Love in War Read Online Matilda Martel

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
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DARYA
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. When you work for the top social media company in the world and have your eye on senior management, you go where they send you. I’d help set up our new office in Kyiv, return home the hero and stroll straight into a fat promotion.
It was a chance to spread my wings in the land of my ancestors. I would practice my second language while I climbed the corporate ladder.
Six months and I’d go home.
I never expected to fall in love. I didn’t anticipate falling head over heels for my boss, Olek Petrenko, the man I loved to hate. But it was useless to resist those blue eyes and cocky grin. He reeled me in like a stunned fish—I was powerless to his charm.
Two years later, I don’t recognize my life. I’m blissfully in love, happily married, living in Ukraine, and planning a future in the place I was always meant to be.
Then my world unraveled.
The enemy is here, all around, threatening to steal everything we’ve built and destroy the country I’ve grown to love. When they attack, I’m far from home and three hundred miles from Olek.
He demands I flee to Poland and escape while there’s time. A war-torn country is no place for an American, alone and out of her depth.
But I can’t. I won’t. For seven days, I travel night and day to reach him.
He can’t abandon his home, and I won’t leave him behind.
I may be far from where I grew up, but Olek is my home. This is where I belong, and I won’t let them win.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

Foreword

Love is universal, and unfortunately, so is war.

I would never take on something like this unprompted. This book is a special request from my favorite cover model, Andrej Murashkin.

He wanted a book about the war in his beloved country.

He settled for a romance.

Darya

FROM NEW YORK TO KYIV

“Kyiv? Are you serious?” My reply tumbles out before my manager finishes her sentence. This is entirely unexpected. Until now, I wasn’t aware we had an office in Ukraine and certainly had no desire to visit anytime soon.

Olive lifts her gaze from the stack of papers clutched tightly in her hands and slides her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose. “Of course, I’m serious. Why would I joke about something like that?” She has a point, but that doesn’t clarify my confusion. And unless I ask a direct question, I’ll never know. She’s notoriously cryptic.

“Because you said Paris, Olive. It was always about Paris. I believe my second choice was London, not Kyiv. How did I get from Paris to Kyiv? Please tell me because, for the love of God, I don’t see it.” I tap my Converse sneaker on the hardwood floor and groan, “And who the hell got Paris?”

“Suzette Henderson leaves for France in two days. She’s fluent in French, and that office loves her. As soon as she made her request, she jumped to the front of the line.” Olive types as she speaks--- the click of her keys mocking me ruthlessly. I had no idea Suzette was seeking an international position, but I should have known. With so many engineers at headquarters, the only way to distinguish ourselves is to go above and beyond. As much as I want to blame her, I can’t.

“Am I being singled out because of my surname? Because I’m Ukrainian? Just because my parents were born there doesn’t mean...” I cut my words when Olive takes a single paper from a file and holds it up for my review.

“What am I looking at?” I squint to examine it closer and see my full name scribbled on the first line.

“Your employment application. Why don’t you look at the words that follow the question: what languages do you speak?” Her condescending voice makes it difficult to concentrate, but I humor her and lean closer.

Ukrainian and Russian? Why the hell did I add those? My skills stink.

“I never said I was fluent,” I confess the truth and hope that clarifies the matter. My parents hardly ever speak either language, and my abilities have faltered without practice.

“You most certainly did.” She taps the tiny box next to the line clearly marked fluent.

I throw my hands up and gripe, hoping the truth sets me free from this obligation. “Olive, I can speak to my parents and cousins, maybe to the archpriest on Sundays, but business Ukrainian is different.”

Her brow furrows. “Lucky for you, most people at the Kyiv office speak Russian and English.” She stops to rummage through a mountain of paperwork cluttering her desk. “Do you want an international assignment or not? You’re the only engineer here who speaks Russian and, to a lesser degree, Ukrainian. No one else can learn it overnight, Darya. It’s an entirely different alphabet.”


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