Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Maybe it wasn't safe.
People could be after him, and willing to use me to get to him or his brothers.
But if that was the case, why weren't the other women locked down?
Maybe Pavel just didn't trust me yet, and going overboard was his way of compromising.
It was going to take time. It was going to take baby steps.
I had to keep reminding myself that this was a step in the right direction.
He was letting me out of the penthouse without him.
That was progress.
For the moment, I was going to have to just take the win.
Pavel entered the room, a cocky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Your chariot awaits."
I smirked right back. "We'll talk about our very different definitions of a guard when I get back."
"One hour," he reminded me.
"Pavel," I whined.
One hour was not enough time.
I didn't even know if that entire motorcade could get to the gallery in a single hour.
It looked like a damn parade.
I might have gotten there faster if I walked.
"One hour," he said again, gripping my chin with two knuckles and tilting it up so I met his eyes. Something I couldn't quite read flashed across his eyes and he let out a resigned sigh. "One hour starting when you arrive. The driver will send me a message when you get there and that is when the timer will start."
I nodded, giving him a bright smile and before I even realized what I was doing, I pushed up on my tiptoes, leaned in, and kissed him goodbye on the cheek.
Time stopped.
It was such a small, simple gesture, nothing compared to the intense, kinky-as-fuck sex we had regularly, and yet—somehow—it meant more.
It wasn't some carnal need that was fueled by hormones or chemistry.
The kiss was affection.
Pure, simple affection.
It was a sign of care and tenderness.
One that slipped out like it was a habit.
Pavel's fingers brushed my lips. "Hurry back to me, moy kotyonochek."
My heart fluttered, and a calm warmth slid over my body.
When did that nickname become so endearing to me?
Unable to speak, afraid I might change my mind and spend the next hour in my husband's bed, I turned and rushed out.
The gallery visit started perfectly, but something felt off not long after I arrived.
The sun was shining and the second I stepped out of the car, Nadia pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back.
And I laughed. Really laughed.
I could breathe fresh air. I felt the sun on my face, and it was incredible.
The girls were thrilled to show me their progress; the business was thriving under their work, and I could see the positive effects of my guidance.
God, that felt good.
I had spent so long filling drinks and emptying garbage cans just to survive, that I forgot what it felt like to do something that had a direct impact.
Something that wasn't just supporting other people's work or self-destructive habits.
I felt normal for the first time in almost three years.
It was the first time since those men showed up that I didn't have a sword hanging over my head.
I wasn't waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I could just live.
I could just be me without the crippling debt pulling me down. There was no gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach, no worrying how I was going to make rent, or if someone was going to lunge at me. I was smiling, laughing, sharing in the excitement of women who I barely knew but who treated me like family.
As my grandmother would have said, I was finally acting my age.
But as we toured the gallery, I couldn't shake the feeling we were being watched. More than once, I caught glimpses of unmarked cars lingering across the street, their occupants too interested in our building. When I mentioned it to Marina, she brushed it off as normal city surveillance, but the knot in my stomach only tightened and the unease persisted.
Pavel's guards kept checking their phones, their expressions growing grimmer with each message.
Something was happening, and they weren't telling me what.
When the guard, a man in a black-on-black tactical suit came into the gallery and tapped his watch, I knew the fun was over, but I wasn't sad.
This was a good first step.
I would get back to the penthouse and Pavel would see that I was in one piece, and I could start talking to him about letting me have my own computer, or tablet. Just something basic where I could continue the work the girls needed me to do.
I wanted to be productive; surely Pavel could understand that, and we could make some arrangement.
The second I stepped out of the building, ready to head to the Range Rover and back to the penthouse where I had every intention of showing my husband how grateful I was for his trust, the peace I was feeling shattered.