Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“How much longer?” I ask the pilot.
“One hour, fifty minutes.”
We lean back in our seats. “What did you tell the pilot?” I ask her as I hand her a roll of gauze and some saline solution from a first aid kit to clean herself up with. I want to know. Fuck she’s fearless.
Isabella grins. She’s so gorgeous it breaks my heart a little. “I said you know who I am, and you know what I’m capable of.”
I smile at her. Somehow in the melee, the two of us shed a little of our animosity. I suppose it can’t be helped as we were allies for a little while.
“Who are you? And what else are you capable of?”
Leaning over, she cups my chin in her small, warm hand. “I am Isabella Romanova. And I am capable of world domination.”
I can’t help it. I lean over and kiss her again.
We lean back, and finally, our breathing slows.
Our ascent is breathtaking as we soar above the clouds, and the houses below us quickly become so small they look like tiny little houses you might find on an aerial map, the clouds like thin wisps of vapor.
“Southeast,” Isabella says with a nod. I can hardly hear her but can read her lips. She’s right. We’re heading out to sea. After some time, there’s nothing but the blue depth of the ocean beneath us. Her brow furrows, and I watch the details as well. Even Mikhail doesn’t know where we’re going.
I tap the mic so the pilot can hear me. “Can you tell us where you’re going?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he responds stoically. “I can’t tell you until we land. It’s too risky.”
“Fair enough.”
I watch the pilot closely. I know him, he’s been vetted… Still, I’ve never been married before. I didn’t have a wife to look out for. I look over to see Isabella’s head tipped to the side. She’s asleep.
I can’t risk falling asleep, not until we’ve landed, and we’re settled.
I stare at the sleeping form of my wife beside me, my chest swelling with the knowledge that she’s taken vows with me. It feels surreal. I’ve never known anyone more beautiful or dangerous than Isabella Morales.
And she’s mine.
Unlike our private planes, I have no Wi-Fi up here. I lean back in my seat and cross my ankles. It’s the most peaceful I’ve felt in recent memory.
I’m tense and alert when Isabella stirs and opens her eyes. She blinks in surprise but doesn’t talk as she quickly orients herself. I watch her stare down at her hand where I placed a thick gold band a few hours ago as if reminding herself it wasn’t a dream.
I stare at the ring as if imprinting it in my memory. She gives me a curious look but doesn’t make a move to take her hand away. I give her a squeeze and lay her hand on my knee, resting my hand over hers.
I don’t care if she’s a Morales. I don’t care that she’s a sworn enemy. I don’t care that I forced her to marry me, and our marriage is loveless. She’s my wife, and I promised her I would take care of what’s mine.
“Minutes now,” the pilot says.
As we begin our descent, an island comes into view—a lush, green paradise surrounded by crystal-clear water. It’s breathtaking and remote, the perfect hideaway.
“Where are we?” she whispers. “I thought maybe Iceland or Nova Scotia, but it’s impossible to tell from this height. And it looks warm, not cold. Thank God,” she mutters.
“Mmm. It’s impossible to tell even now. There are thousands of uninhabited, remote islands.”
We land on what looks like a private helipad near a grand villa. It’s perched on a cliff that overlooks the craggy rocks of the ocean below, but to the east lies a white sand beach. God, it looks like fucking heaven, and I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this, our brief reprieve before we’re thrown back into the fire.
“Bermuda,” she murmurs. “I bet we’re on one of the islands of Bermuda. Only a few hours from New York, it’s the only place I can think of that would be warm and sunny this time of year.” I watch as her lips curve upward in a grin. “Find me now, Javier.” When she flexes her pretty, delicate hands with well-manicured nails, I imagine for a brief moment she has them sharpened into claws, ready to tear him apart with her bare hands. I blink and she looks delicate and gorgeous again.
No… delicate is the wrong word. Isabella never looks delicate. Fit. Lean. Stunningly beautiful and decidedly feminine. But delicate? Never.
We take our bags and exit the helicopter.
“Thanks,” I tell our pilot.
He nods and, without a word, gets back inside to head back. I take our bags and walk toward the large villa in front of us as the helicopter rises, the blades chopping in the air, and leaves.