Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 11
AIDEN
Ican’t blame her for this. Her head must be all over the damn place. I knew she was going to run before she broke into the sprint. Now, I let her create some distance from the diner, then skirt around to the opposite end of the alleyway. She stops running when she spots me, her mouth hanging open like she thinks I’ve teleported.
Even startled, even wanting to get away from me, she looks so damn beautiful.
Ania, I’d never hurt you, I almost say, but that’s taking it way too far. What does “never” mean in this context? It’s not as if we’ve known each other long enough for never to mean a damn thing.
“Stop,” I say instead.
She takes a few steps back, then looks over her shoulder. Again, I can tell she’s about to run. I jog, catching her as she’s about to round the corner. She spins on me, tears in her eyes, looking so broken. All I want to do is put her back together.
I pull her into my arms. She fights me at first. Then it’s like she melts into the embrace. She trembles like all the pain is bubbling out of her, her mother, this situation I’ve put her in, her battle with food. I clutch her even tighter, trying to help her contain it. Eventually, she wraps her arms around me. I try to tell myself it’s just because I’m a warm body. I’m here. I’m offering her comfort. It has nothing to do with me, specifically.
All I know is it feels so good to hold her like this.
“Some escape attempt, huh?” she says, her first words since I caught up with her.
We’re driving back across the toward the lodge. Dad hasn’t called with an update about Molly. Ania sits with her arms crossed, emphasizing the sharpness of her slim shoulders. She’s my perfect ballerina, my woman, the person I need to protect most.
Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me? I barely know this girl, and she barely knows me.
“You did your best,” I tell her. “Better than most.”
“Do you think anybody saw us?”
“Maybe, but it won’t come to anything. The police are slow to take action even when they have all the facts. Plus, we’ve got connections.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me. My dad.”
“What sort of connections?”
I’m glad she’s talking, so I try to keep the conversation going. “We donate generously to several police funds.”
“Ah, I see. So if the Sokolovs bribe the cops, it’s bad. But if you do it officially, that’s fine and dandy.”
“Fine and dandy,” I repeat with a slight chuckle. “I like the way you talk.”
“Too many old books. Too much living in my head.”
“You don’t need to say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“It hasn’t exactly worked out great for me.”
“That’s not true. You were in ballet school. You were doing well for yourself. You’ve got problems, Ania. You’re a human being. That doesn’t mean you’re not doing well. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You seem like a damn fine person to me.”
“Thanks,” she says quietly. I think she’s going to leave it at that, but then she adds, “I was doing well. That was before you kidnapped me, all so you could push me on a woman who doesn’t even want me, who doesn’t even care and would’ve been happier if she never knew I existed.”
“If she’d been warned, that would’ve gone differently.”
“How can you be so sure about that?”
“She’s still in shock after what happened to her. Scars like that run deep.”
“All scars run deep,” she says, folding her arms tightly. “Even the ones that seem shallow.”
Neither of us says anything, letting the comment hang between us, the pain and truth of it. She’s got an intense way of looking at life that appeals to me on a primal level. If I were some deluded lunatic, maybe I’d think fate or some crap was pulling us together. Somehow, I can’t believe that, accept it, or feel it.
What can I feel, then? I’ve experienced nothing like this before, whatever it is.
She says nothing for the rest of the fifty-minute drive. I keep trying to think of things to say, conversations I might start, but it’s not as if I’m unaccustomed to silence. It gives me a chance to think.
What is the next step, then? If Molly decides she wants nothing to do with her daughter, do I take her back and pretend this never happened? Do I somehow forget my ballerina?
There it is again—my ballerina. I seriously need to fix that way of thinking.
On the outskirts of the forest, I pull my car up into its hiding spot and look over at Ania. She still has her arms folded, staring straight ahead like she doesn’t want to speak to me or anybody.
“Don’t worry, I won’t run again. Where would I go? I want to lie down.”