Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I did.” I peer at him curiously when he chuckles. “I interrupted his breakfast.”
My bewilderment grows. Not even as a kid did Alek eat breakfast.
I get whiplash from our conversation when he blurts out, “Pavel is dead.”
I assumed he was years ago but was too scared to ask Alek what happened to him, but Yev expressed the news as if it is new. “When?”
After drenching his head before the water turns ice-cold, he replies, “Sometime today. We’ll know more once the authorities find him. Kliment called it in just now.”
“Why would you want the police involved?”
I’m torn on how to respond when he says, “We can’t exactly leave him hanging there. It was in a public space.”
“He was hanged?” When Yev jerks up his chin, I stray my eyes to my feet.
That’s how my father decided to go out after killing my mother and believing he had killed my brother.
It takes a minute for Yev to click on. “Fuck. Shit, Polly, I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay. I’m not upset.” I almost cuss before correcting. “I am upset. Just not for my father.”
I shudder when I recall the scene I was forced to take in when I was yanked out of my hidey-hole. I had been in there for hours, close to sixteen, yet the scene was still horrifying. The only person who had been removed was Alek, and there was so much blood on the floor I didn’t believe it was him who had informed the officers of my hiding spot.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here before you catch a cold.”
With the suds-loaded sponge dumped on the floor, Yev switches off the shower, gathers me in his arms, then exits. I’m not surprised when he walks us straight out of the bathroom with not a snick of cloth covering us. He loves air drying.
I would too if he weren’t so sick after each shower that he struggled to stand.
He isn’t facing the same problems now. He has no issues walking me to his bed before fetching me a set of clothes out of his walk-in closet.
“How is your head? You could take some more Advil now if you want?”
His reply is as smooth as his strides. “My head’s good.”
Feeling as if he is not telling me something, I ask, “Your stomach?”
He freezes partway out of the closet before locking his eyes with mine. “It’s good too.” After angling his head to the side and raising his lips half an inch, he asks, “Are you babying me, Grandma?”
I gag. “Call me Grandma again and you’ll find my stiletto up your backside.”
Yev laughs. It is still such a foreign thing to hear, but I relish it as if it is a precious gem. “How do you know I wouldn’t like that?”
I shrug. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”
When he drinks in the height of my pumps, he pulls a face. “We’d need lube, and I’m out of hair gel.” A smile tugs at my lips when he murmurs, “Fucking Feo,” under his breath while pulling a shirt over my drenched head. “Always ruining my fun.”
As quickly as his playfulness arrived, it leaves, and guilt takes its place.
“It’s okay to talk about him.” He finishes pulling on his boxer shorts before drifting his eyes to mine as I say, “He’s your brother. He will never fully leave you. He just lives inside you now.” When lines furrow across his forehead, I realize my wording wasn’t the best considering what we were discussing only seconds ago. “Not like that. God, I forgot how perverted you are.”
My reply awards me a smile.
It isn’t a full smile but better than none.
“Do you have a preference?”
“For?” I ask, confused by the changeup but also appreciative of it. His voice isn’t ladened down with the remorse hardening his features.
“What side do you prefer sleeping on?” My mind trickles with ideas far more devious than sleep when Yev adds, “Because I don’t want you sleeping on the wet patch, so you need to tell me which side I need to position you before I drench the sheets with more than my sweat.”
It dawns on me that more than water is dotting his top lip when our eyes lock and hold. He’s struggling, but instead of reaching for the crutch that stole six months of his life, he’s searching for the lifeline I promised him three days ago.
He’s searching for me.
“Left,” I murmur a second before tugging him forward by his boxers and crashing our mouths together.
After kissing him until I’m breathless, I lean up on my elbows to enjoy the view of Yev stripping out of the clothes he just put on. It isn’t the longest tease I’ve endured—he’s only wearing boxers—but it is the most riveting. It may even top the time he stripped in my dressing room so I could take his measurements for new outfits.