Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Since I observe nothing but truth in his eyes and tone, I let him go. It is a fucking hard feat. My blood is boiling black. I’m struggling to work out which way is up. Now is not the time to fuck with me.
“I’m not letting her go for anyone.” I should have taken more time to consider my next sentence before expressing it because it sounds wrong even to someone as unapologetic as me. “But I won’t get the answers I’m seeking without someone who can supplement what she lacks, so I’ll—”
“Supplement what she lacks?” Mikhail shakes his head in disgust. “Fuck, Andrik. Here I was thinking you were nothing like them.” I’ve been called every name you can imagine, but his scold burns hotter than any before it when he sneers, “How fucking wrong was I?”
I want to tell him he is wrong, or better yet, ram his words back into his throat with my fists, but since I stupidly care for the brat who’s refused to let me forget a single birthday since my mother’s disappearance thirty years ago, I veer our conversation in a way I never anticipated it taking.
“Zoya is infertile.”
Mikhail balks for half a second before understanding settles on his face.
What the fuck?
“It kind of makes sense.” He shrugs like what he’s implying is as regular as brushing your teeth every morning. It’s fucked to admit I agree with him when he adds, “She would have been shacked up and knocked up years ago if she didn’t have any… issues.” He wets his lips like he is remorseful for his last word, but regretfully, he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. “Fortunately for me, I have no intention of following their rules, which means ankle biters won’t enter the equation when I woo her back into my bed, minus my spineless brother—”
My fist cracks into his nose before another word seeps from his lips, and it takes everything I have not to hit him for a second, third, and fourth time when he remains quiet.
Although the blood gushing over his lips could excuse his lack of retort, I don’t believe a bloody nose is the cause of his silence.
He’s pleased I reacted how he wanted me to—because it is the only thing that will convince him that I haven’t become a direct clone of our father.
While pretending a hundred thoughts aren’t running through my head, I work my jaw side to side. Not all my thoughts center on how deep I’ll bury Mikhail if he tries to make true on his threat. They just take center stage.
After a beat, I ask, “Do you have any pain medication here, or do I need to get some delivered?”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt,” Mikhail lies, assuming I’m seeking pain medication for him.
I’m not.
“It isn’t for you, dipshit, though you should probably take something.” The pretentious gleam I’m striving to ignore in his eyes flares brighter when I mutter, “It’s for Zoya.”
I’ve had women say they couldn’t walk straight for a week after being bedded by me.
This is the first time I’ve cared if the rumors are true.
“Top left.” Mikhail nudges his head to a cupboard behind me before he moves to fetch a tea towel for his nose and a clean mug out of the dishwasher I stacked last night for Zoya.
A coffee pot suspends midair when I say, “Orange juice. She can swallow them with orange juice.”
He takes my snappy tone in stride with only the slightest grumble. “If you want to make your cum taste sweeter, you’re meant to drink pineapple juice, fuckface.”
“Citrus juice alleviates the pain associated with her condition—”
I snap my mouth shut way too late.
The cat is out of the bag.
I seek Mikhail’s nuts in his throat when he says in a high-pitched tone, “You researched her condition?”
“No, I didn’t.”
He doesn’t believe my lie for even a second. “Is it reversible?”
“No.”
Again, he sees straight through my lie I’m not even sure is a lie.
From what I researched last night, the prognosis of Zoya’s diagnosis differs between patients. Some have no trouble getting pregnant with a bit of help. Others never will.
“What does she have to do to fix it? Surely orange juice isn’t the only solution.”
I snatch the glass out of his hand and fill it with fresh OJ. “Nothing. There’s nothing she can do.”
“Can you even lie straight in bed anymore, Kazimir?” He uses my given name on purpose. He wants to piss me off. “You have the girl of my dreams in my bed, yet you’re acting like she’s far from your highly impeccable standards.” He air quotes his last three words. “Fuck the bro code. You didn’t give a shit about it last night when you noticed she had my keys, so why should I give a fuck about the two minutes of attention I’ll need to award her with to help her get over you?”