Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“I would be better off dead than with you.” Her voice is emotionless.
He frowns, nonplussed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He slowly rises, standing over her. “Get up.”
Alessia coughs once more and staggers painfully to her feet. He clasps her elbow and marches her back to where her abandoned bag sits in the parking lot. He picks it up and grabs his own suitcase several steps farther on.
He makes short work of checking in. Alessia hangs back while he hands over his passport and credit card. Anatoli speaks fluent French. She’s too weary and too sore to be surprised.
Their spartan suite has two main rooms. The living room has dark gray furniture and a small kitchenette to the side. The wall behind the sofa is painted in cheerful mismatched stripes. Through the open door beyond, Alessia spies two double beds. She breathes a sigh of relief. Two beds. Not one. Two.
Anatoli dumps her duffel on the floor, shoves off his coat, and throws it on the sofa. Alessia watches him, listening to the thud of her pulse thrumming in her ears. In the silence of the room, it’s deafening.
What now? What will he do?
“Your face is a mess. Go and clean yourself up.” Anatoli points to the bathroom.
“And whose fault is that?” Alessia snaps.
He glowers at her, and for the first time she notices his red-rimmed eyes and his pale complexion. He looks exhausted. “Just do it.” He even sounds exhausted. She heads into the bedroom, then the bathroom, slamming the door with such force that the loud bang makes her jump.
The bathroom is small and dingy, but in the insipid glow of the light above the mirror Alessia sees her reflection and gasps. One side of her face is red from his slap, and on the other there’s a graze on her cheekbone from where she hit the ground. Around her throat there are vivid red marks in the shape of his fingers. Tomorrow they will be bruises. But what shocks her most is the lifeless eyes staring back at her from beneath swollen lids.
She is dead already.
With swift, automatic movements, she washes her face, wincing as the soapy water touches the scrape. She pats herself dry with a towel.
When she reenters the living room, Anatoli has hung up his jacket and is searching through the minibar.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
She shakes her head.
He pours himself a drink—scotch, she thinks—and downs the entire glass in one gulp, closing his eyes to savor the taste. When he opens them again, he seems calmer. “Take off your coat.”
Alessia doesn’t move.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alessia, I do not want to fight with you. I am tired. It’s warm in here. Tomorrow we will go back out into the cold. Please take your coat off.”
Reluctantly she removes her coat as Anatoli stares at her, making her feel self-conscious. “I like you in jeans,” he says, but Alessia can’t look at him. She feels like a prize sheep on the auction block as he appraises her. She hears the rattle of bottles, but this time Anatoli produces a Perrier out of the fridge. “Here, you must be thirsty.” He pours it into a glass and offers it to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes it and drinks.
“It’s almost midnight. We should sleep.”
Her eyes meet his, and he smirks. “Ah, carissima, I should make you mine after the stunt you pulled outside.” He reaches for her chin, and she flinches as his fingers graze her skin.
Don’t touch me.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking only to himself. “But I don’t have the energy to fight you. And I think it would be a fight. Yes?”
She closes her eyes, battling a wave of revulsion that unsettles her stomach. Anatoli chuckles, and his lips caress her forehead in a soft kiss. “You will grow to love me,” he whispers. He picks up their bags and takes them into the bedroom.
Never.
The man is delusional.
Her heart belongs to another. It will always belong to Maxim.
“Go and change into your nightclothes,” he says.
She shakes her head. “I will sleep like this.” She doesn’t trust him.
Anatoli cocks his head, his expression severe. “No. Take your clothes off. You won’t run if you’re naked.”
“No.” She crosses her arms.
“No you won’t run, or no you won’t take your clothes off?”
“Both.”
He exhales, frustrated and tired. “I don’t believe you. But I also don’t understand why you are running.”
“Because you are an angry, violent man, Anatoli. Why would I want to spend my life with you?” Her voice holds no emotion.
He shrugs. “I don’t have the energy for this conversation. Get into bed.” Seizing the moment, in case he changes his mind, she scuttles into the bedroom. There she slips off her boots and huddles on top of the bed farther away, turning her back on him.