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 ignore the wave of guilt that twists in my gut.
"You would think that I would remember some of you. Why don't I remember you?"
"I don't know," I lie. She eats rapidly as if she just wants to give herself something to do. Goddamn, I don't blame her. I’m glad to see her packing it away, though, one bite after the other. Zoya will be pleased.
I live for control. I would absolutely hate being in her position, not knowing who I am, and having to rely on other people to tell me.
"I don't know exactly how amnesia works, but I do know the doctor said not to tax your memory. Just take things as they come," I say, "and I know that's a lot easier said than done." I shake my head. "I would hate being in this position.” I frown and admit, “I don't think I would handle it very well."
Her beautiful face breaks into a little bit of a smile. "I feel like I've just met you, and I can already say with certainty that you absolutely would not handle a loss of control very well.”
I grunt in reply, which seems to amuse her.
"Well, I can say one thing,” she says, changing the subject. “This food’s delicious. Pelmeni. Incredible. I can’t say I’ve never had better, but it seems like the truth. And I definitely enjoy sweets.” She eyes me as she takes a mini chocolate cookie in her hand and bites into it as if I’m going to scold her for eating her dessert before finishing her meal. I just care that she’s eating.
When she reaches for another cookie, her sleeve shifts, and I see it—a faint, dark mark on her wrist. A tattoo. Curled lines form an intricate symbol, almost like a chain, no… a snake twisted around a flower? It’s delicate, nearly hidden.
Why was this not in my notes?
"I know what this is," she says, her face breaking out in a smile. "And I know it has something to do with my family." She smiles, pleased with herself. "There. It will come back. I just have to be patient."
She pops another cookie in her mouth. "I like chocolate."
Why didn’t I know about the tattoo?
"Is there anything else you can remember about me, Rafail?”
Time stands still for a fraction of a second. Fuck, but I love when she says my name. Just hearing it in her pretty, musical voice makes my dick hard. I shift uncomfortably. I want this woman… broken stranger that she is. “Anything at all?"
"You were brave," I say, surprising even myself.
"Brave?" She tips her head to the side.
"Yes, you did what I've never been capable of doing." I look away. I didn’t mean to say that. Something about being in the presence of this woman who’s supposedly my wife does strange, unexpected things to me.
She swallows, absentmindedly running her finger over her tattoo. "And what's that?"
I hold her gaze and take a sip of wine before I continue. "Surrendering control to somebody else."
"Well,” she says thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on my wine. “You haven't given me much of a choice.”
"Not much of a choice, no. But it was a choice."
She stares at my wine. “Can I have some of that?”
“Just a minute.” I pull out my phone and type in the names of the meds she’s taking. I read the contraindications and shake my head. “No, not with those medications you’re on.” I put my own glass down. “I won’t have any if you can’t.”
She gives me a thoughtful look but doesn’t respond. We eat in an almost amiable silence for long minutes until she pushes the tray away and leans back against her pillows, spent. I glance down at the tray. She’s only really nibbled.
"You said I was a runner, but I have a hard time believing that. How is it that I was a runner and actually tried to outrun the likes of you, but I’ve exhausted myself by eating only enough food for a child?" She frowns as if disgusted with her lack of energy and stamina.
I stifle a growl. "You're correct. You barely ate a child’s portion of food. Eat more, Anissa. You have to get your energy up." I push the tray back over to her.
She folds her arms across her chest and frowns at me. "I’m not hungry," she says with a note of defiance in her tone.
"You haven’t eaten enough to gain any strength," I insist.
"Fine," she snaps at me, reaching for a second cookie. "Another cookie. How is that? You’ll have a nice, sedentary, fat wife with a big butt.”
I frown at her. “Keep it up, and you’ll be a wife with a sore butt.”
She opens her mouth to protest before she slams it shut again. With flushed cheeks, she pops another cookie in her mouth, another blini, and a few more bites of soup.