Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“You were going to kill my family because The Undertaker told you to!”
My voice comes out too loud. I clamp it down and whisper instead.
“You work for a man who wants to wipe out my family, Seamus.”
There’s no room left for negotiation. “There can’t be an ‘us’ anymore,” I say bitterly. “Leave. Let me marry this stuck-up.” I stifle a sob. “Go away. Go back to Ireland. Go serve your Undertaker.”
And I can’t even pretend to hide the bitterness bleeding through every word.
“Zoya,” he growls, but before he can finish, there’s another knock on the door.
“Zoya, it’s me, Yana. I just have something to show you.”
He lets me go, and my hand flies over my mouth. How can I hide him?
The doorknob turns, and my god, there she is. I gasp, expecting shock on her face, expecting her to draw a gun and shoot him between the eyes. But she doesn’t even blink. Not even a hint of surprise.
I swallow hard and risk a glance over my shoulder.
The window’s wide open. Curtains billow in the breeze like ghosts.
He’s gone.
Seamus is gone.
My Seamus. The man I hate.
The man I still long for.
He came back into my life at the worst possible time, right when I needed him the least. And now, he’s disappeared again.
“Are you all right?” Yana asks, her face drawn and pale. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Have I?
A ghost would’ve been easier to handle.
I sigh and offer her a watery smile.
“I’m fine.”
It’s the biggest, boldest lie I’ve ever told. Bigger than the night I sent my brothers to that warehouse. Bigger than the wild goose chase I sent them on. This lie is darker. Deeper.
“I’m fine,” I whisper again, hoping that maybe if I say it enough, it’ll start to feel true. Hoping it’ll stitch the bleeding pieces of my heart back together.
I cry myself to sleep the night before my wedding.
I try not to because who wants photos with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks?
But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what else to do.
I don’t know what else to think, or how to stop the aching inside me. It feels a lot like the hollow grief I felt when my parents died.
Raw. Scraped out. Gutting.
Only then, I was just a kid. Too young to fully understand.
Now, the pain cuts from a different place. Because now, I know too much.
And that knowing is a different kind of wound.
I wake early and stare out the open window. I half wish, half beg for him to be there. To see him again, just once more, even though I know it will kill me, and it won’t soothe the aching in my heart. If anything, it’ll make it worse.
I can imagine him there.
Perched on the windowsill, blue eyes steady on me, cheeks flushed with emotion, that maddening dimple in the corner of his mouth.
I saw how it hit him like a two-by-four when I said the word Undertaker.
He doesn’t know that I know who it really is. But now I’ve said it out loud. Now I’ve exposed him for what he is.
And because of that… he’ll never come back again.
He can’t. After today, there will be a ring on my finger, and I will be Zoya Morozova.
Oh god. It could be worse, I remind myself. It could’ve been someone cruel.
That’s something, I guess. I swallow hard, swipe at my eyes, furious with myself for crying. And when I catch my reflection in the mirror, they're not as puffy as I feared. Not great, but not ruined either.
I dress for my wedding. Alone.
What if Pavel is cruel? I’ve heard horror stories. We all have. It’s why none of my family will make eye contact with me anymore.
There’s a soft knock at the door. “Yes,” I say, resigned. And Polina slips back in.
Polina, with that blonde hair so long it brushes the top of her butt. With those soft, understanding eyes and that gentle spirit that makes everything feel a little less sharp. “How are you doing?” she asks tenderly, like if she’s careful enough, she might make this bearable.
I only sigh.
“Oh, honey,” she says, settling on the edge of the bed and taking my hand. “You’ve been crying. I’m so sorry.”
Her voice wobbles. “When I tell you that Rafail agonized over this decision… When I tell you…” She trails off and shakes her head. “You had suitors, you know. Plenty. Men who wanted you. But he went through every single one of them.”
She’s not being dramatic. “He vetted them. We talked, just the two of us. We spoke to their families. We asked the right questions. It was like… they were applying for a job or something.” She lets out a dry laugh, the kind that doesn't reach her eyes. As if that absurd detail is supposed to make me feel better.