Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Then he started sharing bits of stories I’d never heard, and I found myself lost in the way he spoke, his words unguarded, his laughter warm. And then he picked up the book I’d been reading. “Romance, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I can’t get enough.”
“Is the hero Russian?” he teased.
I smiled secretively. “Of course.”
“Is he tragic and brooding?”
I nudged his arm. “No, I have that in real life.”
His eyes had flicked to mine, playful but with an edge of something deeper. “Maybe. But I’m working on my happy ending.”
We both laughed, but beneath the surface, I felt something shift. It was subtle but undeniable—this pull between us, a connection I couldn’t ignore. And then he kissed me. Not the passionate, hungry kisses from before, but something softer, almost... careful.
“Hey, what is that around your neck!” Leila calls, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.
Leila's eyes are wide with curiosity “Oh my God, is that a gift?” she squeals.
I touch the little ruby pendant lightly, feeling its warm weight against my skin. “Yeah,” I admit, my voice quieter, almost shy. “He gave it to me this morning.”
Leila’s mouth drops open in awe. “Lara, it’s so pretty! Oh my God. You are falling for him.”
I hesitate for a moment, but I decide to just tell her. “it’s not what you think. There's a story behind it.”
“Well, come on. Out with it?”
“It’s not an ordinary pendant. It has a tracker inside. He said he’d be able to find me if there was ever any trouble.”
Leila’s eyebrows shoot up, her excitement replaced by a hint of skepticism. “Wait, what? Isn’t that... a little… um… creepy? I mean, he’s tracking your movements now?”
I try to laugh it off, it sounds forced even to me. “Yeah, normally I would agree with you, but some stuff is going down right now with him and he doesn’t really trust anyone here in Paris.”
“What stuff?” she asks skeptically.
“I don’t know. Heavy stuff with the governments. I can’t really talk about it.”
“What the fuck!” she screams.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s cool. He just wants to make sure I’m safe. New York is not all that safe nowadays, you know. There are kidnappers everywhere,” I add airily.
“Have you gone totally mad?”
“Look, it’s just a precaution, okay. Drop it for now, Leila. I’ll explain everything fully when we get back, okay?”
Leila takes a deep calming breath, but there’s still a hint of unease in her eyes. “Well, I get that a man can be worried about his girl, but still… a tracker?”
I nod slowly, the weight of the pendant suddenly feeling heavier against my chest. “I know it sounds crazy,” I admit, “but with everything that’s been going on, it oddly makes sense.”
There’s silence on the line, and I can see Leila trying to process everything, just like I’ve been trying to. Her skepticism fades into something warmer, a protective sort of worry. “Fine, I’ll leave it until you get back. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I will,” I promise, but the words feel thin, insubstantial.
“Are you in love with him, Lara?” she asks outright.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I admit honestly. “He confides in me. It’s... hard not to feel something when someone lets you in like that.”
Leila leans closer to the screen, her expression shifting to concern. “Girl, look out,” she warns, her tone serious but playful. “This is the man who made you sign a contract.”
“I know.”
“I guess I’m just letting it play out. He’s different than I thought. It’s not just... It’s more than that.”
Leila sighs, leaning back. “Just be careful, Lara. Guys like him...”
“I know,” I whisper, more to myself this time. I feel like someone who’s crossed a line she can’t come back from.
I end the call, and slipping my phone into my pocket I go and splash cold water on my face. It’s supposed to help, but it doesn’t. Nothing really does. The book I’ve been holding onto for hours? I haven’t even read a single sentence, not really.
I step out of the bathroom and return to my seat, and it hits me like a wave. The lights are dimmed down low, but the air is thick with tension. Ivan’s face is tight, frustration written in every hard line of his jaw as he speaks rapidly into his phone in Russian.
I’m careful not to disturb his conversation, but it’s hard not to stare. He looks... worn down. His posture rigid, his hand gripping a half-empty glass of whiskey. Whatever’s happening on the other end of that phone, it’s bad. I can feel it.
I sit quietly, refilling my glass of wine, watching him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t notice me. He’s too wrapped up in whatever storm is brewing around him. And as much as I want to reach out, to ask him what’s going on, I know better. I’m just here, on the edge of it, watching him fight battles I don’t understand.