Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
What’s crazy is that no one in this room even knows who I am, and the party is technically for me.
Sidorov approaches us and leans down to kiss my cheek. I smell liquor and cigar on him, and I want to wipe the area on my face where his lips made contact. I despise this man, and I have no doubt my feelings are painted on my face no matter how hard I try to conceal them.
“Where’s Pavel?” Bryant asks him.
“He’s running behind,” Sidorov says as he reaches for a drink from a passing waitress.
“It seems he’s always late,” Bryant says between clenched teeth.
Sidorov shrugs. “You know how the youth are these days.”
“No. I don’t. And I think you may want to school your nephew on how to keep a man like me happy. This show of disrespect is not something I’m going to keep ignoring. When I’m here, I expect his ass to be as well.”
Bryant Morelli is not wrong in feeling this way. I too find it extremely rude that Pavel hasn’t been on time once to any dinner. And when he is present, he’s only present physically. Mentally, he’s more concerned with the phone in his hand than the woman who he is supposed to marry. We’ve spoken a handful of words. I could tell you more about the woman serving me dinner than my fiancé.
I can see Sidorov’s jaw tighten as he restrains himself from saying anything that could sour this business deal between the two men. He then sees someone across the room and says, “Excuse me. I need to go greet one of our guests.”
Bryant’s face reddens, but he’s quickly distracted when a man and woman approach him asking where Sarah is for the evening and then proceeding to tell him about their most recent trip to Paris and how they ate at this delectable café that they knew Sarah would have loved. Superficial talk, but at least it seems to calm down Bryant and prevents him from making a scene.
When there is finally a small break in the mass of networking chatter, I take advantage of it. “Do you mind if I step out on the veranda for some fresh air?” I whisper to him in the most respectful tone I can muster. “I’m really hot, and I would hate to faint in front of all these guests.”
Bryant looks down at me in disgust. Not an ounce of concern is present, only annoyance that I would even dare be so weak as to faint. “Go.” He turns away without saying another word and begins talking to one of the guests again.
I quickly walk to the open French doors before my father can change his mind. There is only one other person on the veranda when I walk out, and he is just finishing up smoking, flicking his butt over the edge. I recognize him as one of Bryant’s guards. He gives a quick glance in my direction, of course clearly taking in my obnoxiously displayed cleavage, and then returns to the party without so much as a nod or smile. I know that most men associated with Bryant Morelli are too scared to even talk to me if they don’t have to. Testing him is not something any one of them want to do, and I can’t really blame them. They don’t want Bryant for one second doubting their undying loyalty to him, and if he catches one of them paying too close attention to me, it is very likely he would be angered by it. I am part of a plan. A plan he expects followed to perfection.
Once the man leaves me in peace, I rest my arms on the railing that runs the perimeter of the veranda and stare out toward the restaurant’s garden. It’s too dark to make out the details of the flowers and trees planted in the middle of a concrete jungle, but I can smell the rich fragrance of them. The humidity in the warm evening is high tonight, but I still enjoy the fresh air. The lovely string music of a viola blending with a cello coming from inside soothes my nerves and fills my soul. I have to take in the tiny moments like hearing the sounds of insects and songs of night birds, or the feel of the tiny breeze on my face, and truly appreciate that I am still alive. Dylan is doing well and will undoubtedly be successful in life. I’m no longer living in a car, and I’m not wondering how I’m going to pay for my next meal. If I’m going to be able to mentally survive this ordeal and what’s ahead of me, I’m going to have to focus on the little things that can bring me joy. Even a nightmare has small flickers of hope.