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)
He watched a video my father recorded of me touching myself.
From the scant bit of information Vasily told me during the ride from my boutique to his family estate, I was three when my father commenced coaching me on what to do in the numerous recordings. Six when Alek found out because one of his friends teased him about his sister, the whore.
My father didn’t film me for personal use. He sold the footage to a known pedophile ring who uploaded it for the world to purchase before he offered a private peep show for the elite.
I think that’s why a lack of eye contact is such a huge deal-breaker for me. Even with the only hands touching me being my own, I was violated over and over again by faceless men.
Only one has a name, and that’s because he mentioned how hard he got watching the footage he threatened to share across the globe if I didn’t leave with him to attend the party where he plans to propose.
It made me sick to my stomach that Vasily took pleasure from watching any child being exploited, much less me, but his threat to exploit my tainted past isn’t the sole reason I left with him.
I’m here to protect Yev as much as myself.
“Do you need me for anything else, Mrs. Cabanow?” Yana asks, startling me from my thoughts.
Glossy blonde wisps fall to my shoulders when I shake my head. For the past four hours, I’ve been dolled up to the nines. My makeup is perfect, my dress is sexy, and almost every inch of my body is gleaming, but I feel wretched about the way I left Yev.
God, I hope none of the horrid thoughts Vasily drilled into my head the past several hours are true. I couldn’t live with myself if they switched from gossip to gospel. Yev is strong, but even immortals occasionally dabble with temptation.
When Yana arches a brow, wordlessly demanding a verbal answer, I say, “That will be all. Thank you.”
Yana is lovely, but she is far too loyal to discuss the reason I’m a quivering bag of nerves.
I also thought I’d have time to adjust to people referring to me as Vasily Cabanow’s soon-to-be wife.
I don’t even have an hour.
After breathing out some of the nerves fluttering in my stomach, I wipe the sweat on my hands onto my dress, then exit via the same door Yana used.
There’s no use delaying the inevitable. The script has been written, and it is time for me to play the role of devoted spouse well.
I’m halfway down the grand staircase of the Cabanow family estate when it dawns on me that my stupidity won’t be solely witnessed by strangers. Yev is here. He’s dressed similar to the guests mingling in the foyer and den, but an uneasy snarl hardens his features, and his hands are balled even with them being stuffed into the pockets of his suit.
As I silently plead for him to maintain his cool, I greet an elderly guest on the stoop of the stairs before subtly making my way across the room. Interacting with Yev won’t be the smartest decision I’ve made today, but I have to do something.
He could ruin everything before he realizes my ruse will benefit him as much as my father.
“Hello. Thank you for coming,” I say to another guest as my eyes float around the room.
I look as if I’m seeking the focus of any man but the one I can’t take my eyes off. Yev’s apprehension is obvious, but he’s not jumping the gun as anticipated. He’s on edge but mellow, which is mystifying.
Oh god. I hope he hasn’t gone back to his original crutch.
As I stare at Yev, soundlessly seeking an answer to the many additional questions now swirling in my head, I say, “No, thank you,” when Vasily’s uncle offers to fetch me a drink. “Maybe later.”
I’ve barely greeted a handful of the hundreds of people in attendance before my endeavor to calm Yev is squashed by Vasily. He possessively grabs me by the hip before he tugs me to his side. “Unless you want to send postcards abroad for the next hundred years, wave him a greeting like you have our other guests, then move on.”
He dips his chin in greeting to the group he maneuvers us through to place distance between Yev and me before he snatches a champagne glass off the tray of a waiter and downs it in one hit.
He’s about to grab another when the person he’s waiting for arrives early. His father wasn’t meant to be here until well after eight.
I cringe when Vasily mutters an earlier sentiment. “May as well get over the inevitable.” With a replenished champagne glass in his hand, he taps on the flute with the end of a butter knife, drawing his guests’ focus to him. “This was meant to signify the end of our festivities, but my nerves won’t hold out for a second longer.”