Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Although Zoya agrees with me, she will never not push me to accept more than I’m worth. Never less. “If you don’t pack it, I’ll tell Maksim that you put all your savings toward Yulia’s hospital bill before paying the remainder with the credit card he gifted you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She glares at me as if to say, Do you know me at all?
“He’d have a fit.” Like I did when I discovered how generous my offer was.
I didn’t even have ten percent of the forty thousand Myasnikov Private was requesting, but Maksim refused to let me use even a portion of my savings to pay for some of the pledge I’d made.
Zoya hums in agreement. “And most likely go on another rant.” Flashbacks of Maksim’s response the day the credit card company called him to approve the amount needed to pay Yulia’s outstanding medical debt roll through my head when she lowers her tone and snarls, “Subsequent cardholder? You’re calling my wife a subsequent cardholder. She is my wife, and you will address her as such, or I’ll… I’ll…”
My heart melts into a gooey mess when we finalize Maksim’s rant about the bank employee referring to me as if I were nothing more than the number on a plastic card at the same time. “I’ll transfer the equity of every asset I own to another bank.”
“He was seriously hot that day,” Zoya says, practically moaning.
“He was,” I admit. “And he defended me without a single threat of physical harm.”
“I bet that took a lot of restraint.”
Shockingly, I laugh. “I’m sure it did, and how I showed my appreciation during our drive home from dinner that night has me confident he will take that route more often in the future.”
“So that was the cause of all those noise complaints the past two weeks?” Her grin screws up her nose when I poke my tongue at her. “I thought it was walrus mating season.” She takes a moment to drink in my disgust before saying, “Whatever it was, you’re still packing that dress.”
“Z—”
“Don’t Z me. That dress is the bomb. You’re going to look smoking hot in it, and when your husband rips it off you in a jealous rage, you’re going to ring your best friend and tell her she is a genius.”
It would be nice to hand the jealousy baton I’ve been wielding the past few weeks onto Maksim, but I’m still on the fence. “It’s a lot of money.”
“Maybe to you, but to Maksim, it will never be close to the jewels he wants to drape you in.”
“Talking about jewels, stop falsely dropping hints that I’m obsessed with diamonds.” The tennis bracelet Maksim gifted me two days ago casts rainbow hues across the ceiling of my room when I spin it around my wrist. “Our plane will never make it in the air at this rate. The diamonds he keeps gifting me will be too heavy.”
Zoya laughs. I wish she wouldn’t. Maksim only needs to catch a whiff of her numerous money-inspired hints, and it is on my pillow hours later.
When she spots the plea in my eyes, she breathes heavily out of her nose before compromising. “Take the dress, and I’ll make out not every girl needs a fairytale wedding. Drunk nuptials in a hotel chapel should be more than enough.” Before I can scold her, she peers at someone over her phone, mouths that she will be a minute, and shifts her eyes back to me. “I have to go.” She disappears from view for barely a second before her head pops back into the frame. “Pack the dress. I’m not asking. I am telling.”
“Fine,” I cave, not up for a fight.
The past few weeks have been amazing. I don’t want anything to taint it.
Zoya smiles in victory before she farewells me with an air kiss, then disconnects our chat.
Begrudgingly, I return the dress to the top of the stack before trying to work out how to pack a suitcase-sized stack into a carry-on backpack.
I should probably unpack from my last weekend getaway before contemplating a restack.
My heart thuds in my ears when the last item I pull out of my backpack wafts up a deliciously spicy scent. It is the shirt Maksim left in the washroom, the one he was wearing when I spilled my drink on him. Except droplets of bourbon and coke aren’t the only stain it is housing—tiny splotches of red dot the cuffs.
I work through a stern swallow when the familiarity of the stains smacks into me.
They’re droplets of blood. In particular, the blood splatter that occurs during a knife attack.
I startle when a voice from behind me says, “I was wondering if you were ever going to get around to unpacking that.” Maksim enters our room before lowering his eyes to the shirt that could convict him of murder. “I could have had it done for you, but then I would have taken the decision away from you instead of letting it be your choice.”