Page 41 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

He still believes in me.

But at this point it's gotten too dangerous to continue what I’m doing here.

And with the way he's been blowing through money—apparently a lot of it—I may never get to return.

If I do, it won't be the Repin academy… formerly known as the Imperial Academy of Arts, one of the most prestigious universities in all of Russia.

I feel my phone buzz a few times and pull it out to see who is calling, but the woman looks up with a scowl. "Ma'am, phones have to be turned off in the waiting area."

"I just need to check something real quick. Someone's been calling me."

"I understand, but it's building policy. You're welcome to step into the hallway if you need to make a call." I chew the inside of my cheek as I see it's a missed call from Irina.

She never calls unless there are issues with Lex, but he's only been there about twenty minutes.

I look at the door to Galina's office. If I leave and she comes out I could lose my spot and have to wait another half hour. "What if she calls me in while I'm out there?"

The woman scowls at me again, lifting one eyebrow and I get the point.

She's not going to get up and come get me if my spot in line opens up.

I hold the power button until the screen goes dark as I shove it back in my pocket.

Whatever it is can wait.

Or it can't, but right now I have to be here and I have to do this. That money will get us out of the city to someplace safe.

The chair is hard and the clock on the wall ticks so loudly it makes me nervous.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.

I think about my paintings.

The two I sold at the school's autumn showcase went for almost nothing, but the woman who bought the larger one stood in front of it for fifteen minutes before she asked the price. She loved it. I want people to love my art. And I want them to search me out. That'll be near impossible without the right schooling.

And without this degree I can't get licensed. Without the license I can't open a gallery.

And I'm about to walk away from my dream because of my father's past catching up with him. It doesn’t seem fair.

The door to the advisor's office opens and a young man walks out looking relieved.

Galina Petrovna appears behind him, a tall woman with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a folder under her arm.

"Emory Rostova?"

I stand up and follow her in.

Her office is small and organized.

She sits behind her desk and gestures to the chair across from her, which is made of hard plastic, probably to make these visits short and sweet for her.

Who wants to sit in a chair that uncomfortable for longer than they have to? I sink into it and take a calming breath.

"What can I do for you today?" she asks, folding her hands on the desk as she cocks her head, studying me.

I practiced what I was going to say on the walk over here, but now that I'm sitting across from this woman it all sounds wrong in my head.

Students don't just pull out and run like this. If she asks me what I'm running from, I don't know what I'll tell her.