Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Asshole. Seriously, the guy is giving me the creeps.
Misha lets out a sigh, and it has Alek shrugging, “I’m just asking a question.”
“I didn’t say we’re dating,” I mutter before stabbing my fork into another piece of calamari.
“Interesting fact,” Armani says. “Did you know Nikolai was married?”
Every thought in my brain comes to a sudden stop as I gasp, “What?”
“His wife died days after they got married. She had a heart problem. Word is he hasn’t looked at another woman since.”
Holy shit.
My mouth is hanging open as I stare at Armani.
“Oh wow, that’s so tragic,” Aurora murmurs.
“Yeah, unless he’s here, he’s at home with his family,” Alek adds. “The man doesn’t let anyone in. I can understand why.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I look at Nikolai where he’s sitting alone at a table. My heart twists in my chest, and suddenly I see him in a whole new light. I’ve been giving the man hell, and he’s mourning the loss of his wife.
Damn, don’t I feel like shit now.
Needing to talk about something else, I ask, “What time are we leaving on Saturday?”
“Ten?” Aurora looks at Misha to check that it’s okay with him.
“Ten works,” He replies.
My appetite is totally gone from learning Nikolai was married and lost his wife.
I’ll definitely have to ease up on him and rather focus solely on my training.
My heart squeezes at the thought, not happy with giving up on Nikolai so easily.
He belongs to another woman, even if she’s no longer with us. Forcing things with him will just be shameful and stupid.
Chapter 9
Nikolai
Things with Abigail have been weird the past few days. She has not flirted with me once and actually pays attention in combat training.
I should be relieved, but the sudden change has me worrying about the woman.
Needing some fresh air, I head out to the gardens and pull my phone from my pocket. Dialing Maxim’s number, I listen as the line connects.
“Miss me already?” my friend asks with a chuckle.
“Hell no.” Grinning, I ask, “You haven’t changed your mind about protecting Camilla DuBois?”
“You won’t let me,” he mutters. “I just landed in Paris. Relax. The girl won’t get killed on my watch.”
I glance to my right and frown when I see Abigail sitting in front of an easel. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see that she’s painting.
It’s probably because I never thought there’s more to her than just the flirting.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I tell Maxim.
We end the call, and I slowly walk closer. Coming up behind Abigail, I’m in for another shock when I get a view of the piece she’s working on.
Time falls away as I watch her create a painting that’s nothing short of a masterpiece. Every stroke of the paintbrush brings the picture to life until her version of the canopy of trees running along a pathway looks more real than the actual view.
Suddenly her hand freezes mid-air, and she glances over her shoulder. “Oh. Hey.”
“You paint?” I ask like a dumbass. “You’re good.”
“Is that an actual compliment from the great Nikolai Vetrov?” she teases me.
“Yes, and it’s not something I give often.” I step closer and take in the work of art. “Did you study?”
“Painting?” she asks as she wipes her hands off on an old rag.
“Yes.”
Abigail shakes her head. “No. It’s just something I love doing.”
She stands up and takes a deep breath as she looks at her work, then she clears her throat and turns her eyes to me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “What loss?”
Abigail stares at me for a moment. “Your wife.”
Oh. Right.
Abigail found out I was married. That must be the reason she suddenly stopped flirting with me.
“So you do have your limits,” I chuckle. “You don’t do widowers.”
A frown forms on her forehead. “Seriously. I pay my respects, and you choose to insult me?” Turning her back to me, she starts to gather her paint supplies.
Fuck.
“It was fifteen years ago.” I don’t know why I’m telling her about my personal life.
She shoves the paintbrushes into a holder, then glances at me. “It’s tragic. No one should lose the love of their life at such a young age. I’m really sorry.”
I can see she means the words, and because this is the first real conversation we’re having, I admit, “Anja wasn’t the love of my life.”
Abigail’s eyes search mine, then she frowns. “Was it an arranged marriage?”
I shake my head. “It was Anja’s dying wish. She loved me.”
Abigail’s lips part, and a look of wonder washes over her features. “You married her just to make her dream come true?”
Why the hell am I telling her this?
Reluctantly I nod.
The corner of her mouth lifts, then she mutters, “Wow, and here I thought you didn’t have a heart.”
She continues to pack her things, and when she shrugs the bag over her shoulder and takes hold of the easel and canvas, she grins at me. “Is this your way of telling me you like when I flirt with you?”