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)
“Um…” How the hell am I meant to answer that? I crawled unashamedly, but anyone left in my minute inner circle now thinks I’m saving myself for marriage.
I lose the chance to reply when a deep, gravelly voice mutters, “If she says no, she’s lying.”
My head slings to the voice so fast my whiplash shifts from fictitious to factual. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, although it is more pained than I’ve ever heard it. Not even while sporting fractured ribs did his voice sound this distraught.
“Yev,” I murmur when the tormented and dark eyes that keep me awake at all hours of the day and night are present before me. A thick beard hides his jaw, and his eyes are sunken and lifeless, but it is him, the man I grieved before he was officially dead. “What are you doing here?”
Certain I’m dreaming, I sling my arms around his neck and hug him tight before a syllable can leave his mouth.
He isn’t a mirage. He is here, back in Kronstadt, returning my embrace. But his hug is nowhere as electric as it was in the weeks he chased me before his second trip abroad. It is the cold, empty embrace I gave everyone when I thought an icy demeanor was the only way I could protect myself.
Could Yev be doing that now? Is he guarding himself from additional pain? Or did I foolishly forget one of the biggest accelerants of our hookups was the secrecy behind them?
Embarrassed that I threw myself at him like a desperate harlot in need of saving, I inch back before saying more respectfully, “I’m glad you’re home. You’ve been missed.” Since my reply is honest, it sounds that way.
Yev was family long before we messed the sheets, and although I was devastated when my army of supporters dwindled to none in less than a month, none of the blame for that belongs on his shoulders, so I won’t place it there.
When Yev remains quiet, his focus on someone behind me, I say, “It was great seeing you again. If you’re ever on my side of town, stop by the boutique. I’m sure I can find some loafers even Ana would approve of.”
He doesn’t laugh at my witty comment. He doesn’t even flinch. He continues to stare, which leaves me no choice but to peer over my shoulder to see what’s captured his attention. Only six months ago, his focus never veered from me. I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t make me feel butthurt.
I don’t know what’s hotter when I lock eyes with a narrowed pair half a block down—my throat or the glare Vasily hits me with when he drinks in who I’m standing across from.
He doesn’t know about my affair with Yev. No one does but Nat. He simply hates when another man touches me, and he has no qualms ensuring everyone in his vicinity knows it.
He looks set to go on a verbal tirade, and as much as I wish I could use Yev as a shield, I can’t. His gruff exterior shows he’s still struggling with his grief, and I learned quick smart six months ago that my happiness is no one’s responsibility but mine.
After returning my attention to Yev, I say, “I need to go. We’ll catch up soon.”
He attempts to snatch up my wrist, but I slip out of his hold before I race down the packed sidewalk like I’m finishing the last half mile of a marathon.
Vasily doesn’t wait for me to reach him before starting his interrogation. “Who the fuck was that?”
“He’s an old friend… of Alek’s.” I add on my last two words when my confession doubles the anger narrowing his sable eyes. His attitude reeks of superiority, and his breath is as pungent with the odor of liquor as Yev’s, but I’m not in the mood for a fight. I’m too shocked about Yev’s unexpected return to respond in the manner needed to keep my tattered heart in one piece. “How did you get here so fast? I thought you were working late tonight.”
The nightlife district is forty miles from Vasily’s workplace, so there’s no way he could have made it here before me if he was where he stated he’d be. He’s deflecting his guilt. I’d put money on it.
A headache presents fast and painfully when Vasily angles his head and says, “I suggest you lose your accusatory tone. I’m not the one who got caught smooching a random stranger in public.”
“He’s not a stranger.” I ignore his warning growl. “And I wasn’t smooching him.” To me, a smooch implies a kiss. Yev and I cuddled—if you can call it that. “Please don’t make a scene. It was nothing—”
Vasily silences me with a brutal backhanded slap.
2
POLINA
While nursing my throbbing cheek with my hand, shocked by Vasily’s unexpected response since we’re in public, I become aware of a dangerous situation emerging from the crowd.