Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
But then my grandmother yawned, and we said our goodbyes and she made me promise to come visit again soon and to bring the nice man with me.
She had already forgotten his name.
It was clear she was being taken much better care of here, but the disease was still ever-present.
"Thank you," I said quietly as we walked back to the car. "For taking care of her."
Pavel's hand found the small of my back, the touch surprisingly gentle. "She matters to you. That makes her matter to me."
The simple statement shouldn't have affected me the way it did.
"The marriage thing... is it really the only way?"
"In my world, yes." His voice was matter-of-fact. “Do not forget, as far as my family is concerned you are a liability.”
Oh yes. How could I forget? The only reason I was in this predicament was because I’d witnessed him commit a cold-blooded murder.
It seemed like a lifetime ago. Like it happened to someone else. Like it was nothing more than the hazy memory of a horror movie I’d once watched.
My voice was barely above a whisper since I didn’t want anyone to overhear. “You can’t still think I’d tell anyone…about what I…what I saw?”
His gaze was almost tender as he playfully pulled on one of my curls as if I’d said something cute instead of alluded to murder. “No. I don’t.”
I frowned. “Then why—"
"Because as my wife you would be untouchable. As my prisoner you are not only a liability, but you’re also a target for my enemies." He opened the car door for me. "And that’s unacceptable."
CHAPTER 24
PAVEL
Istood over the bed staring down at her sleeping form.
My knuckles brushed over her sleep-warmed cheek, pushing back a wayward curl to expose her neck.
So small. So innocent. So…vulnerable.
So…mine.
Or at least she would be, very soon.
Wife.
Over these last few weeks, the word had grown on me.
Returning home each night to her sweet body had become as necessary to me as air.
It wasn't love.
Love was not an emotion I was capable of.
But it was damn close.
Close enough to build a life.
My gaze ran over her body as the silk sheets hugged each delicate curve, lingering over her stomach.
What if she were already pregnant?
The idea of a beautiful baby with her eyes and smile filled me with a strange warmth. Again.
Not love…but close.
Last night had been different.
I’d come home after a particularly brutal day.
All I wanted to do was shower the blood off me and fuck her into submission. Fuck her until I forgot about anything else but the feel of her body accepting mine.
And yet…
She'd surprised me.
"Could we... could we watch a movie tonight?" she'd asked hesitantly after changing back into her sheer slip. "Something normal?"
Normal. Such a foreign concept in my world.
"What did you have in mind?"
"The Princess Bride. It's..." She'd searched for words. "It's my favorite. It’s super funny. Although you probably won’t understand half the references."
Something about her tentative request had intrigued me. "Very well."
Twenty minutes later, we were settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between us. I'd changed into gray sweatpants and a T-shirt—casual clothes I rarely wore, feeling oddly exposed without my armor of expensive suits.
She'd disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bag of colorful candies, dumping them into the popcorn bowl.
“What unholy thing did you just do?” I teased, watching her mix the contents.
"M&Ms and popcorn." She shrugged, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Sweet and salty. Don't knock it until you try it."
“It’s against nature.”
"It's not!" She grabbed a handful and held it out to me. "Try it."
I eyed the mixture skeptically before taking a piece. The combination was... unexpected. Not terrible, but strange. "Americans have no taste."
"Says the man who puts caviar on everything," she shot back, then immediately froze as if expecting punishment for her sass.
Instead, I found myself smiling. "Touché."
"Inconceivable!" some fool on the screen shouted, and Alina actually laughed—a real sound of joy that did something dangerous to my chest.
Her laughter was dangerous. It was like a drug. I found myself wanting more.
"What does that word mean, exactly?" I asked, genuinely confused by the varying contexts the word was being used in.
"It means unbelievable, impossible. But he uses it wrong—that's the joke. Inigo keeps pointing it out."
I watched her face as she explained, animated in a way I rarely saw. When the character finally said, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means," I found myself chuckling.
"American humor is... strange," I observed, reaching for more of her bizarre popcorn mixture. The M&Ms had grown on me.
"You're getting popcorn crumbs on the couch," she giggled as she brushed the fabric.
There was no fear or hesitation in her voice. Just...normalcy.
For the next hour, we sat together like any couple might.
She explained cultural references, laughed at my confusion over American customs, and gradually relaxed against my side.