Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Conscious Saka won’t give me a second of privacy if he thinks I’m angry at him, I say, “I’ll join you for a slice after I shower.”
“Yeah?” he replies, his mood instantly picking up.
“It’s pizza,” I say as if the relief in his tone didn’t add a ton of weight to my shoulders. “What mood can’t be tackled with pizza?”
My heart thuds at an unusual tempo when he says, “Do you think it’ll work on a wannabe vegan?”
My nose shows the same lines his did earlier when I say, “There’s only one way to find out. Ask her to join us.” I don’t need to say Taylor’s name for him to know who I’m referring to. The direction his eyes stray during my sentence announces he knows who he should extend an olive branch to. “Just make sure she understands not all secrets are bad. Sometimes we keep them to protect people we don’t want to hurt.”
My reply has two meanings. I’m still angry as fuck about the surveillance, but I have more understanding of his desire to protect me. My wish to do the same for him is why I haven’t told him about the box on my bed.
Matvei will kill a man for touching me, so how extreme would his punishment be for the man who’d force me to stay away from him?
17
NATALYA
After switching on the shower faucet and blasting the waterproof radio I usually croon to while shaving my legs, I lower the toilet lid, place Sookie on it, then yank my cell phone out of the front of my towel.
Matvei answers my request to Facetime a short time later.
“Are you fucking insane?” I shout down the line before he can issue me a greeting.
I want to strangle him when he says in his sexy accent, “It depends on your definition of sane.” He slouches low in a leather office chair before asking, “Did you get my gift?”
My exhale adds more steam to my phone screen than the hot water pumping out of the shower nozzle. “Yes, I got it.”
The humor touching his lips has me wishing I could forget his craziness and kiss the arrogance off his face. “Do you like it?”
“Do I like it? How the fuck could I like it?”
His face and torso fill the screen of my phone as he warns, “Language, Natalya. I won’t warn you again about your filthy mouth.”
Wariness is already trickling into my veins, but it clogs into dangerous blood clots from him cupping the speaker on his phone and apologizing for my profanity to someone out of the frame.
“Where are you?” I ask when I struggle to place the objects his wide shoulders aren’t blocking. His penthouse apartment is decorated with priceless trinkets and carefully selected family heirlooms. The shelf behind him has the basic accessories you’d find in any generic office space. They’re bland and uninviting.
Matvei nods to someone on his right before returning his eyes to his phone screen. “In my office at the hotel.”
“Doing what?” I ask while continuing to scrutinize every inch of the screen. The dividends my snoop awards me are invaluable when I spot something oddly out of place. “Is that your jacket draped over your desk?” Even with my voice calm, my choice of words reveals the mistrust bubbling in my gut. “It looks a little feminine and narrow across the shoulders.”
How dare I accuse someone of being unhinged when I am clearly bonkers. That is the only excuse I have for the jealousy in my tone. I’ve gone insane.
Matvei collects the jacket dusted with a handful of long, dark hairs and hands it to someone off-screen while saying, “We will finish this later.”
“Finish what? What are you finishing?” When silence is the only reply I get, I mutter, “I swear to fucking god, Matvei, if you don’t show me who is in your office this instant, I’ll… I’ll…” The verdict of insanity comes into play when I snarl, “I’ll cut off her hands and send them to you in a box.”
My violence is shocking, but I am determined to follow through on my pledge when Matvei smiles as if pleased by my jealousy before spinning his phone to face the lady on the other side of his desk. She’s older than Matvei, but beauty can’t be defined by age. Bold and healthy dark locks hang halfway down her back, her body is timelessly svelte, and her old-Hollywood glamor face only has a handful of wrinkles.
She is gorgeous, and I’m torn to shreds with jealousy until Matvei says, “Natalya, meet my mother, Irina. Ma, this is Natalya, m—”
“The woman who had you running out of our first family meeting in years?” She steps close to the screen as if she needs glasses but is too hip to admit it. I drink in the entirety of her face without any glare, and can’t doubt Matvei’s claim that they’re related. She is a female version of him. “I understand your fascination.” Her approval isn’t needed but very much craved. “It is lovely to meet you, Natalya.”