Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
By the end of the day, we were sore and laughing and pleasantly exhausted. As the sun set, we walked back towards the car, where Valentin was waiting to drive us back to the city. I was still waiting for my new car to arrive, so I’d asked him to give us a ride. I could have just hired a car, but—my chest went tight—I’d wanted him here for a reason.
Alison saw my expression and gently slipped her hand out of mine. “Why don’t you go on ahead?” she said. “I’m going to go back to the stables and see the horses. Take as long as you need.”
I nodded silently. She understood. She always did. I sucked in a breath and looked around. Valentin and I were all alone, with fields all around and no one to hear us. It would never get any easier than this.
I blew out my breath and started walking towards the car. The guilt and self-hate that had been festering for decades bubbled up inside me, dark and toxic. Twice, I nearly veered off and headed for the stables instead. But I had to do this. Because if I felt this way, how did he feel?
Valentin looked up as I approached and frowned at my expression. “Brother?”
I swallowed and put a hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk,” I rasped.
There was some woodland near the stables, and we wandered deep into it. The sunset made the trees throw out long, black shadows, and the darkness made it easier, somehow.
I started in halting, awkward little rushes of words, scowling at the ground as I talked. I could feel the familiar weight of everything I was—Aristov, Russian, a man—trying to silence me. We don’t do this. We don’t talk about these things.
But I could see Valentin throwing quick little glances at me that looked almost hopeful. That pushed me on…and the more I spoke, the more I felt like I was wriggling free from under all that tradition. It hadn’t been protecting me; it had been trapping me.
“I never meant for it to happen,” I told Valentin. “If I could go back and bow and scrape to that bastard Svetoslav, so he didn’t rape you, I would. In a heartbeat.”
“I know that.” Valentin grabbed my arm. “Gennadiy, I don’t blame you. I never did. But–” He looked at me, his eyes full of pain, and his voice hitched. “Afterwards…”
“We never talked about it,” I said guiltily.
“I—” Valentin looked away. “I thought–”
My stomach dropped as realization hit. “No!”
“—I thought you were…disgusted with me.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. “No! Brother, no! I just felt so guilty that it happened! I never felt that about you, ever! You’re my brother, I could never…” I squeezed him even harder. All these years!
We stood like that for a long time, until the sun had sunk below the horizon and the sky had turned from copper and scarlet to deep blue. Then we trudged back to the stables, our arms around each other’s shoulders. Something had lifted from both of us, but more than that…we’d opened a door that should never have been slammed shut. We knew we could do this again if we needed to.
I could feel a space in my center, where the guilt had been, and it felt new and jarring and tender, after living with the guilt for so long. It slowly dawned on me that I could fill it with something else, now. Something good.
As we neared the stables, I saw Alison emerge from them. She was walking with that graceful prowl, her jodhpur-clad legs pale in the light of the rising moon. Valentin patted my back affectionately and gave me a tiny push, and I was off and running, covering the field in big, eager strides. I grabbed Alison’s waist, and she whooped as I picked her up and whirled her around.
I knew what I wanted my future to be.
One Week Later
Alison
I groaned in ecstasy. I had a waterproof pillow positioned just-so to cushion my head on the edge of the tub, the water was hot enough to soak all the tension out of my muscles, and the bath bomb Bronwyn had given me made it smell like I was drifting through a tropical paradise full of fruit and flowers.
I’d never had a big bathtub before, and I’d never had the time to indulge in a proper bubble bath. But one thing I had plenty of right now was time: five weeks on from leaving the FBI, I still had no idea what I was going to do with my life. And seeing Bronwyn’s minor obsession with baths had made me curious. Now I understood.
“This is your fifteen-minute call,” murmured Gennadiy as he walked past. He looked down at my bare, gleaming shoulders and the tops of my breasts, just visible above the bubbles, and his eyes gleamed.