Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Sondra floats in the water, the only place she wants to be with her big round belly. Nico had a private pool recently installed up here for his wife and sister-in-law. I’m guessing he and Stefano couldn’t stand their women being ogled by the public at the guest pools.
My brothers brought the best nephrologist in the U.S. with them to Russia when they came for me. I was transported on a private jet with the million dollar surgeon looking after me. My recovery has been perfect.
They brought me to Vegas instead of Chicago to recuperate. They figured at the Bellissimo, I’d have a host of employees available to wait on me hand and foot. Or maybe they just wanted to provide ample distraction from my heartache. My mom came too and she’s been doing her best to draw me out of my depression. But I can’t shake it.
It’s been three months and I’m mostly healed from the surgery, and I’ve been cleared for exercise. My body didn’t reject Vlad’s kidney. My heart hasn’t rejected it either.
The fact that he was a match feels like fate. Like I was destined to be saved by Vlad and his kidney.
It’s stupid, but every time I think of a part of him being inside me, keeping me healthy, the noise and anxiety that’s been eating at me since I left Russia diminishes.
I haven’t heard a single word from Vlad.
No doubt my brothers had something to do with that. But still.
It hurts.
I know I meant something to him. I was more than a monetary transaction or revenge. He gave himself to me. Opened up. Changed.
And I freaking miss him.
I miss the incredible sex. I miss our walks to the lake. I miss the energy—the way I always felt watched, appreciated, admired.
I miss Mika, although he thankfully reached out on Facebook, so we’ve been chatting. I started tutoring him again, which is the only bright spot to my days. I also made a generous donation to the orphanage in Volgograd, and when they sent the thank you letter, the director wrote: We were astonished and grateful for your additional gift. Your husband’s generosity has already made a huge difference.
Nico comes out on the deck. He’s without the suit jacket but still looks overdressed on the deck of the pool.
Sondra beams at him from the water and he walks over and crouches by the side. When he cups behind her head and pulls her part way out for a kiss, I look away to give them privacy.
I love seeing my brothers in love, but every kiss or touch I witness reminds me of Vlad. And that ache hasn’t diminished with time. It’s grown bigger.
Nico comes over to the chaise lounge where I’m sprawled, and I keep my head ducked down in the latest Tessa Bailey romance I’m reading. Even the fictitious couples falling in love depresses me. I’m so sick of my family trying to draw me into conversation. It’s more painful than wallowing in my own misery.
He pulls up a chair and sits beside me.
Damn. Here we go.
“Tell me,” he says.
I put down the book and lower my sunglasses. “What?”
“What you’re thinking about? Vlad?”
It’s the first time anyone’s mentioned his name since I got back. It’s always been the stronzo Russian or more colorful Italian obscenities.
Tears pop in my eyes before I can even draw a breath.
Nico’s face turns sympathetic. “You love him.”
My chin wobbles. I nod.
“He loves you, too.”
I look away because it hurts too much to hear. If he loved me so much, why hasn’t he come for me? Why didn’t he even try to visit me in the hospital in Russia? Or communicate with me since I’ve been back?
He may love me, but he’s definitely let me go.
“I knew it from that first video call,” Nico says. “I saw the way he looked at you. And when you said he hadn’t hurt you, I knew I was right. If he wanted my money, he would’ve made it short and sweet. Collected the money and returned you. Or killed you. But he wouldn’t take you to Russia to be his bride. That was fascination on his part.”
My nose stings. A tear leaks down my face.
“You know about Stockholm Syndrome?”
“Nico, shut up.” I glare at him, pulling off my Chanel sunglasses and wiping a tear.
He holds his hands out in surrender. “I’m just saying—your attachment might be that. Or it could be love. Hard to say without seeing him again, I suppose.”
My mouth drops open. Heart starts thumping hard.
Is he suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? The idea revs every cell in my body back to life.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope. “He sent you a letter. I opened it first to be sure it wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Asshole!” I snatch up the envelope. “You don’t get to read my mail.”