Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Yes, he had walked around, holding Chloe’s hand, like any regular guy. She had no idea he constantly had two guns and multiple knives in his possession “just in case.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re not staying here,” he said.
“Why not? I’ve spent the last three days here.”
He took a step toward her. “I will only take your insolence for so long, Chloe. I thought your mother taught you better than that.”
She gasped. “How dare you even use her like this?”
“Then stop behaving like a child. We’re leaving.”
She finished zipping up her shoe and got to her feet. He reached for her, and she pulled away.
Roman looked at her, and he knew his comment about her mother wasn’t nice. Chloe averted her eyes first and then took his hand. With that small victory, he led her out of the apartment.
He didn’t like what he had seen at the table, and knew he had to do something about it.
Bringing her with him was a risk, but it was one he was willing to take. Zaitsev knew he was handling his marriage and wouldn’t interfere. While Chloe was with him, she was safe, and for now, that was all she could be.
****
Chloe didn’t know how to get out of her marriage. Roman felt like a stranger, and yet, he also didn’t at the same time. It was so confusing to her. He had lied to her for a year about who he was. She didn’t know what to do with this man. Yet, even as she felt confused by him and the fact he was a stranger, she also knew him. There was a love that had bloomed during that year.
He wasn’t that man, and yet he was. The man who had brought her Valentine’s Day flowers because they had reminded him of her. He had presented them to her at work.
It had taken three months before she accepted an outside-of-work date. He would come to the bar every single night. She worked all the time to help pay her rent. Living in the city didn’t come cheap. It was why she had to sell most of her parents’ things, which she hated doing, but she knew they would want her to survive. The guilt didn’t go away.
On the anniversary of their death, Roman had taken her to her family’s grave, and he’d sat with her while she attempted to make peace. That day had been hard. She hadn’t cried. The tears had been spilled, but it had meant a lot to her that he had seemed content to just sit with her.
She might have started to fall in love with him at that moment. He had offered to take her to dinner, and she had told him no. When he asked why not, she had been tempted to lie, but her mother had told her that lies only complicated things. She told him the truth, and he came with her. What kind of man did that? Not Roman Sidorov. Yet, it had been him. Because he planned to marry her?
Pulling out of her thoughts of the past, she looked across the table at him. They were sitting in a restaurant. The maître d’ hadn’t wanted her to enter, but one stern look with a warning from Roman, declaring her as his wife, meant they got a very nice table.
She stood out like a sore thumb. All the other women were in beautiful dresses, looking feminine, their hair done perfectly, makeup—they looked like they had stepped out of a magazine. She, on the other hand, wore her jeans, an old shirt of her dad’s, hair pulled back, but she knew some strands had escaped and looked frizzy. Her mother had shown her how to apply makeup, but had also told her it was only there to enhance beauty. The truth was, Chloe hated the feel of the stuff on her face, so never wore it.
Roman picked up the menu and Chloe did the same.
She hated that she might be embarrassing. “Why don’t you take me back … to your apartment?” She was about to call it home.
“Home, and no, we’re going to eat lunch here.”
“I’m embarrassing you.” She lowered the menu and looked at him.
“No, you’re not.”
“Seriously? Have you looked around at everyone here? How can I not be embarrassing you?” She was mortified by how she looked compared to everyone else.
“First of all, you are my wife, and I’m not embarrassed of you. Secondly, why would I be? You have done nothing to upset or offend me. Thirdly, we’re here to eat lunch. You’re not dressed as a prostitute, you’re not drunk, you are dressed in your dad’s shirt and a pair of jeans that has seen better days. You’re still entitled to eat lunch, now, what would you like to order?”