Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“But?” my father asks, aware I left my reply short for a reason.
I don’t often take the honesty route, but when I do, I leave no stone unturned. “I don’t believe they’re the right outfitters for the job. Their work is sloppy. They leave a paper trail a mile long, and their candidates aren’t worthy of Dokovic ties.”
Usually, the mere mention of our family name would puff his chest high.
Tonight, it deflates it.
Since I know why, I say, “I will find someone more suitable.”
“We don’t have time to find someone else, Andrik.” The camera follows his eyes as they drift to Zakhar, who stirs from his roar. “Zakhar doesn’t have time. He needs a new heart.”
“That I will find him,” I shout back, my voice just as loud, my anger as palpable even via a speaker. “But not like this. Not at the expense of everything I’ve been working toward.”
My marriage initially commenced as a way to find out what happened to my mother and why she and the many other women before and after her disappeared either hours after discovering they were expecting a daughter, or within days of their son’s fifth birthday.
It wasn’t meant to be about appeasing the federation’s every want with the hope that they’d supply my half-brother with a heart he so desperately needs.
The only reason I’ve continued my ruse is because Zakhar’s condition is bringing the main players out far sooner than the possible months it could take Arabella to conceive. He’s demanding the attention of the hierarchies I will take down. I’m just confused as to why.
Mikhail is closer to the imaginary throne my family governs than Zakhar, but remains so far off the federation’s radar he could knock up a dozen hookers and no one would bat an eyelash.
There’s more at play here than I am being told, but I won’t know what it is until I’m buried so deep in the federation’s underbelly they’ll never get me back out.
The reminder adds a ton of angst to my voice—angst I am not used to handling. “For how much you are asking of me, the least you could do is trust me.”
“I do—”
My huff cuts him off.
He doesn’t trust me because he doesn’t trust anyone.
It wasn’t solely my mother the federation forced from his life. Mikhail’s mother walked the same narrow corridor with the same faceless men. It was just a year earlier than planned since the unborn child in her stomach was a girl.
“If he—”
I cut him off again. “There are no ifs. Life is too short for ifs and buts.” My eyes bounce between his suddenly wet pair not even a grainy feed can hide when I whisper in a deadly tone, “You should know that better than anyone.”
Needing to end our exchange before I’m tempted to express myself how I usually do when snowed under—with my fists—I click out of the feed of Zakhar’s room, losing one set of worldly eyes.
The pair I didn’t notice straight away are more notable than my father’s, more seeped in history. They belong to my grandfather, and although they put my head in as much of a state as Zoya’s unexpected visit to his palatial mansion today, I have a solution to my problem. An out for my angst.
I have the perfect outlet for emotions I haven’t handled in years, and for the first time in a month, she is only a thirty-minute drive away.
28
ZOYA
My climb into my bed takes longer than usual. I was a little generous with my nips when I cracked open the bottle of vodka I purchased with the hope it would pre-empt celebratory drinks for the position I was meant to secure today.
It would have been commiseration drinks if I hadn’t run into Shevi.
That brief encounter gave me something to celebrate, and I never do anything in halves—particularly when my bed is mere feet from my chosen drinking location.
I’m not close to blackout drunk. The buzz is almost as nice as the one Andrik’s hand created earlier.
Almost.
My body has been thrumming with unexploited restlessness for hours. I want to blame the thickening of my veins on my first contact with a member of my sister’s inner circle in years, but that would be a lie.
The thud of my pulse is sexually related. The heat between my legs announces it, not to mention my head’s constant reminder tonight that I have a drawer of apparatuses at my disposal, so I don’t need a man to take care of the thrill.
Although annoyed my needs can’t take a step back for just one day, I also understand why that is the case. My morals dip when I’m tipsy, but they’re wholly obliterated when I’m horny.
If I want any chance of working past my confusion, I need to take the edge off.
Before I met Andrik, I self-stimulated regularly. Often multiple times a day. Now I’m on a climax drought that has me wishing I asked Dr. Hemway for some recommendations when he mentioned creams for dryness.