Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I stride to Jeremy’s room, and when I open the door, the sight before me leaves me open-mouthed. Lia is sleeping on my son’s bed, holding him to her chest.
His tiny fingers are wrapped around her waist and a small smile grazes his sleepy face.
The room is all sorts of chaotic, as if an army of children played here. His toy soldiers are scattered on the floor, surrounded by a dozen drawings and colorful scarfs.
Did she spend the entire day with Jeremy?
My gaze slides to them again, to the way her jean shorts ride up her bare thighs and how her top hugs her waist, revealing her belly button.
The whole look is unusual, but that didn’t stop my dick from hardening this morning—or from starting to right now.
I hear soft footsteps at my back and I don’t bother to turn around as Ogla stops behind me.
“She came in here after you left, sir.”
“What did they do?”
“They played, then they drew, and then they…”
My focus slides to her for a brief second. “What?”
She clears her throat. “She blasted god-awful loud music and made Jeremy dance with her as she wrapped all sorts of scarfs around them.”
My lips twitch. “How did Jeremy behave?”
“He was laughing and smiling all day and didn’t want to leave her side.”
“Anything else?”
“She didn’t learn anything from the iPad you left her, sir.”
Why am I not surprised?
“Are you going to visit Mrs. Volkov, sir?” Ogla asks.
I give her a quizzical glance.
“Not this one. The other one.” Her voice lowers. “Something weird happened to her and it needs your attention.”
14
Winter
A creaking noise startles me awake.
I place a protective hand around Jeremy, but thankfully, he doesn’t stir.
I study my surroundings in search of the sound. The room is empty, aside from me and Jeremy, but the creaking continues, louder this time, magnifying to a terrifying intensity before blaring classical music blasts from outside.
My gaze snaps to Jeremy, who’s still peacefully sleeping, his tiny hand strung around my waist. He didn’t want to let me go, afraid the ghost would take me away.
Not sure what he meant by that, but kids his age have wild imaginations, so it could be anything. Jeremy is especially bright and catches on to things fast. Whenever I teach him something, his brain absorbs it quickly, and soon enough, he mimics me.
An overpowering giddiness takes hold of me whenever he calls me Mommy. I certainly don’t deserve it, but it’s the best thing that’s happened to me since I stepped into Lia’s shoes. With Jeremy’s attachment to me, I can pretend my existence actually has a purpose, after all.
The classical music is louder now, distressed, almost like it’s the climax of a scene. Who the hell would blast music in the middle of the night with a child sleeping?
Gently removing Jeremy’s fingers, I cover him with the duvet and slowly inch to the edge of the mattress. On my way to the door, I step on some of his toys, but thankfully, it doesn’t hurt the way it did when I stepped on them when I was carrying him to bed earlier.
I quietly open the door, then close it behind me when I’m outside. The music is deafening now, almost like I’m in an opera house. An eerie feeling grabs me by my nape like marionette strings as I descend the stairs. I clutch the handrail for balance, because it feels like whoever is gripping the strings will push me to my death.
The music is coming from the sitting room Ogla led me to this morning. I halt at the entrance when I find out the reason behind the music.
A woman.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, wearing a wedding dress that stops below her knees. It’s identical to the one I saw in that Giselle poster. Ballet shoes cover her feet, the ribbons wrapped around her calves.
She’s standing on pointe, her back arched at a sublime angle. A veil covers her face, and I can’t see it because she’s turned away from me.
Who is she? And why the hell is she dancing in the middle of Adrian’s sitting room? Don’t tell me this is his mistress or something.
She twirls around to the music on one leg, her other taut in the air. That must hurt. Staying on pointe for that long is pure torture and strains your muscles and tendons; that’s why it’s supposed to be done in short intervals.
I try to approach her so I can see her or stop her, but she leaps away—jumping, twirling, and arching her back. Then she’s running from one side of the room to the other, clutching her head and meeting the distressed music with an act of pure madness.
My feet freeze in place as I watch her insanity unfold with her dance moves.
It’s Giselle.
The music climbs to a crescendo as she falls on the ground before leaping up on pointe again, swaying from side to side.