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His smile broadens. “You’ll have to cancel those, I’m afraid. Since I’ve made it home in time, you and I have plans tonight. Big plans.”
My heart rate intensifies. He can’t possibly mean… “I have four more weeks!” To my embarrassment, the words come out in a squeak. With effort, I get a hold of myself and say in a more level tone, “I don’t have to see you until late January.” At which point, I’ll be back in New York City, and he’ll hopefully be too busy to fly in to see me.
The smile falls off his lips, and his eyes tighten dangerously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You…” I swallow, my heart hammering faster at his expression. “You gave me six months.”
“I gave you until this winter break.”
“That’s not six months!”
A muscle ticks violently in his jaw. “I didn’t mean that literally. I told you we’d talk when you came home, decide all the dates then.”
He did tell me that, but all I heard was six months. And I need that extra month. I need it badly. Raising my chin, I say evenly, “Your poor math is not my problem.”
His nostrils flare as a harsh gust of wind blows ice crystals off a roof and into our faces. “Oh, but it is.” He grips my elbow. “Let’s go. We’ll discuss this in the car.”
“No!” I dig my heels in as he pulls me toward his car. Instantly, my bodyguards surround us, their presence lending me courage. They won’t let me get taken against my will, not even by my so-called intended. I raise my voice so they can hear me clearly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He stops, fury burning in his eyes as one of the bodyguards—Vankov—moves aside his jacket, revealing a gun holster, and says, “Please let go of Alina Vladimirovna.” Even in a tense situation, he doesn’t forget to show respect by using my patronymic. Jaw set firmly, he continues. “She has no wish to go with you.”
Yes. Go, Vankov!
Except Alexei doesn’t obey. Nor does he look the least bit intimidated. “She’s my fiancée,” he says in a hard voice, “and we have things to discuss. Step aside, or you’ll regret this.”
The other guards exchange concerned glances, but Vankov pulls the gun from the holster and aims it at Alexei. “My orders are to protect the Molotov family. Release her and step back, sir.”
Alexei’s eyes narrow into slits, but he releases my elbow. Thank God. For a moment, I was afraid he might try to take me anyway, four armed guards notwithstanding.
Just in case, I back away, and his eyes track me with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse slip out of its grasp.
“One more night,” he says grimly as two guards step between us, shielding me with their huge bodies. His gaze pins me through the gap between their shoulders, the heat in it making me burn despite the icy wind. “I did tell you six months by mistake, so I’ll give you one more night to get used to the idea of us. But no more. I’m done waiting, Alinyonok. First thing tomorrow, I’m coming for you, and nothing and no one will stop me.”
* * *
I’m still shakingwith cold and adrenaline as the elevator doors open and I walk into my parents’ penthouse. I didn’t go to Natasha’s after that confrontation. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned around and ran home, needing the safety of its walls, illusory though it might be.
One more night. That’s all I have now. Tomorrow, he’ll come, and my parents won’t lift a finger to stop him. Unlike my bodyguards, they won’t care if he drags me away. In fact, Papa will likely assist him.
Raised voices reach my hearing as I take off my coat and hang it in the closet by the door before pulling off my shoes, hat, and gloves. It takes a while because my fingers are so numb from the cold I can’t feel them. The voices grow in volume as I walk toward the staircase, my head throbbing agonizingly. I need my pills, a hot shower, and my bed, in that order. What I don’t need is my parents fighting yet again.
God, I hope they separate soon.
“—fucking whore,” my father is shouting in the living room as I creep toward the staircase, desperate to hide in my room before they realize I’m home. “I’ll fucking kill him!”
“You try and see what happens! I’m leaving, and you can’t fucking stop me!” My mom’s voice is high-pitched, hysterical. A crash follows—some priceless mantel piece going flying, no doubt. I wince and cover my ears, but even that doesn’t block Mama’s voice as she shrieks, “And I’m taking Alina with me! Fuck your alliances. She hates him, just like I hate you!”
I stop halfway up the stairs and drop my hands to listen. Does she mean it, or is this just something she’s saying to wound my father? And if she does mean it, would she be able to actually keep me out of Alexei’s clutches? Maybe if my brothers were to side with her—
Another crash makes me jump. “She’s my fucking daughter! You try to take her, and I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll fucking kill you both, along with that motherfucker you’re fucking!”
Another crash is followed by Mama’s pained cry. My heart jackrabbits into my throat. I’ve never heard my father say that to her, nor have I ever witnessed him physically hurting her, though I’ve suspected it’s happened.
Shaking, I pull out my phone from my pocket and dial Nikolai’s number. He’s the only one in Moscow right now. Konstantin is in Dubai on business, and Valery is doing his army thing somewhere near Crimea.
The phone rings as another crash sounds, followed by a louder cry of pain.
Please answer, please answer. Come on, please answer.
