Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I’ve always held this family together, with no choice but to control the chaos, especially with my brothers. The girls were easier, but all of them needed me. I had my grandfather as my guiding light and, to a lesser extent, my uncle. Vadka was my sounding board and my backup. There were hard lessons. I had to be the bad guy. I wouldn’t say I ever liked it, but if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
We’re here. Safe. Together. And I’ll do damn near anything to keep it that way.
“What is it?” I bite out, watching her wring her hands, patience hanging by a thread. I try to keep my temper back, but I want to see my wife.
"Why are you angry, Rafail?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Even the way she says my name feels like a gentle reproach.
"I’m not angry." But it’s a lie, and I never lie to Zoya. So I blow out a breath and shake my head. "Maybe I am. I just don’t like these circumstances."
She swallows and absentmindedly tugs on the hem of her top, a habit she’s had since she was a child. It makes her look younger. Vulnerable. "I don’t either. How long do you think this will last?"
What does she mean by “this”?
I look over my shoulder to see that Anissa is still in the bathroom. Still, I don’t want her to hear any of our conversation.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, trying to answer all the questions at once and answering none. I exhale in frustration.
I don’t like the way she flinches when I scowl. My anger isn’t directed at her. I would do anything for my brothers and sisters. Anything.
Including playing the role of husband to an absolute stranger.
"You came here to talk to me. Was that your question?"
Zoya shakes her head and stutters, "No, no, I-I made some food. I cooked a bunch of different things because I don’t know what she likes.” Her brow furrows adorably. “Do you?"
Of course I don’t. I know hardly anything about the woman on the other side of that door who shares my future.
"No." I don’t even know if she knows what she likes. This is frustrating. "Thank you," I grind out. Forcing my voice soft feels like pulling teeth—unnatural, like a rottweiler rolling over to show his belly. I draw in a breath. "Thank you for that. I’m not going to make her come downstairs. She’s in too much pain."
"No, no, of course not," Zoya says. "I’ll bring up a tray."
I shake my head. "No, Zoya," I reply firmly. "Prepare it, and I’ll bring it up."
"All right," she says softly. "Thank you."
She does a clumsy little head nod before she flees, and it makes me feel like a dick. She’s my sister, not my servant. Jesus. I turn back and face the room. And she’s my prisoner, not my wife.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
Right now, all of Zalivka is talking about my bride. Everyone knows that I’m married. And everyone knows there was an accident, but nobody knows what happened. I aim to keep it that way.
Certain the guards are in place, I decide to go downstairs now and get the food myself. If Zoya decides to disobey me and carry the damn thing, I’ll have to scold her, and I fucking hate doing that. So I go downstairs and try the food as she plates it.
"Delicious." I don’t even taste it, but I’m trying. Goddamn, I’m trying.
"Just a few simple things," she says quietly. "I really hope she likes them. And you, too, of course," she stammers, shaking her head. "But you like everything I make, Rafail." She gives me a shy smile. On impulse, I reach for her and give her a quick hug. No matter how much I scold her to eat, she only pecks at her food like a little bird, small and fragile.
"I do love everything you make. Thank you for this. She’s going to be very glad to have you as a sister, Zoya."
I take the platter, turn, and head upstairs. The smell of roasted potatoes and savory meat pie makes my mouth water and my stomach growl. I like a good meal, but I don’t remember the last time I ate one. It’s been a bullshit couple of days with one thing after another.
But now I need to slow down, something I don’t do very well. I need to get to know my new wife. How the fuck do I do that?
I’ve never had to make small talk or be personable. God.
The idea makes me sick.
I don’t know what the fuck those guys were talking about with the “beast,” but I feel for the guy if this is what he had to go through.