Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“And you think it would be better if you showed up.”
He’s got a point. Lev won’t even take my calls. I can’t imagine what my dad might say.
“How are we going to do this?” I ask him, struggling to hold back tears. He doesn’t need me getting all emotional on him right now, but I can’t help myself.
My world’s crumbling around me. I’m married and living in a man’s apartment, but I’ve never felt more alone.
My breathing gets fast. Sweat drips down my back and my palms are clammy. I put a hand to my chest and my heart’s racing wildly. I stagger up from my stool and walk away, trying to get myself under control, but I feel like I’m falling faster and faster, and down below is only more blackness, like I’ll never stop dropping down and down and down.
“Nat,” Alex says and his hands are on my arms. “Nat, deep breaths.”
“I fucked up,” I say trying to listen to him, but I’m dizzy and freaking out. I lean into him. “I fucked up,” I keep saying.
“Just breathe.” He’s surprisingly gentle. I half expected him to be annoyed by my emotional outburst—honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed by it—but instead, he’s patient and kind. He strokes my shoulders and hugs me against him until I manage to get myself into some kind of shape.
“Sorry,” I say, not looking at him as I disentangle myself from him. “I shouldn’t make my emotions your problem too.”
“You are the mother of my unborn child. It’s my duty to care for you.”
I look up and stare into his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s his duty to care of me, or if he’s caring for the baby I’m carrying.
“Our marriage really is off to a great start, huh?”
He gives me a small smile. “Life is always interesting with you around, Natalya.”
For whatever reason, I like the way my full name sounds on his lips.
He gets me settled after that. I don’t have my stuff, but he gives me what he can—spare clothes, spare bathroom stuff, whatever else he can—and I set up a little nest for myself in the guest room. There’s also a master and an office upstairs.
When I’m alone again, I try calling Maria. She doesn’t answer, and doesn’t respond to my text. I try Irina next, and get the same lack of response.
I try Lev, and this time, he picks up. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Stop calling me,” he says, sounding tired.
And hangs up again.
Chapter 17
Alexander
Early the next morning, I drive over to the Federov house. I texted Lev last night to let him know I’d be stopping by to get Natalya’s stuff, hoping that would at least slightly smooth things over. He never responded, and I’m not sure what to expect.
I head in through the front door using my key and am confronted by boxes of her things.
It looks like Lev packed everything. Not only her clothes, but all her personal effects too. Laptops, old wallets, crumpled dollar bills, pens and pencils, headphones, stacks of random junk. Her entire life packed away.
The place is deeply quiet. I head to the kitchen and listen at the basement door. Someone’s down there working at the exercise machines, and I take the steps slowly but loudly. I find Lev at the bench press going through his reps, and I stand there watching until he finishes.
“I hoped you’d just take her shit and go,” he says, glaring up at me.
“I figured you’d be awake.”
“Great. Good guess. What do you want?”
“I talked with Valentin yesterday after you left?”
“Yeah, I fucking know.” He racks more weight and goes in for another set. It’s too much and he’s straining, but I can tell he’s pissed and working it out on the machines instead of punching me in the face. I appreciate that.
“He’s got me taking care of the Italians. I’m going to need help.”
Lev lets out a hissing breath. I hurry over to spot him, but he shoves the weight up onto the bar with a roar and pushes me away. I step back and give him some space as he sits forward, elbows on his knees, catching his breath.
“You think that’s it?” he asks, not looking at me. “Just like that, we can move on?”
“I think I did a bad thing for a good reason. You were right yesterday. I’m not perfect. I never have been. But I work my ass off to do the right thing, even when it fucking hurts, and trust me, this fucking hurts.”
“Fucking my sister was the right thing?”
“No,” I say and look down at my hands. But was it wrong? I can hear her music, I can see her playing. I hear her moans echo through my body. “But stepping up and marrying her was.”
“It must be nice to be you.”