Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
It’s not that I don’t want to be a woman, it’s that I can’t. Those are the words she said, and even though I already categorized the situation to be none of my business, I find myself thinking about it.
In the beginning, I assumed she went through all the trouble of disguising herself because she wanted to be a man, which is why I respected her wishes and even addressed her as a man. Turns out, she has to be a man because being a woman is dangerous. She has a natural feminine aura, so does that mean she hasn’t been pretending to be a man for very long?
Besides, as much as she tries to hide it, she has a very posh, educated way of using words. I know because it resembles Yulia’s manner of speech that somehow affected my own Russian. One doesn’t talk like that unless they were brought up a certain way that includes private tutors and a high standing in Russian society.
There’s also a finesse to her movements, despite the manly image she tries to project. It’s mixed with a naïve softness of someone who has been both sheltered and taught nothing of the world. At times, when Maksim blabbers on about mundane things, she listens with keen curiosity as if it’s the first time she’s heard of it.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she was a princess before the military and the gender change.
How someone like her ended up in the lowest rank of the army is a mystery.
“Don’t worry. Nadia will take care of her.”
Nicholas’s voice alerts me to the fact that I’ve continued staring at the entrance of the kitchen long after the two women have disappeared inside.
I internally shake my head and take the seat opposite him. He pours me a cup of tea, and I thank him for it, then take a sip, even though I’m not a fan.
“She’s a strong young lady.” Nicholas’s voice rises over the TV, whose volume is already low. Unlike his wife, he speaks in a serene tone, soothing and welcoming.
“Strong?” I ask.
“Yes. She’s out of danger now, but when I first saw her, I thought she wouldn’t make it through the night.”
I actually thought that, too. She’s still a bit pale, but it doesn’t compare to the pasty complexion and blue lips she had when we arrived.
“It takes a lot of willpower to hang on to life like that.” Nicholas fingers the rim of his cup. “It could be due to either a strong love or a strong hate.”
“Why do you think it would be one of the two?”
“An intuition.” He smiles. “I assume it’s the love part that kept her going.”
Nah. It’s definitely hate.
From the first day I met her, Sasha has been fighting and trying to be strong, and that’s only because she’s needed that strength to fight whoever poses a danger to the female version of her.
It took me some time, but I’m starting to put the pieces of the puzzle that is Sasha into place.
“You’re lucky to be the subject of such love, son,” Nicholas says. “Take it from me, it’s a blessing to come across, and if you don’t protect it, using your life if needed, you might regret it for the rest of your days.”
I smile politely, nodding in agreement. Then he goes on to tell me about his wife and how he nearly lost her once and how they eloped, lost one son, married off another, and sent the third abroad.
It's an interesting tale that keeps my head occupied from the niggling doubt about the operation from fucking hell.
Thirty-eight hours now.
Viktor still hasn’t gotten in touch.
It could be because of the storm. It has to be.
Nicholas is interrupted when Nadia tells us to set the table. Sasha tries to help, but the stern nurse literally swats her hand, so she stays still.
She also bluntly informs her that redoing her stitches would be bothersome.
We sit down for dinner, and although I didn’t expect much, Nadia actually went all out with traditional dishes I haven’t had in ages.
My mother never cooked—at least, not for me. And the woman who raised me isn’t Russian.
Sasha stares at the food as Nicholas says a little prayer before we dig in. Nadia tells her to eat specific dishes, something about nutritional value and amount of salt.
Sasha slowly lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips. The moment she tastes the food, a tear slides down her cheek.
I lean over and whisper, “What’s wrong?”
It’s then she realizes she’s crying and wipes at her eyes with her sleeve. “Nothing…it’s just…this reminds me of home and Mama’s cooking.”
“Do you like it?” Nadia asks in a softer tone.
“I love it. Thank you for letting me relive this feeling.” Sasha drinks her soup, stopping now and again as if needing to catch her breath.