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)
I found myself studying her profile more than the screen, fascinated by this glimpse of who she might have been in another life.
"The grandfather reading to the sick boy," I said during a quiet moment. "It reminds me of my babushka."
She turned to look at me, surprised by the personal revelation. "She read to you?"
"Russian fairy tales. Always with a moral about being careful what you wish for." I paused, remembering weathered hands and kind eyes. "She would have liked you."
Something shifted in Alina's expression—softness, maybe even tenderness. "My grandmother really does like you, you know. She keeps asking the nurses about 'that nice young man'."
The moment the words left her lips, I saw the realization hit her.
The spell began to crack as reality intruded—the reminder of why her grandmother liked me, what I was holding over her head, the cage I'd built around both of them.
Her body started to tense, to pull away, and I couldn't have that.
Not tonight.
Before she could retreat into herself, I cupped her face and kissed her.
Soft, slow, nothing like the demanding kisses I usually claimed.
This was...gentle.
Coaxing rather than taking.
When I pulled back, her eyes were wide but no longer guarded.
“Let’s keep watching your silly American movie,” I murmured, tucking her under my arm and pulling her against my side.
She settled against me with a small sigh, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder as if it belonged there.
As the movie continued, her breathing slowed, her body growing heavier against mine.
By the time the credits rolled, she was fast asleep, her face peaceful in a way I rarely saw when she was awake.
One small hand rested against my chest, fingers curled into my shirt as if anchoring herself to me even in sleep.
I should have woken her.
Should have sent her to bed and maintained the careful distance that kept our arrangement simple and clean.
Instead, I found myself memorizing the weight of her against me, the soft whisper of her breath against my neck, the way her hair caught the light from the television screen.
Carefully, I slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her sleeping form against my chest. She stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to my warmth, and something possessive unfurled in my chest.
Mine.
I carried her to our bedroom, moving slowly to avoid waking her.
In the low light filtering through the windows, she looked angelic—porcelain skin and dark lashes against flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted in sleep.
I laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the cool silk sheets.
She made a small sound of protest when I pulled away, and I found myself pausing, watching the way she unconsciously reached for me even in sleep.
Quickly, I stripped out of my clothes and slid into bed behind her.
The moment my arm came around her waist, she pressed back against me with a contented sigh, her body fitting perfectly against mine as if we'd been sleeping together for years instead of weeks.
This morning, taking her in, sound asleep in the circle of my arms, I understood something fundamental had changed.
She wasn't just my captive anymore, or even just my future wife.
She was becoming my home.
And that terrified me more than any enemy I'd ever faced.
CHAPTER 25
ALINA
The emerald-cut diamond slipped down my finger again as I raised my hand to smooth the intricate beadwork on my sleeve.
The massive stone caught the afternoon light streaming through the penthouse windows, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the mirrors surrounding us.
"Stop fidgeting with that ring," Yelena scolded, pins between her teeth as she adjusted the hem of what might have been the most beautiful wedding dress I'd ever seen. "You've lost weight. Again."
I had.
The ring that fit perfectly two weeks ago now hung loose on my finger, sliding around no matter how I positioned my hand.
No matter how Pavel coaxed or demanded, food turned to ash in my mouth.
My stomach stayed knotted with anxiety, rejecting everything but the smallest sips of water and occasional bites of plain bread.
"It's stunning," I whispered, staring at my reflection in the three-way mirror.
And it was—layers upon layers of silk and French lace that whispered sophistication rather than screaming wealth. The bodice hugged my torso perfectly, the sweetheart neckline both modest and alluring.
Tiny seed pearls and crystals had been hand-sewn into intricate patterns that caught the light with every breath I took. The skirt flowed like water, creating an ethereal silhouette that made me look like something from a fairy tale.
Everything I would have chosen…if I'd had a choice.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
None of this was my choice.
I was standing in a penthouse with a breathtaking view of the river and the city's monuments—while trying on a custom haute couture wedding gown for a wedding I never agreed to.
The penthouse had been transformed into a bridal salon for the afternoon.