Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I apologize to a young dark-haired woman when I bump into her so I can reach the elevator before its doors close.
She’s pushing a cart filled with products I desperately need, but since I am so short on time, I slip into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby instead of pinching a bottle of my favorite perfume and an electric toothbrush from her stack of many.
“Ms. Lefevre?” she queries as the doors snap shut. “Mr. Ivanov requested you wait—” The quick descent of the elevator steals the rest of her reply. It is for the best. This is the first time in years anyone has referred to me by my last name. Everyone around here just calls me Nat.
When I reach the foyer and spot the glam of the hotel’s patrons, I veer for the concierge desk instead of the bank of offices Matvei mentioned last night. If I want a chance to recap the absolute fireworks we created last night, I can’t let Matvei see me like this. Nothing kills lust quicker than rank morning breath and a makeup-free face. They rank higher on my list of don’ts than telling people I have a deceased spouse.
As the concierge orders me a taxi, I drink in my elaborate surroundings. This hotel is a recent purchase by Matvei’s brother. It was bought under a family trust that sounds oddly similar to the one my mother held over my head anytime I stepped out of line as a child.
Matvei’s disdain while mentioning his family’s wealth allowed me to push my own dislike to the back of my mind so profoundly, I participated in our conversation without grimacing every two seconds.
Our stories are oddly similar, just over a decade apart.
He joined the military to pave his own way in the world. I am endeavoring to do the same. I just can’t associate my name with anything right now, not even the cab being seconded to my location.
“The driver is on his way, Ms. Ami.”
“Thank you,” I reply to the concierge before embarrassingly offering him my hand to shake. My purse is on the floor of Matvei’s mother’s car, so I can’t tip him.
I could ask someone to chaperone me to the underground garage, but that will delay my already tight schedule.
The concierge with gorgeous dark skin accepts my awkward gesture before saying, “The pleasure was mine.”
Faster than I can click my fingers together, a taxi idles at the front of the hotel. I assume it is for one of the other guests milling around the foyer, but I am proven wrong when they screw up their noses at the dirty black and yellow cab. Their tastes are far too opulent to step foot in a transport vehicle that charges a couple of dollars per mile. They’d rather waste money than act logically.
Ignoring the disdained gasps of the hotel guests, and eager to never be seen as a snob, I slip into the back of the taxi before instructing the driver to take me to Polina’s boutique. “Can you take Twenty-Second Street instead of Main? I need to make a quick stop.”
He groans, unaware our detour through the heart of Kronstadt is the only way he’ll get paid.
I line my eyes up with the driver in the rearview mirror when he asks a short time later, “Do you want me to stop?”
“For?”
When his eyes veer past me, I crank my neck back to the hotel. Matvei is standing under the awning, barking orders into his cell phone. He’s dressed in a crisp black suit, and an ankle-length trench coat protects him from the elements.
He looks scrumptious and pissed.
The second half of my appraisal is the sole reason I shake my head.
Matvei isn’t a man I could calm down in thirty seconds, and I don’t have a single minute to spare. My paycheck may only just cover my bills, but it’s honest money that deserves to be taken seriously.
I may have drowned in loneliness my first weeks in Kronstadt if it weren’t for that little boutique. It is where I met Taylor, Millie, and Maria, and where I learned that although my story may not be unique, I am far better off than a lot of women with the same story.
I survived my arranged marriage.
My husband can’t say the same.
I didn’t initially want to move to Russia, but Saka got a tip from one of his military buddies that it would be the safest place for us to hide. His suggestion proved worthwhile. This is the longest placement we’ve had.
With my memories making my composure a little skewwhiff, it takes me longer than I care to admit to realize the taxi is traveling in the opposite direction it was only minutes ago. We are now heading west instead of east.
“What are you doing?” I ask the driver when he signals to turn into the hotel’s driveway.