Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
He must’ve been able to tell by my expression that I was in a shitty mood, because his smile faltered and he tipped his chin toward the front doors.
We silently walked out together, and once the doors were closed behind us, I exhaled.
“Sometimes…” I didn’t want to be a bad daughter or a bitch, so I chose my words carefully. “Sometimes my father is really difficult.”
“I’d ask what’s wrong, but I know.”
I looked over at him. I wasn’t surprised he knew. He was my father’s right hand and knew everything that had to do with my father, even the personal things like my arranged marriage.
He was the only person my father trusted, confided in. If we were the Italian mafia, he’d be my father’s consigliere.
“I’d say life’s not fair but that sounds pretty childish.” He chuckled and I wasn’t surprised to see the humor come from him.
I felt a little of my irritation toward my father vanish. Timur was good at easing the situation. He was like the fun uncle, the kind who didn’t take things too seriously.
“Everything will be okay. It’ll work out. You have your family, and you have me.”
I didn’t bother reminding him that my family was the furthest thing from supportive right now, and that despite him saying he was there for me, his loyalties were with my father and the Bratva. Always.
In that moment, I felt like I had no one.
I looked back out over the grounds, feeling like I was utterly alone.
Chapter
Nine
Anastasia
I knew I was only making things worse by what I was about to do, but maybe—God, maybe—I could talk some sense into Ivan as well.
I rested my elbows on the table of the little Russian teahouse I was meeting him at and closed my eyes, a fierce headache coming on.
Although he’d raised a lot of red flags when I’d first met him back at my father’s, he’d also seemed uncomfortable with how things had progressed, which gave me some hope that maybe if I could make him see my side, he’d be willing to speak with my father.
I didn’t care if Ivan breaking off the engagement would make me undesirable in the eyes of the Bratva. I didn’t care if I’d be seen as defective in the circles we ran. I’d much rather have that reputation than live the life currently predicted for me.
Although only a few days had passed since then, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
I straightened and rested back against the chair, watching the waitstaff serve the small handful of customers currently inside.
“Prima, what a pleasure to see you so soon again.” His accent was thick and startled me. I spun around to see him standing a foot from where I was, his black suit fitted over his bulky body.
His dark hair was slicked back, and I could see beads of sweat lining his temples. His cologne surrounded me, but I pasted on a faux smile. The last thing I wanted to do was offend him, especially since my goal was to convince him I wasn’t a good fit for marriage.
I stood and gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile and not one filled with tension because I wasn’t sure how this meeting would go. My father obviously had no idea I was meeting with Ivan, and I didn’t know if Ivan had told him.
I had to assume he did, yet he was still here so maybe not. He took my hand and brought it to his mouth, his lips rushing over my knuckles. Instantly I felt uneasy discomfort over that, but I kept my smile in place so as not to be rude.
When we were both seated at the table, he snapped his fingers, signaling the waiter to come over. After ordering some liquor—I kept the surprise to myself given the fact it was barely lunchtime—we sat in silence for a few seconds.
His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me, and the type of discomfort I felt had me shifting on my seat slightly.
“I have to say I was surprised, but extremely pleased when you reached out to me to speak. I feel like we need more one-on-one time together before the nuptials.”
I swallowed roughly. Okay, maybe he hadn’t spoken to my father, because surely if he had, he would know that I was not for this engagement and he wouldn’t be acting like we needed to get to know each other more before the wedding.
The waiter came by and gave Ivan his drink, dropped off a glass of water for me, and then left. The silence descended as he kept staring at me.
His gaze was heavy and almost suffocating, his eyes penetrating me as if he could dissect every single little part of me. It was the same kind of look I’d seen a lot of the men in the Bratva had, as if they’d been molded to be these unfeeling, uncaring machines.