at him. Again. Maybe she even had, but he’d turned her down. Again.
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?” She might be hungover, but he definitely hadn’t asked her anything in the last thirty seconds.
His gray eyes held no emotion. “When is the last time you spent twenty-four hours sober?”
They were not having this conversation while she lay prone on the bed and he stood over her. She didn’t want to have the conversation at all. She pushed to her knees, waited for the sudden rush of dizziness to pass, and climbed to her feet. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“A week? A month? A year? Come now, Keira. Try to remember.”
Why was he demanding this of her? She squared her shoulders, refusing to let shame take root. “What does it matter? I’m here. I married you like you wanted. You win, Romanov. Congratu-fucking-lations.” She slow clapped. “Now, get out of my room and I’ll stay the hell out of your hair until you need a convenient wife to prop up and display.” There’s another purpose for a wife… Keira shut that thought down real fast.
Damn him to hell, but he laughed at her. “Do you think that I can display you like you are now? You’ve been in my home three days and I already had to save you from falling down drunk and giving yourself a concussion.” He shook his head. “You’re a mess.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“A mess with a limited vocabulary.” He stepped forward, but stopped when she flinched away from him, his dark brows dropping. “When I met you, you dazzled me with your bravery, ill-advised as it was. You’ve never feared me until now, when I threaten to take away alcohol and drugs.” He touched her chin, the contact so brief, she was half-sure she imagined it. “No, this cringing thing before me is not the woman I chose as my wife.”
The barbs in his words hit true and dug deep. Keira had been so many things in her short life, but all of those were gone, leaving only ashes. There was nothing left of the girl she’d been—the closest she could come to recovering that fearlessness was when she drank.
And he’d just taken that option away from her.
She tried to keep her chin up and failed. “Then let me go home and be done with this. We can get the marriage annulled and move on with our lives.”