Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Polina.”
I twist my torso to Vasily, the person interrupting me from my thoughts. “Sorry. I spaced out.”
When he rolls his eyes, I smile sweetly at him like I don’t want to drag my nails down his face. Nat isn’t the only one who knows Vasily is a vile, arrogant man who thinks the sun shines out of his ass. I usually wouldn’t be caught dead with someone as pompous as him, but his father is a minister who works closely with the visa facilitators. He could grant my father’s visa faster than the slow channels Hannah and I have been using for the past six months.
“I need to run an errand before we eat. Do you mind?”
The fact he’s seeking permission surges my suspicions, but I act ignorant by shaking my head.
“Good.” Like an owner to an obedient dog, he pats my hand, then returns his focus to his cell phone. “We will be there in thirty.”
The butterflies that haven’t quit since I bumped into Yev ramp up when our pricy SUV slides down a dark and isolated road. People usually come out to these parts to dispose of something or collect something they’re not meant to have.
Vasily’s reasons seem different this time around. He directs the driver to pull up close to an open warehouse door at the right of a long line of pricy cars. “Keep the engine idling. I doubt we’ll be here long.” He tosses some notes over the lowered privacy partition before he slides out of the door, then pops back in to offer me a hand.
His chivalry rings more loudly in warning than the knowledge that I’m not appropriately dressed for the muddy, slug-coated grounds, but I save my nose from being covered with wrinkles by masking my expression as I have many times the past three months.
The only person who has seen the true me in years is Yev.
I brought out my designer babies tonight to assure Mr. Cabanow that I’m not dating his son for his money. What I want costs nothing more than a signature scribbled on a piece of paper.
When long strands of hair fall back from my face, I mutter under my breath, “What the hell?”
The warehouse is brimming with the who’s who of Russia. There are as many female spectators as there are males, but none are dressed as affluent as me. Their hem lengths are minuscule, bras are optional, and they’re butting shoulders with men who enter my boutique store with women decades older than them.
I wonder if we’re attending one of the auctions I overheard men discussing while waiting for their wives to pick garments for charity galas, until the distinct sound of skin slapping skin booms into my ears. It isn’t the spine-tingling whack that has my mind merging to how easily Yev held me against the wall while taking me hard and fast. It is the noises I heard leaving the basement of my first foster home the night Alek and Ghost arrived.
Knuckles against bone.
Fists on muscles.
Bare-knuckled fighting that has the audience so rapt, I startle when Vasily presses his lips to the shell of my ear. There’s something going on with him tonight, but I can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” He nudges his head to the row of chairs a couple back from the ring. “We’re three seats in.”
I’m about to say I’ll wait for him, but when I spot the shiny head of the man in the seat next to ours, I nod like obedience is my forte before taking off for Mr. Cabanow.
Anytime I tried to bring up my father’s visa application during Vasily’s birthday dinner earlier this week, Vas cut me off by saying business should only be discussed during business hours.
He’ll have a hard time doing that if he’s not part of the conversation.
“Polina, darling, you look ravishing.” Mr. Cabanow greets me with a chaste kiss on the side of my mouth.
“Thank you, Mr. Cabanow.” I place my hand on the lapel of his jacket, playing the devoted soon-to-be daughter-in-law ruse to perfection. “You also look fetching. The tailor did a wonderful job customizing your suit jacket.”
“Tailor?” He pffts me. “This was all your doing. You have quite the eye for fine things. I guess that’s why you’re dating my son.” He continues talking, saving me from mustering up a fake laugh. “And please, call me Leon. We’re practically family.”
I see this as my in. “Talking about family, my father—”
He shushes me a second before the crowd’s roar shudders my heart out of my chest. The fight keeping them riveted during my arrival was announced by the referee as I zoomed down the bleachers, so that isn’t the cause of their excitement. A new contender is, and I fullheartedly understand their fascination.