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)
His presence still gives me a weird feeling. The creeps mixed with fear and…something else I’d rather not identify.
“Stop trying to push away from me, Lia.”
“I’m not Lia,” I whisper.
“Yes, you are, and you’ll start acting like it.”
“I can’t just act like another woman.”
He pauses, his finger tapping once against his thigh. “Did you just talk back to me?”
“No.” My voice is small. I really don’t want to induce his wrath right now. Or ever, for that matter.
He doesn’t seem convinced, but he says ever so calmly, “Your presence here is for one reason only—to be Lia. You’ll learn to act like it. In fact, you’ll be her.”
Yeah, right.
But I don’t voice that thought, because judging by his brief show of anger just now, that would only get me in trouble.
I expect Bulky Blond and Crooked Nose to follow us, but they don’t. The door closes behind us with a click and an automatic light comes on overhead in a vast reception area with pure white walls, dark wood flooring, and a round chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
There’s a simple white table in the middle of the floor, surrounded by cream-colored high-back chairs. A wide, sweeping staircase with white railings leads upstairs. The hall is elegant and hints at a minimalist, refined taste, but there’s something wrong.
There are no family pictures, no paintings. Nothing.
It’s as if no humans live in this house. It’s clean but impersonal.
I’m still studying my surroundings when a soft thudding sound comes from upstairs. I freeze, fingers sinking into my palm. Maybe my premonition about this house is coming true, after all, and I’ll be attacked.
But then I recognize the sound. It’s not threatening; if anything, it seems like…
My thoughts trail off when the footsteps grow nearer and a small human appears at the top of the stairs. He comes down, holding the spindles with each step, his tiny fingers wrapping around them like a vise. He looks no older than five, give or take.
There’s no doubt who the little boy is.
He’s the spitting image of Adrian with his dark hair and gray eyes. Only, his are lighter and bigger.
My suspicions are confirmed when he hops down the last two steps, yelling, “Papa!”
As he runs toward us, head focused on his feet as if not to lose sight of his steps, my heels falter. A harsh, unyielding weight pushes against my ribcage as if intending to crush the bones and pierce through my heart.
The sight of the boy brings back memories I’ve kept buried for so long.
Tiny hands and feet.
A little face.
The smell of a baby.
“Slow down, Jeremy,” Adrian says from beside me, but I’m hearing him as if I’m underwater.
The boy, Jeremy, lifts his head and stops mid-run. His huge gray eyes meet mine and they widen even more as he whispers, “Mommy…?”
I don’t know if it’s the word or the way he looks at me as he says it, like he’s found the world after he lost it, but tears I haven’t shed in too long burst from my eyes.
They stream hard and fast down my cheeks, soaking my skin and ripping a sob out of my throat.
“Lia?” Adrian grips me by my shoulders, lowering his head so he can look at my face. My vision is so blurry, I can’t see him. That’s when I realize that I’m shaking and my limbs can’t carry me anymore.
“Lia!”
“I’m not Lia,” I whisper as the darkness whisks me away.
8
Adrian
Lia’s body falls limp in my arms, her lids closed and sweat covers her temples. I hold her small frame against me by her waist as her legs lose all strength.
Placing my arm under her knees, I lift her up as I did earlier. Her head lolls in an awkward position before it lands on my shoulder. Her lips twitch and her face turns so pale, her veins peek more visibly through her skin.
“Mommy…?”
I stare down at Jeremy, who’s holding a toy soldier and fighting back tears. He’s supposed to be in his bed this late, yet here he is. He must’ve tricked his nanny so that he could come down and meet me. He’s been doing that a lot the past few weeks, wanting to see me and throwing tantrums so I’ll pay him attention.
I know exactly why he’s acting like this. After losing his mother, he didn’t want to lose me, too. He sometimes sneaks into my bedroom merely to make sure I’m there.
“She just fell asleep, Malysh,” I say with an American accent. The Russian accent is for certain situations and the American is for others.
Being brought up by a half-American mother and a pure Russian father, the accents come naturally to me.
Jeremy, however, has spent most of his time with Lia, who only speaks English, and, therefore, he gets confused when I talk to him in Russian. While that will change in the future, I won’t force him to understand now. It’s the worst time to add to his stress.