Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“Scrap what you have and start again.” I speak slower this time, more deadlier. It announces I am not asking him to do this. I am demanding it. “Once you have compiled a more suitable list, forward them to this address.” I remove a gold-embossed business card for the latest hotel added to my extensive real estate portfolio and place it on his desk. “Leave it with the receptionist. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
I’m halfway out the door when Dr. Hemway’s ethics get the better of him for the second time today. “She’s too smart to fall for your tricks.”
I smirk evilly. “I can only hope you are right.”
3
ZOYA
My mother’s scowl is hotter than the overdoor heating installed to warm up her guests enough they’ll dodge the hypothermia her frozen heart lures. It’s meant to reduce the likelihood of an illness from a high probability to a slight possibility. With her narrowed eyes bolstering the unnatural setting, there’s no chance I’ll leave our meeting with frozen digits today.
Even more so since my blood is still thick with lust.
I was disappointed when Dr. Hemway interrupted my exchange with Andrik, though in a way, I was also relieved. I’ve always said you can tell a man by his suit. Andrik’s suit screamed trouble, yet I seemed more frustrated than thankful when he failed to follow my exit from Dr. Hemway’s office.
My mother’s nasally snarl steals me from my uncalled thoughts. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Unlike Andrik, her voice is a mix of accents. The most notable is American, though an array of European nations also feature.
When she spins on her heel and walks away, neither inviting me inside her home nor demanding my removal, her now head maid, who has served her in various roles over the past almost three decades, sees it as a wordless acknowledgment that I’ve been granted five minutes of her time.
After handing Stasy, my once nanny, my coat, I trek through my mother’s mega-mansion until I find her in the den, serving herself a generous nip of gin.
Shock hardens my features when she tilts the bottle my way in silent offering.
I thought hell would freeze over before she would ever treat me amicably.
When I shake my head, she pffts me. “It’s not like the occasional treat will cause more harm to your insides.”
Her sneered comment hurts, and although I didn’t come here to argue about my inability to give her endless grandchildren, I can’t help but remind her that endometriosis is a genetic condition. “That means I must have gotten it from you or a direct ancestor of yours.”
Her huff pierces my ears, reminding me I’ll be long buried before she will ever take the blame for any part of my infertility woes. “You now have four minutes. Make the most of them since they’ll likely be your last. Thirty and unmarried is no cause for celebration.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” I remind her when her glare announces my unmarried status is the reason for her final sneered comment. “And single by choice.”
She huffs like she doesn’t believe me before checking her watch, hopeful four minutes have whizzed by in a second.
Since she is as unfair as she is unmotherly, I get to the point of my visit. “Aleena—”
“Is enjoying her birthday with her friends.” A flare I don’t recognize darts through her eyes. It is doused as quickly as her courtesy. “I’ll be sure to tell her you stopped by to offer your felicitations.” When she waves her hand through the air, Stasy appears out of nowhere. “Please show Ms. Galdean the way out.” She growls out the last name I chose when she forced me to change my name so my infertility wouldn’t stain her “good family name.”
It isn’t Stasy’s fault my hackles are raised, but I can’t help but yank out of her hold when she gently grips my elbow and guides me toward the exit.
“Aleena isn’t a child anymore. She will soon realize that this”—I wave my hand around the home that will forever be colder than grand—“isn’t the norm. We live in the twenty-first century, where girls aren’t raised solely to be wives and mothers. They can be anything they want to be. Nikita is a doctor, a fucking good one. And—”
“She is lonely, sad, and depressed. That is not someone you should be looking up to, Zoya.” She brushes off her skirt like my spat words dotted the decadent material with more than spit. “God forbid we will have a replica of her mother running around. That woman was nothing but trouble.”
“How was she trouble? Unlike you, she loved her daughters and her husband. She would have done anything to ensure their happiness.”
Her stare turns steely as she glares at me like she hates me. It hurts as much now as it did when I was a child who could never do anything right, but since my confidence is boosted from my flirty exchange with Andrik, the scold won’t be permanently disfiguring.