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 can see that. I see how you take care of your brothers and sisters. I know that now.” She blows out a breath. “So why don’t we let this lie? Forget about the past. Let’s move forward.”
Fuck, but I wish we could.
"Maybe I was afraid of change," she says softly. A small, hardened crevice of my heart melts a little.
Maybe she was.
I reach for her and drag her onto my lap. Her fingers graze the stubble on my chin. I lean in, and she kisses me as if she really wants to forget the past and move forward. I kiss her back like it’s a promise, as if it will hold her here, right here, in this moment. Her tongue slides into my mouth when someone clears his throat behind me.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you for interrupting me and my wife,” I growl, not bothering to confirm it’s Semyon. I’d know his throat clearing anywhere. “What is it?” I touch my forehead to hers, relishing the weight of her hand on my arm.
“Rafail,” she whispers, a plea. “No more violence today.”
Somehow, her touch has the strange ability to silence murderous thoughts.
Semyon shifts nervously. “Sorry. I have to tell you…”
“What?”
“We let the news spread. They all know you have a wife, and some aren’t taking too kindly to it. The Popovs are willing to meet.”
Tension coils thickly between me and Anissa, a silent pull that neither of us dares to sever. She doesn’t say anything, but the fear in her eyes speaks volumes, flashing in those brief, stolen glances. Her back is rigid, her body betraying the doubts she doesn’t voice. I refuse to look at her too long—if I do, I’ll see that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the same doubt that gnaws at me like a curse. I can’t let her leave. I won’t. But the harder I cling, the more I can feel her slipping through my fingers, like smoke dissipating in the night air.
“Maybe the Popovs have valuable intel, Rafail. We should meet with them. Though, you might have to pry yourself away from your bride for a minute or two,” he says, smirking.
I don’t bother hiding my irritation. “Or we can have the meeting right here,” I reply, my voice a low growl.
Anissa grins, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes, softening her stance. “Or you could just tuck me into your pocket and take me along,” she teases as if she’s found a way to anchor me in place. I grunt. “Piggyback ride?” she suggests helpfully.
“Anissa…”
“You could fashion one of those children’s wagons—”
“Woman!”
Her laughter is light and teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—a spark of mischief, of freedom and hope—that unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.
She’s joking now, but the thought lingers. What if she wants to run again?
“You’re not going anywhere,” I grunt, forcing a smile to hide the sudden tightness in my chest.
She arches a brow at me. “Who says I want to?”
But the truth is, I don’t know. The flicker of doubt gnaws at me. Because right now, we’re two strangers starting over. When her memories return… what if her reaction is something I can’t predict? Something brute force and violence won’t solve?
Something even I can’t stop?
Chapter 16
“ANISSA”
I wake, feel for the warm reassurance of my husband, and snuggle closer. He's asleep, but does he ever really sleep?
Even when he sleeps, there’s tension in his shoulders and the lines of his handsome, rugged features.
As weeks pass, I hate that I still have no more idea of who I was than before. Only bits and fragments poke through. So I’ve done what the doctor said, even though it’s hard to do—gave my mind a rest.
I’ve resigned myself to what I do know: I belong here. I’m Anissa Kopolov. I’m the wife of the Kopolov Pakhan and sister-turned-mother figure to his band of siblings because now that I’m here, the missing link of a mother figure has become woefully apparent.
We have dinner every night, like clockwork, but instead of “business as usual,” or the few quiet nights where no one talks, it’s a little more lighthearted now. At least, that’s what they tell me. I might not have much to offer, but it seems that bringing a touch of humanity to Rafail’s rigid, uncompromising ways isn’t entirely unwelcome.
His family grew up with a sense of duty and toughness and, honestly, a healthy dose of fear for their older brother. But all of them were children when they lost their parents, and one of them is a child still. They lacked a soft touch in their daily lives, and I aim to bring that to them now in my own way.
I wish he could relax, but he still carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even though it still bothers me to know that I ran away from him because I didn't know who I was, I’m making peace with it.