Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips part on a shaky exhale.
He could kiss me right now. I can see the hunger in his eyes.
And God help me, I want him to kiss me.
I want it so bad I can barely breathe.
But he doesn’t. He pulls his hand away from mine, and the loss of contact hurts.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper.
His eyes search mine.
“You shouldn’t be. You’re right to be wary of me.”
“I know. Maybe even terrified.” My voice is soft, quiet. “But I think I’m meant to be here. I don’t think I’m meant to be afraid. And I don’t want to run from you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Holly. I’m the very definition of what you should run from.”
My voice is barely a whisper. "You're not the monster you pretend to be."
“Yes, I am, malyshka. I really am.”
I lick my lips and his eyes lose focus as he dips his gaze to watch. When he brings it back to me, I see the war taking place inside.
With a growl, he cups my face, and his palm is warm against my cheek as he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, squeezing his eyes shut.
“You need to be smarter, malyshka.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone. "You need to stay away from me."
It’s a desperate plea.
No, it’s a warning.
But then he lets me go.
“Go to bed.”
“Nikolai…”
“It’s not a request.” His words are hard.
I’ve been dismissed.
I rise on shaky legs, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Goodnight," I whisper.
He doesn't respond.
But as I reach the staircase, his fingers find the keys again. And the notes that follow me up the stairs sound like longing and regret.
Like maybe he's just as trapped as I am.
18
HOLLY
The next morning, I’m with Katya and Andrei preparing food for the expected snowstorm.
The kitchen smells of cinnamon and butter, and I'm elbow-deep in cookie dough when the first gust of wind rattles the windows.
"Storm is getting closer," Katya says from where she's rolling out pastry at the counter.
I glance toward the window and my stomach clenches. Heavy clouds press down on the mountains, and the trees are already bending under the wind's assault.
"How long until it hits?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Andrei looks up from where he's organizing supplies in the pantry. "Weather service says a few hours. Maybe less."
A few hours.
My hands are still in the dough. I haven't seen Nikolai all morning. He skipped breakfast again, and Katya mentioned he’s been locked in his den since before sunrise, taking calls in that low, dangerous voice that makes my spine tingle even when I can't hear the words.
I knead the dough harder than necessary, trying not to think about last night. About sitting beside him at the piano. About the way his forehead pressed against mine and his thumb brushed my cheek as he told me to stay away from him.
And how badly I wanted him to kiss me.
"You are thinking too hard," Katya says, pulling me from my thoughts. "The dough, she does not need so much aggression."
"Sorry." I ease up, shaping the dough into a ball with hands that are only slightly trembling.
The wind howls again, stronger this time, and I flinch.
Katya's expression softens. "You do not like storms."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No. I really don't."
I don't tell her why. Don't explain that storms make me twelve years old again, trapped in the back seat of a wrecked car while my parents lay silent in the front.
Andrei emerges from the pantry with an armful of canned goods. "We should probably head out soon, Katya. Before the weather gets worse."
"Yes, yes." She wipes her hands on her apron. "Just need to finish the pelmeni for the freezer. Then we go."
I focus on shaping cookies; anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the approaching storm. Off the fact that in a few hours, Nikolai and I will be alone here. Trapped together while nature unleashes hell outside.
The thought sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear of the weather.
The kitchen door swings open, and Nikolai appears.
He looks exhausted. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it all morning. His shirt is rumpled, the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He hasn't shaved, and the stubble along his jaw makes him look dangerous and raw, and so devastatingly handsome my breath halts.
Our eyes meet, and something electric passes between us. A current that's been building since last night, since the piano, since he touched my face and told me he really is the monster I think he is.
"The storm is moving faster than expected," he says, his voice rough. "You two need to leave. Now."
Katya's hands pause in their work. "But the pelmeni—"