Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
The following morning, after I come back from my run, I shower and go to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for my parents.
It’s the least I can do after the love and understanding they showered me with last night. They’re the reason I’ve been hanging on to that thread of hope for years. If they weren’t in my life…I don’t even want to think about it.
Even though Mum is on a deadline, we sure as hell went to the home cinema and watched my favorite Poirot episode, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd”.
Dad dozed off halfway through and Mum talked me into painting his face—something we always used to do whenever he fell asleep around us. The four of us. Dad had no chance of winning with four chaotic artists in the family.
Though only Glyn takes after Mum in being a chaotic creative. Lan and I are too consumed with perfection. Too methodical. Too…focused.
I’d actually never thought about that. Lan is a sculptor and I’m a painter, but we share the same creative energy.
Guess we’ve always had similar traits, no matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it.
Anyway, breakfast.
Dad will be up soon and Mum spent an all-nighter in the studio. I know how important this exhibition is for her. She’s been working for two years on her next big thing and I want to be there for her every step of the way.
I will not, under any circumstances, distract her.
Which means I should probably go back to uni soon.
I puff out a breath of air, dread, and another queasy feeling enveloping me at the thought of what waits for me on the island.
Our butler, Nolan, walks inside, all dressed in his impeccable suit and the slightly crooked bow tie.
“I’ve got this, Nolan. Thanks,” I tell him as I fetch eggs from the fridge.
“Sir, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“You have a peculiar visitor.”
“This early…?”
I lift my head and I can hear the sound of my shattering heart as my eyes meet those deep-blue ones.
Nikolai is in my parents' house.
31
NIKOLAI
The past week has been a red mist.
No. Black would be a more accurate fucking description.
With everything that imploded back home, I had to go to the States and assess the fuckery for myself. As if everything wasn’t already fucked up, I also had to clash with none other than Landon—also known as the reason behind every fucked-up emotion I’ve been experiencing over the past couple of weeks.
The reason why Bran has been completely ignoring me.
Let’s just say Landon said I shouldn’t mention anything about his impromptu visit to my parents. I still hate the fucking guy and I’d rather see him burn at the stake than be with my sister, but I don’t really have a choice after he saved her from certain death.
Motherfucking fucker even managed to stop raising Dad’s hackles. My. Dad. As in the man who brought me up to be the twins’ second watchdog after himself.
A lot of fuckery happened, including many familial conversations and disturbing revelations. Through it all, I couldn’t be fully present, not when I’d left my fucking heart on the island. I returned as soon as I could, but it turned out Bran wasn’t there all along.
I had to get information about his whereabouts through Kill and Jer because Glyn and Cecily were mad at me. Probably because of the part I played in the beating up of Landon.
Let the record show that I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Though maybe I wouldn’t threaten his precious fucking wrist. Just damage his face so he no longer resembles the most beautiful man on earth.
Said man looks at me as if I’m a barbarian walking into his empire with primitive weapons and the intention of burning down his forts.
He’s not mistaken.
I have to exercise self-control I don’t actually have to not jump him and bruise those parted lips, tug them between my teeth, and devour them with my tongue.
We have company. Chill, Kolya. Just fucking chill. This behavior wouldn’t work in your favor.
Bran straightens to his full height, his surprised expression slowly fading as he wears his control like armor.
My gaze greedily takes in the cold lines of his face, the muted blue of his eyes, the slight tic in his sharp jawline, and the unfortunate absence of my mark on his unblemished neck.
A few chaotic brown strands fall on his forehead, half damp as if he just walked out of the shower. If I inhale deep enough, I can breathe the citrus and clover into my starved lungs.
My attention falls on his white polo T-shirt and how it stretches over his planes of muscles. It rides up as he slowly shuts the fridge, revealing his smooth abs and that delicious V-line that unfortunately disappears beneath his dark-blue pants.
He smiles at the man standing beside me, who looked at me like I’m a vicious stray dog trying to bite his master. If I wasn’t trying to get brownie points with Bran, I would’ve punched him in his standoffish face.