Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 22
Anastasia
After we landed in Moscow, we spent the rest of the weekend and Monday at Rodian’s penthouse, where I was only allowed to wear lace underwear whenever my husband wasn’t fucking me senseless.
When we returned to the estate this morning, Irena and Marina were very happy to see us, and only after I assured them four times that I’m okay, could I finally sneak out of the kitchen.
I walk through the yard, looking for Artem so I can say hello, but instead, I cross paths with my father-in-law. Seeing him on his knees, pulling weeds out of the flower bed, I walk closer and ask, “Morning, Mr. Volkov. Can I help?”
He glances up at me, then mumbles, “Sure.”
I lower myself to the ground and get to work.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes.” I smile to reassure him. “And you?”
“Always fine.”
Silence falls between us as we move from flower bed to flower bed, and every time I have to get up, he offers me his hand.
It feels like we’re bonding, more than I have with Rodian’s mother and aunt, and it fills my heart with warmth.
Movement catches my eye, and when I see Artem, a smile stretches over my face, and I wave at him. “Hi!”
He hurries closer, and before I can get up, he hugs me awkwardly for a second or two before pulling away and fidgeting with his hair.
“The blasts were loud.” He crouches and begins to move leaves aside to check for insects. “Very loud.”
“I’m sorry.” Taking a chance, I rub my hand up and down his back. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
He nods a couple of times, then locks eyes with me quickly before looking at the leaves again. “You’re happier.”
It doesn’t surprise me when I feel a burst of affection for him, and I tuck it deep into my heart. “I am.”
Spotting a row of ants, I point at them, and Artem follows the line, wandering away from us.
“You’re good woman,” Mr. Volkov grumbles.
“Thank you, sir.”
Just as I pull a weed out, he shakes his head. “Pap.” He pats my back while climbing to his feet. “No sir or Mr. Pap.”
As he walks in the direction Artem went, I press my hand to my heart and swallow hard on the lump in my throat. Even though I had a father, I never got to call him dad.
Rising to my feet, I call out, “Pap, would you like something to drink?”
He pauses and links his hands behind his back while shaking his head. “No, thank you, milaya.”
Walking to the back door, I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. When I enter the kitchen and see the women peeling potatoes, my body tenses and my heart jerks in my chest.
‘Faster, Tolstukha! We hungry,’ Bogdan barks.
The guard who always watches me chuckles darkly, ‘If we cut off piece, lose weight fast.’
Others laugh, and as they come into the kitchen, terror makes me tremble too much to work faster.
“Rodian!” I hear a woman scream, panic making her voice shrill, but it becomes one with the memory.
One of the men saunters closer, and picking up a carrot, he waves it under my nose before smacking me in the face with it. Everyone laughs again, and when I just keep peeling, he rears his arm back and punches me in the side.
Air whooshes from my lungs as searing pain tears through me.
The second I fall to the floor, they all cheer, and just as the man grips the front of my blouse to hit me again, Bogdan barks, ‘Enough. She must cook. Beat her later.’
Something is pushed into my mouth, yanking me out of the memory. Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings while my heart beats a mile a minute.
When my sight focuses on Rodian, he says, “That’s it, Moya Krasavitsa. Come back to me.” He brushes his hand over my hair in soothing movements and presses his mouth to my forehead. “You’re safe. I have you.”
I feel someone patting my back, then Artem coos, “Shh… Shh… Shh...”
Glancing around the kitchen, I’m met with the worried faces of my new family.
Rodian bends, and hooking one arm behind my knees and the other around my back, he lifts me bridal-style. His familiar scent registers, and I press my face into the crook of his neck.
When he sits down with me on his lap and I lift my head, I see we’re in our bedroom. He holds me tightly, tenderly rocking me, and presses his mouth to my forehead again.
I have no idea how long we sit like this, but it helps so much, and I soak up all the comfort he’s giving me like a dry sponge.
“Better?” he asks, his tone gentle.
Nodding, I pull back. “A lot.”
He takes hold of my left hand, and seeing the dirt, he stands up with me in his arms and carries me into the bathroom, where I’m placed on the counter.