Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I want to get back there.
Ollie opens the door to the bedroom and gestures for me to go in. I’m tired and weary and have no more power to resist.
Before I can even sit down, there's a sharp knock on the door. Ollie has his weapon drawn.
"You don't need that here," I tell him, my belly twisting. It's so instinctual for him to draw his gun when something unexpected happens; it's like a hair-trigger reaction.
"I know," he says quietly. "I don't want anybody else to hurt you. Not again."
I look away as something in the wall of my chest breaks a little. He doesn't want me to be hurt. It's not just his instinct but his instinct to protect me. My God.
"Who is it?" he snaps.
He told his family to leave me alone, so I don't expect Mikhail.
"Dr. Agostino," comes the response.
An adult Latina woman with short gray hair enters the room. I've never met her before.
Ollie glares at her. "ID, now,” he snaps.
I don't know how he thinks this woman actually got into the family home if she isn’t legit. Without batting an eyelash, she flashes her ID at him.
"What happened?" she says sternly, her gaze fixed on me. I look like a wreck… I know that. Her eyes flash back to Ollie. "Did you do this to her?"
His eyes are immediately on her. "Of course I didn't. That's my fiancée. Did you come in here to interrogate me or to check on her?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he stands at his full height, at least a head taller than her, but she's unfazed. "I was hired to check. I need to know if you're an immediate threat."
Huh. She’s lying. He said nothing to her about Ollie being a threat. That’s all on her. Mikhail vouched for her, and she’s lying to our faces. I can tell by the shift in eye contact, and her facial expressions betray her. She’s good at it; I can say that much. I’m guessing she’s concerned about these guys, and for good reason.
"You can leave now, doctor," Ollie snaps as he opens the door.
"Mr. Romanov instructed me to come here," she says. “I am not leaving."
What the fuck? Ollie takes his phone out, places a call, and starts speaking in Russian. I don't understand what he's saying, but a minute later, Mikhail himself steps into the room. "Is there a problem here?" he asks. The tension is so thick in here it’s choking me. I lean back on the bed, exhausted. I don't say anything to anybody. They wouldn't believe me if I did.
"She's giving me shit about whether or not I hurt her," Ollie says.
“A legitimate question,” Mikhail replies evenly. He doesn’t make eye contact with me. "She betrayed us. She's a prisoner. You're marrying her to cure that. Don't forget it."
Ollie locks eyes with the doctor. "Fine. Continue," he says.
"This is what you’re concerned about?" she asks, jerking her chin at my bandaged arm. "Who did the bandage?"
"Ollie did," I say, giving her a wary look because I don't think I like her either. "You did a good job," she says without meeting his eyes. She removes the bandage easily and inspects my arm.
Mikhail and Ollie have a hushed conversation, something to do with competency and trust and respect. I’m not sure who they’re talking about. Maybe all of us.
"Fine," Ollie says to Mikhail.
The doctor looks over my arm. "There's nothing concerning here," she says quietly. "It looks like it was properly disinfected. You can use this pain-relieving cream and take an oral pain reliever as well if you need to. Is there anything else you need from me?"
“No, you may leave,” instructs Mikhail.
I wait until Mikhail leaves us alone, and then it's just me and Ollie. I'm exhausted and so hungry. I feel like I've been to hell and back.
He's going to be my husband, so I might as well pretend that I can trust him, even though I still need some time.
"Ollie?” He brushes a hand through his hair and releases a breath. God, he’s stressed as fuck.
“Yeah?”
“She lied to you."
He turns to unpack our bags. His muscles flex with masculine perfection.
God.
I love watching his body move. I lick my lips and swallow.
Focus.
"What are you talking about, Renata?" he asks.
"She said she was hired to check to see if you were a threat. I can tell she was lying."
He turns around fully to look at me and anchors his hands on his hips. "I know. My brother wouldn’t do that. Seems the doctor has her own agenda. We’ll note that. How do you know somebody's lying?"
"It's a good instinct, an intuition," I tell him. "Sixth sense, you could call it. And if I had to really explain it, it has more to do with expressions. The way people look at you. I just know.”