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 watch her hear me, listen to the words I whisper to her without responding. Something’s changed. I can’t counteract the growing doubt she seems to feel as her memories begin to surface.
We’re at a pivotal moment, and I don’t know how to stop this from happening. The more she remembers, the more I feel like I need to anchor her to me so she doesn’t leave.
It unsettles me. It’s then that I realize my feelings for her have put me in a place I fucking promised myself I would never be.
Vulnerable.
Weak.
At the mercy of someone else.
I clench my fist and shake my head. No, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, and yet here I am, as vulnerable as I was the day she jilted me at the altar.
No. I won’t let it happen.
She’s mine, my bride, my wife… my everything. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe. Everything.
No matter the cost.
I know I should reassure her. I should maybe convince her that everything’s as it should be, that nothing in our past is afoul. But the more I think about her growing doubt… the more my fear of being dangerously vulnerable surfaces.
“Rafail?” Anissa asks, her hand on my shoulder. And just like every time she touches me that way, my anger melts like snow under the blazing sun. I breathe more deeply. I feel… lighter.
I kiss her fingertips. “Yes?”
Her baby-blue eyes bore into mine with concern as she cups my jaw. “I think we’re both confused,” she says softly. She swallows hard before she continues. “Let’s make a pact.”
I nod, a lump rising in my throat. I didn’t know I could love anyone as much as I love my family.
I was wrong.
This woman has swept into my life—no, I forced her into my life and by my side—and yet, here she is, fitting in with the rest of us as naturally as could be. She belongs here. She is one of us.
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice strangely husky.
“We won’t talk about the past today. Not with your family at dinner. We talk about the future, but let’s make a pact that we don’t drag up the past.” She laughs, and something in my chest loosens a little. I love the sound of her laugh. I love everything about her. “Not that you can rely on my memory of the past anyway.”
I haven’t cried since the night my parents died, and even then, not until I held the small, sobbing frame of my baby sister in my arms—mourning the loss of her parents—to bring me to tears. But now… Christ, I’m two blinks away from losing my shit.
I kiss her forehead softly and hold her to me.
“Yeah. Alright, then. Agreed. It’s a pact.”
She lays her head on my chest as we approach the shops. Suddenly, I don’t want to be here with her, not out in the open. Every instinct inside me’s telling me this is the wrong thing to do.
I should run.
“We should go home,” I tell her. “We aren’t safe here.”
Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “Your aunt is at the house. We’re not safe there either.”
I playfully tug a lock of her hair as she leans in to kiss my cheek. “I feel safe with you,” she says simply.
And that’s all the convincing I need.
Even as my mind is occupied with thoughts about what could happen when she discovers the truth of our union… I can’t help it.
I spoil the shit out of her.
First, we head to the dress shop. She winks at me as she tries on dress after dress. I choose a selection of different styles—some elegant ones for dinners with the family and more seductive ones for dinner with me. “These are gorgeous,” she says, running her hand down the length of a few of them. I bought out the fucking dressing room so I could have her alone. “You seem to like the ones with slits.”
I shrug a shoulder and wink. I love the way it makes her blush because she knows exactly why I chose them.
Next, the jewelry store. “Your aunt will have a conniption,” she says with a giggle.
I growl at her. “My aunt can go fuck herself.”
“Rafail,” she says half-reproachfully as she laughs out loud. “You’re always telling me to behave.”
I shrug. “It’s good advice. Now get your ass in that store. I have money burning a hole in my pocket.”
She grins at me and walks in with her head held high. That’s my girl. She walks with the elegance of a queen. Royalty.
Because she is.
“I don’t even know where to begin in a place like this,” she says, tucking herself under my arm almost bashfully. She stares at the enameled jewelry, some of Moscow’s most famous. They’re vibrant and expressive, and Yana assures me that they are the most sought-after jewelry in Moscow. Looks like miniature pieces of artwork to me, which suits me just fine because I’d like to see my wife wearing something unique.