Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Every word he speaks feels like the aforementioned car backing up and repeatedly rolling over my body. “About that…” I swallow hard, my insides twisting into a knot at what I’m about to say. “I’m not sure I want to proceed with the surgery or the treatment. Not given this.” I cover my stomach with my hand, as if by doing so, I can protect the tiny, fragile life inside.
Alexei’s eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re doing whatever it takes to get better.”
“That’s my decision to make.”
“The fuck it is.” His words come out through clenched teeth. “You’re having the surgery, and you’re getting the treatment. I’m not letting you fucking die.”
I glare at him, my despair morphing into bitter anger. “What do you care? You’re going to hand me over to my brothers and get on with your life. I’m the one who—”
“Your brothers?” His nostrils flare. “Who said anything about handing you over to them? You’re my wife.” He grips my hand so hard it hurts. “You’re mine.”
My laugh tastes like cyanide. “Yeah, sure. Yours until my hair falls out from the chemo, and I start puking every hour, right? Or is it yours until I’m officially confirmed infertile?” He flinches, and I press my point, perversely triumphant. “You haven’t thought about that, have you? Unless this surgery miraculously fixes me—which the doctor all but said it won’t—my body will be radiated and pumped full of poison. Even if I survive, I’ll never be the same. My health, my looks, my ability to have children—it’ll all be gone. At most, I’ll be a shadow of my former self, living from scan to scan, always waiting for the cancer to return.” I yank my hand out of his hold and push to my feet, tears stinging my eyes anew as I choke out, “You picked the wrong woman to stalk for a decade, Alexei Leonov. You might as well admit your mistake and drop me off with my family, where I can live out the rest of my life as I see fit. Who knows? If the tumor doesn’t kill me in the next nine months, you might yet get a child out of this mess.”
Chapter 31
Alexei
She starts for the door, having thrown that grenade in my face, and I snap. I fucking snap. The past eighteen hours have been the worst of my life, and I’ve had some shitty times in my life. Since our conversation with the doctors, I haven’t had a moment to eat or drink. Fuck, I don’t even remember taking a piss. Between researching Alina’s condition, making the arrangements for the surgery, and getting us to Europe from the middle of the fucking Pacific, I’ve been almost too busy to dwell on the terror and rage sloshing inside me—“almost” being the key word.
I’m on her before she can take two steps. Gripping her arm, I spin her around to face me. “You are mine.” It’s the growl of a deranged, wounded animal. “For better or worse, ’til death do us part, remember? I don’t give a fuck if you lose all your hair or projectile-vomit nonstop—I am not letting you go. And I’m sure as fuck not letting this thing take you. You are having the surgery, the radiation, the chemo, and every treatment they offer, proven or experimental, and you are going to fucking live! For me, if not for yourself, you hear? You are going to survive this even if I have to lock you up in the fucking clinic and pump you full of poison myself!”
I don’t know how or when my hands found their way to her shoulders, but they’re there and I’m shaking her as she stares up at me, her jade eyes wide and painfully bright. I’m shaking her, and then I’m kissing her, all the turmoil inside me coalescing into a violent surge of lust. She’s all I’ve ever wanted, and the knowledge that I could lose her gives a mad, manic edge to my perpetual desire for her, to my overwhelming need to possess and protect her. Only I can’t do the latter, not in this case. All I can do is show her with my body that I mean what I say, that she is mine and I’m not walking away, no matter how bad things get.
And they will get bad, I know. I know much more about it than she does because I’ve spent hours reading about the various types of gliomas, talking to Kressler and his colleagues, getting second, third, fourth, and fifth opinions on the scans done so far—and everything points to a tough battle ahead. But at the end of it, she will emerge victorious. I will make sure of it. And I sure as fuck won’t let her fight it on her own. Or worse, surrender.