Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Don’t play the altruist now, Bianchi,” Aleksandr says in a bored voice. “I won’t touch her until our wedding. But if I have my way, that will be in two days’ time.”
I stifle a gasp.
Two days’ time.
How am I going to get away? If he takes me now —
“I can’t pack anything?” I ask, my voice trembling. I don’t care about my clothes, but I do have a few special trinkets that matter to me. The little box with a lock of hair, a folded picture, and a tiny charm that are mine. They have to come with me.
“No.” He stands. “Do we have a deal or not?”
My father rises with him, his greedy eyes widening.
“Of course we do.”
My mother stands with him, paling.
I shake my head when the reality of the situation hits me hard. “I…I can’t go with you now. No. I won’t go. I don’t even know you. I can’t just leave everyone and everything behind like that. If you want me to come to you before the wedding—”
“Harper,” Mom snaps. My brother watches in stony silence. My father looks apoplectic when he realizes I’m not going easily. I know that look well, his complexion splotchy and red, the thin line of his lips. It’s a wonder he hasn’t broken a blood vessel.
I shake my head, a strange memory from high school coming to me. My high school poetry teacher, standing in front of the class, his hand on his heart as he recited a poem.
A poem about death and going gently and fighting against it all, that I loved so much I went home and memorized it.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night...
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
“Harper. Go with Mr. Romanov,” my mother urges fervently, as if she wishes she could talk me into doing the impossible. “He will take good care of you.”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so scared.
I shake my head. No. I won’t go. I can’t.
My future husband slides out of his suit coat. The taut fabric of his dress shirt stretches tight against his abs, biceps bulging the sleeves. Great, he’s strong, too. At least my father’s loser friends would’ve been easier to outrun. He snaps his gaze to my father’s. “Do we have a deal or not, Bianchi?”
My heart leaps into my throat. Oh my God.
My father nods, fanning himself with the folded check.
“Yes. We have a deal.” His cold eyes narrow at me and swipes the check in my general direction. “Take her.”
I shake my head and step back. “You can’t take me,” I whisper.
I feel the wall of my brother’s body at my back. The ghost of his hands at my arms before Romanov snaps, “Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you. She’s mine now.”
Oh, God. Nausea spirals in my stomach. My hands shake. It’s now or never.
Wait. My brother dies if he touches me.
He can’t stop me. It’s my only chance.
I gather my courage, take a deep breath.
I stomp as hard as I can on my brother’s foot. Elbow him. I shove him clumsily toward Romanov and make a break for it.
CHAPTER THREE
Aleksandr
The little brat’s so fucking predictable.
I didn’t know how fast she was, though.
As soon as she escapes her useless brother, she heads for the hallway. I shove him out of the way and march past him, stepping into the hallway after her. She’s already ten feet ahead of me, running like a scared little bunny from a hungry wolf into the night.
Run, little girl, run.
I roll up my sleeves as I watch her choose where to go next. Her mother’s yelling behind me, something unintelligible in Italian. Her father’s cursing and her brother’s righting himself and muttering.
Italians. Always dramatic about fucking everything.
I march toward the door when I see a flourish of honey blonde hair exiting. She’s a pretty little thing, and she looks a lot more wholesome in person than I’d expect, being a Bianchi. Sun-kissed hair, high cheekbones, a curvy little body dressed impeccably in designer clothing.
Figures she’s a runner.
Unfortunately for her, so am I.
I give her a little bit of a lead. Let her think she can win, that she can outrun me. I’ll catch her, and when I do, I’ll punish her for this.
Win, win.
A wedding gift, tied up in a neat little bow.
I turn the corner of the house and call my driver. Vas answers on the first ring.
“You see her?”
“Coming this way?”
“Yeah.”
The second I got one look at the way Bianchi brought her to me, I knew she was the type they’ve been pushing around. I don’t fucking care about someone I don’t know, but I won’t let the Bianchis pull one over on me either. I knew if I left her even for a day, she’d be out of here.