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)
“It is. I agree. But occasionally you have to accept help as well. If the well is empty, no one will be able to drink from it.” She aligns our eyes so I can see the honesty in them. “Not even you.” When I screw up my face so hard I’m afraid of a new wrinkle, she gives me the same out I gave her earlier. “Do you want to go back to the chocolates now?”
I nod, almost sending sentimental tears rolling down my face. “Please.”
“Okay.” She squeezes my hand before pulling out the wrappers I hid.
It dawns on me that I was more gluttonous than first perceived when my quick head count announces I consumed more sugar today than I do during Donut Holes Thursday. It is dark chocolate, which makes it not as bad as regular chocolate, but the flavanols found in dark chocolate are meant to lower your blood pressure.
This batch did the opposite.
I’m buzzing all over and don’t feel the slightest bit tired.
“I’ll probably pay a hefty penalty for my gluttony tonight.”
“We can only hope,” Zoya replies, her voice husky with concealed laughter. “Because they’re not standard chocolates. I had these especially shipped in for Aleena’s honeymoon.”
My throat works through a dry swallow when she turns over the lid of the box I didn’t pay attention to when my hunger got the better of me.
Break. Bite. Bang. Pleasure-boosting dark chocolate to increase your sexual performance.
When my eyes snap to Zoya, she waggles her brows before saying, “You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As I wipe sweat from the back of my neck, my grandmother asks, “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound a little restless.”
“I’m fine. I just… ah…” Ate my weight in the female equivalent of Viagra and can’t stop having naughty thoughts about the stranger I married, but since I can’t say that to my sweet old grandmother, I reply, “I’m just a little tired. It’s been a big day.”
Usually, I ring my grandmother every night to check in. I missed our call last night, so I’m doing tonight’s early so I won’t make the same mistake twice.
“I can imagine.” Her joyful sigh whistles through her dentures. “This must have taken a lot of planning.”
I drift my eyes back to Aleena and her bridesmaids still getting glammed up for a night on the town. “Zoya organized everything. I just showed up.”
“Not the bachelorette party, darling, although I’m glad things are going well. I am talking about moving us into an apartment upstairs.”
Assuming the chatter between Aleena and her friends who could only attend the official bachelorette part of her destination hen party has me mishearing her, I slip into the corridor before asking, “What did you say?”
“The move. It must have taken a lot of work to plan it while you were away. The apartment is gorgeous, Kita. The rooms are spacious and mold-free, and the kitchen is bigger than any I’ve seen. I’ll be able to bake for days in there. Do you remember how I used to bake when you visited as a child?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I’ll be able to make you all your favorite treats again.”
Her excitement is felt from thousands of miles away, but it doesn’t change the facts. I have no clue what she is referencing. I can’t afford the rent in the basement apartment they get at a steal because they’ve lived there for over two decades.
“Gigi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t organize anything.”
“Oh…” She goes quiet for a second before saying, “There’s a medical team here preparing to move your grandfather. Maybe one of them will know more.”
“Ah… hello,” says a deep voice a second after a whoosh sounds down the line. “This is Dr. Muhamed. How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, my grandmother has a bad habit of forcing her issues onto unsuspecting victims.” I love my grandmother with all my heart, but her belief that she couldn’t take care of my grandfather after he was diagnosed with emphysema is the sole reason my family moved to Russia. My mother was seventeen years my father’s senior, so they faced ailing parental health long before my father’s parents reached retirement age. “My grandmother mentioned they were in the process of being moved into another apartment?”
“Yes,” Dr. Muhamed answers quickly. “It is in the same building, just several floors up.”
“Who organized that?”
“We were contracted by”—papers ruffle before he says—“Ivanov…”
“Industries,” we say at the same time.
I have a million questions to ask, but since they can’t be answered by the medical contractor Maksim hired, I focus on what is most important right now. “My grandfather has stage four chronic obstruction pulmonary disease with limited cardiopulmonary reserve. He cannot be moved without proper equipment and planning.”
“We’ve arrived with portable oxygen, oximeters, and corticosteroid medication we will only use if necessary.”