Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Damn.” Maxim shoves his hands in his pockets. “Me neither. I had no idea that was Dima’s problem. I mean, I knew he never dated. We just thought he was sort of antisocial—or introverted. That’s why he was more comfortable in front of a computer.”
“No.” I let bitterness leak into my voice. “He’s antisocial to keep himself from living.”
“I’m sorry, girlfriend, that sucks.” Sasha pulls me into a hug, and when she releases me, Story is there, too. I don’t know either of these women that well, but we’re friendly.
Maxim drifts away, leaving me with the women.
“You need a girls’ night out?” Sasha offers. “We can take you out and buy you enough drinks to forget about men who prefer computers and ghosts to live women.”
I let out a watery laugh. “I appreciate the offer, but I just want to be alone right now.” Being around anyone from the penthouse would just be another reminder of Dima, whom I do not want to think about.
I make my escape, promising to text them if I want to go out or if I need company, and then I go down to my apartment.
Mr. Whiskers greets me with an angry meow, and I sit down in the middle of my floor, dropping the bag with my clothes and wrapping my arms around my knees.
Mr. Whiskers takes a minute, and then he finally comes over to rub against me.
“There you are. Don’t be mad at me.” I pick him up and bury my face in his soft fur. “I’m sorry I was gone. I missed you so much.”
He meows again and starts purring. My tears dampen his fur as he kneads my thigh with his paws.
“I’m sorry I was gone. I was giving this love thing a chance, but it failed.” I sniff. “Don’t worry. I won’t be trying it again anytime soon.”
Dima
Bozhe moi, this pain in my chest. The moment Natasha drives away, I register it like a goddamn heart attack. She’s leaving.
She left.
Even though our end was inevitable, even though I was pushing for it, I’m suddenly blinded by guilt. By sorrow.
I hurt Natasha. That much is unforgivable. I shut myself off from her until she finally gave up on me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Didn’t I want her to give up? Wasn’t that the point of refusing to tell her about Alyona? About repeatedly telling her I wasn’t for her—that I wasn’t available?
Why, then, does it feel like I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
I move through the cabin like an apparition, barely aware of my surroundings, or what needs to be done.
Vaguely, I realize I need to arrange a pick-up because Nikolai and I are now stranded out here. I manage to text Ravil the situation then start packing.
“What happened?” Nikolai appears in the doorway of the office. He’s lost weight this week, but he showered, shaved, and dressed at some point today, so he looks better than he has.
I can’t seem to reply. My brain flips into blank space when I search for the answer to his question.
Like a jackass, he repeats the question, enunciating. “What. Happened. With. Natasha?”
“I…” I stare at him blankly. “I fucked up.”
He scoffs. “Obviously.” He raises his brows and spreads his hands, waiting for an explanation.
I sink into the desk chair and drop my head in my hands. “Do you think the dead are watching the living?”
“Bozhe moi, Dima,” Nikolai snaps, like he’s pissed at me now, too. “If they are... “ He pauses and draws a deep breath. “Do you really think Alyona would want you to spend the rest of your life in fucking misery when you could open your heart to someone else?”
His words fall like a bludgeon on my already battered chest.
I fall back in the chair. “Would she?” I ask. I’m desperate for the answer, even though I won’t believe Nikolai. How would he know anything about this? “I promised her there’d never be another.”
“You were seventeen,” Nikolai snarls. “You didn’t want your life to go on.”
The screech of metal against our car rings in my ears. That night on the bridge when I almost killed my twin.
“You’ve learned to live since then,” Nikolai says. “You can learn to love, too.”
My eyes burn. I twist the little ring on my pinkie.
Learn to love.
A fast-forward film of all the moments Natasha and I shared together this week flip through my head. Not just the passionate moments but the tender ones, too. Even the ordinary ones. Natasha making sure I don’t burn my eggs while we argue. The way she looked in the moonlight. The care she took with Nikolai. And fuck—the utter desolation I saw on her face when she finally gave up on me.
I have learned to love. Natasha showed me. Even though I fought it at every turn, she kept knocking on the door of my heart.