Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I jerk my wrist away from him, getting the attention of several people nearby.
“I’m just using the restroom,” I say. “Please let me go.”
He reaches for me, but a waiter comes by, so to save face, he plasters a smile on his face. For once, I’m happy he’s always more concerned with appearances than anything else. “Go. Come right back.”
A crowd of women passes in front of me. I take the opportunity to step right into the middle of them and head to the bathroom before he can pull me back.
What’s happened, and why is he behaving this way?
I feel sick to my stomach and wish, not for the first time, I had someone to confide in. I wish my sister and I were still close like we were when we were children, but now that she’s married into the Romanov family, that’s impossible. Timur has forbidden it.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath.
He’s obviously in a bad mood, but he’s never been like this before.
I dab at my lips with lip gloss, trying to quell my rising nerves.
I reach for my phone, wishing again I could call Vera. I have no friends, and my mother and I were never close.
It doesn’t matter. So he was… what, impatient? Crass? A man’s entitled to the occasional bad temper, isn’t he? I’m certainly not a ball of sunshine every waking hour.
Up until now, he’s always treated me well.
Maybe I just have unrealistic expectations. It’s a fluke—a bad night.
It will be fine. I’ll go back out, and my charming fiancé will order dinner for me, and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’m starving. Maybe I’m exaggerating things in my mind.
I tap the screen and stare at five missed calls and as many missed texts.
What the hell?
My blood runs cold.
Vera: Lydia, you are in danger. Come home. I’m sending a car for you now. You have to leave. Please. I’ll explain everything.
Come home? I’m two hours away from home.
I’m in danger? I look around the spacious, luxury bathroom. It’s well-lit with marble flooring that gleams under soft, ambient overhead lighting. The walls are adorned with large, oval-shaped mirrors in gilded frames. The polished countertops boast bouquets of fresh flowers. It seems too elegant, too refined, for me to be here and in… danger.
Still, I walk to the stall and open it, sliding the lock in place behind me. I open my purse and eye the lighter and pepper spray I always carry with me. I have some measure of protection, anyway.
I check the rest of my messages.
Lydia, please call me. It’s urgent
And then another text from a number I don’t recognize.
Lydia, this is Nikko Romanov, your brother-in-law. It is imperative we secure your location and bring you to safety.
What the hell is going on?
I jump when the door to the bathroom opens, and I hear the click of heels on the tiled floor. I hold my breath as the footsteps approach. I reach into my bag and take out my pepper spray, my finger trembling on the trigger. But I only hear the door to a stall shut.
I’m losing my mind.
I put the pepper spray back.
I’ve made this into something much, much bigger than it actually is. I’m at a fancy restaurant. With the man I’m going to marry. Vera’s being dramatic or influenced by her new husband.
With trembling fingers, I text Vera back.
Okay what is going on?
It’s too much to text and something I don’t want to communicate this way. I don’t know if your phone is tapped. It’s important to come home so we can chat. Are you alright? Are you safe?
I blink. My phone… tapped?
I’m hiding in a bathroom stall. My fiancé is acting strange, and my phone’s blowing up with cryptic messages about my safety. No, of course I’m not alright.
I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll call you after dinner, okay?
I slide my phone into my bag and leave the stall. The door opens again, letting in another woman dressed in a silky ivory cocktail dress, but I barely notice her. Timur stands outside the door, leaning casually up against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
I go to him.
“I need to call my sister soon. She said she needs to talk with me,” I tell him when I exit. The pinched expression on his face has vanished, and instead, he looks like the polished, civilized man who proposed to me while bathed in sunset hues on a beach in Maui. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Oh? Our first dish has arrived. Can it wait? You said you were starving. I’ll expedite the delivery of the rest of our food, and we’ll leave early so you can call her.”
He ushers me back to our table, matching my strides as we walk hand in hand. I wonder if I imagined the grumpiness from before. This is the Timur I can’t wait to be with.