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)
"We'll go back to my house. The food is ready. We'll discuss our options, scan through footage, and call in our allies. I want everyone to assemble within the hour."
My uncle bows his head to me. "Wise move. I would do the same," he says as if that should somehow console me. Right.
I snap my fingers, and my brothers rise, their movements swift, ready for war.
“Let’s move.”
Chapter 2
POLINA
"Polina," my mother says softly. Even though her soft gray eyes twinkle at me, she can’t hide the fear that lies beneath layers of concern. She reaches across the table and holds my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before she lets it go. "You remember I told you as a child you could be anything, right?”
I groan. I know exactly what she's talking about and where she's going with this.
"I didn’t mean that you should actually try everything before you settle down," she finishes, her voice with barely contained laughter.
"I know," I say with a sigh. I should laugh along with her. I remind myself that she loves me and wants what’s best, but it stings being the butt of my family’s jokes. Sucks being the only daughter in a family of men. I mean, knowing that no one, literally no one, will ever harm a hair on my head without bringing down the wrath of the entire Romanov brotherhood is… kind of nice, but…
But I know my mother’s real fear. If my father were still alive, he’d be hard at work planning my arranged marriage. My eldest brother Mikhail, the head of our family, hasn’t taken those steps… yet. But changing plans to a fourth college major isn’t helping my case.
"I just don’t know… what I want to do next. None of it has felt right yet. I feel like I’m trying beds like Goldilocks, and none of them fit yet. Do you know what I mean?"
My mother’s eyes are soft but sad when she nods. With a sigh, she tucks a wisp of my platinum-blonde hair behind my ear. “I do know. But I also know that we don’t have all the time in the world, my love. You know that too.”
My mother was married at nineteen and knew her future before my parents even exchanged vows. She was destined to be the matriarch of the Romanov family, with no hope for a college education, a career, or anything more than being the wife of a Romanov. I know this, and I believe it’s probably more for her sake than even mine that I feel such a strong need to find my place.
In the past years, since my brother took over as the head of my family, I've tried midwifery, criminology—yes, the irony was not lost on me—and even women’s studies. None of them suited me or felt appropriate for the youngest daughter in a family of powerful, old-fashioned Russian men.
Maybe I should've studied finance.
"You do you, babe," my sister-in-law Harper says, winking at me from across the room. She lifts a decanter of amber liquid and pours some over a glass full of ice.
"Drink?" she says with a smile. I shake my head. I don’t like to drink. Since so much of my life whirls out of my grasp, I clutch at whatever modicum of control I can maintain.
"I’m good, thanks."
"Are you sure this one is really Russian?" Harper says, winking at my mother. "She doesn’t even drink vodka."
"Are you sure this one's really Italian?" I quip, rolling my eyes. "She doesn’t even eat cheese."
"You know that I love cheese," Harper whines. "It just doesn’t like me," she adds sadly.
"I like you just fine," my brother Aleksandr says as he enters the room and walks up to his wife. He slides an arm around her waist, tugs her to his chest, and plants a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Ugh," I say sarcastically. "Get a room.”
"Jealous much?" Aleks says with a sly smile. Like my other brothers, he looks nothing like me. Unable to have children but determined to build a family legacy, my parents adopted. Whereas I’m fair and so blonde my hair is nearly white, my brother Aleks is classically tall, dark, and handsome. His gorgeous Italian bride, Harper, stares at him as if he hung the moon.
"I’m not jealous of you lovebirds," I lie. I am totally jealous of those two lovebirds. "I just think that sometimes—"
The study door opens with a bang. Harper startles, and her glass crashes to the floor, but nobody moves. Mikhail, my oldest brother, stands in the doorway, and we all know instantly that something is terribly wrong.
My mother is on her feet, but her voice doesn’t waver. Ekaterina Romanova is never ruffled. I swallow and rethink my decision on the vodka.
"Misha," Mom says softly, the one word holding a world of questions. She only calls him his pet name—Misha—when she's afraid. We all know it could be anything. Over the past few years, as my family has risen to power, we’ve encountered formidable rivals and formed dangerous alliances.