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)
“I had business to take care of.”
Anoushka dips her head in understanding.
The witch outstaying her welcome doesn’t.
“Business where?” Dina saunters into the foyer, nursing an overzealous glass of gin. “Your secretary said she hasn’t seen you since your meeting this morning.” She spins the watch too large for her rake-thin wrist until it displays the time. “That was over thirteen hours ago. What could possibly take that long to finalize?”
“I can think of a number of things,” I mutter, my tone hinting at just how deprived she makes my thoughts. “But none I need to discuss with you.”
She scoffs but doesn’t dare to continue badgering me. It won’t end well for her, and her wish to remain at her daughter’s side as negotiated in our contract reminds her of that fact.
After wordlessly cautioning Arabella to bring her mother into line, I head for the west wing.
Yes, my home has wings.
No, I will never have the need for the thirty-plus rooms they house.
The grandeur of my home is part of the gimmick I am forced to portray.
It is a prop—as are the people I invite inside. They’re all part of the plan. Only one person is excluded. The little boy swamped by a hospital bed he hasn’t left in months.
I had originally intended to make him part of my ruse, but just like Zoya, he imprinted himself on my soul in less than a heartbeat, so he will be protected just as fiercely.
“I might have believed you were sleeping if your nose wasn’t twitching like a rabbit,” I whisper in Russian. “Sweets are like hearts. Designed to be devoured. So why don’t you stop pretending to be asleep and see what I brought home for you.”
Zakhar’s lips twitch into a smile before he slowly opens his eyes. There’s so much pain in his baby blues, so much hurt, but he smiles large enough to showcase his wobbly tooth is holding on by a thread.
You’re not the only one, tooth.
“How is your tooth still in your mouth? I told Anoushka to put concrete in your cookies. It should have yanked it straight out.”
My eyes shoot to the side when a low voice mutters, “He’s been too unwell to eat.” My father moves out of the shadows he was hiding in, his agility too silent for a man of his size. “He’s barely keeping down water.”
I try to make out his comment didn’t dry my throat too much for me to speak. “That’s because it’s water.” I shift my eyes back to Zakhar. “Real men don’t drink water. We drink vodka from goblets carved out of our enemy’s bones.”
“Like our ancestors did,” Zakhar adds, playing his part of the ruse we’ve perfected over the past two weeks.
“That’s right.” I move to the bar a notable Russian is never without, where I pour from a crystal decanter filled with filtered water instead of the alcohol my veins are currently demanding. “Water won’t give us hairs on our chests and our…” I finalize my reply with an arched brow.
Zakhar giggles like he’s not on his deathbed when I pull a face like Anoushka is two seconds from swatting the back of my head.
I hand him one of the glasses I filled and clink it with mine.
“To Russia,” I cheer, my full-blooded accent on display.
“To Russia,” Zakhar mimics before he swallows barely a mouthful.
“More, Zak. You don’t want the one measly little hair Mikhail has on his chest, do you?”
The weight on my shoulders slackens when he fires back, “No. But I don’t want to be a gorilla like Па, either.”
“A gorilla? You think Pa is a gorilla?” When he nods, I mimic the slow stomp of a ridgeback before tickling his ribs. “He’s only a gorilla to make sure his hands are big enough to tickle your ribs until you pee your pants.”
He bucks and rears like it’s not taking everything he has to respond to my tease before he shouts for a clemency I rarely give. “Mercy! Mercy!”
I’m not usually a man who offers leniencies, but since it is for him, I pull back my hands before telling him to finish his “vodka.”
“We need you as fit as a fox...”—we lock eyes over the rim of his glass—“and as hairy as one too.”
24
ZOYA
Nerves tap dance in my stomach when I veer my borrowed ride down a paved driveway that stretches for over a mile. We’re only forty miles west of Myasnikov, but I had no clue their wealth extended this far. Mansions are dotted on pristinely maintained acres, and several of them have helipads and Olympic-sized swimming pools as one of their many features.
When the tension gets the better of me, I check the address the employment broker wrote down with the one cited on the GPS. It is a match.
The knowledge does little to settle my unease.