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The good news is I’ve managed to stop crying. The bad news: I still want to scrub myself inside out with bleach, even though I know it would be futile. If Alexei’s swimmers are anything like him, they’re already at their destination, roping my poor egg into a union it doesn’t want.
What the fuck was I thinking, giving in to him? Participating so eagerly, so wantonly in my own destruction? That is, until the very last moment, when I recovered just enough sanity to tell him no—which he ignored, of course.
He’s stated his intentions for me, plain as day. Why did I think I could sway him with a last-second plea? A plea that would’ve been a hell of a lot more persuasive if I hadn’t just come all over his cock.
My face burns as I wrap a towel around myself and face the mirror. I hate the woman looking back at me, with her red, swollen eyes and flushed, blotchy skin. I want to erase her out of existence, so I do exactly that, painting over her with foundation, mascara, lipstick—whatever it takes to cover the raw mess she is inside. Blow-dryer and flat iron are next, and by the time my hair is dry and smooth, I’m more or less my usual self, if still a bit shaky.
Alexei is sitting on the bed when I emerge from the bathroom. I’m once again dressed in nothing but a towel, and his scorching stare doesn’t help my equilibrium one bit. I want to slap his face, and at the same time, I want to run and hide.
To his credit, he doesn’t look smug. Instead, his expression is shuttered, his eyes unreadable aside from the heat glimmering in their dark depths.
Ignoring him, I pad over to the walk-in closet and grab the first dress my hand lands on—which happens to be a bright yellow cotton sundress that in no way reflects my mood. Black tulle would be far more appropriate, but I don’t want to risk Alexei coming into the closet after me, so I make do with my first find. And because I can’t help myself, I slip on a pair of white wedge sandals that are more casual than what I’d normally wear but that go with the summery vibe of the dress. I accessorize it all with a pearl necklace and little pearl stud earrings because why the fuck not? Let’s just pretend we’re sweethearts going to a church picnic.
He’s on his feet when I come out, a big, dark, imposing figure that makes my palms sweat and my heart beat faster.
God, I hate him. I really do.
I raise my chin as high as I can and try to walk past him.
He catches me by my elbow and forces me to face him. “Are you okay?” His deep voice is quiet, serious, his eyes roaming searchingly over my face.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s worried.
“What do you care?” I try to twist out of his grasp. “You got what you wanted. Now leave me be.”
He doesn’t release me. His eyes narrow, and his lips curve in that darkly mocking smile I’ve come to know so well. “You know I can’t do that, Alinyonok. If I could, I would’ve done so long ago.”
Can’t argue with that fucked-up logic.
I close my eyes in defeat, and by the time I open them, he’s released my elbow in favor of clasping my hand in his big palm.
“Why don’t we go up on the deck?” he suggests, his smile softening as he looks down at me. “It’s supposed to rain later this afternoon, so this is our chance to enjoy the sunshine.”
I bare my teeth in a mirthless smile. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll burn to a crisp or something?”
“Oh, I’ll cover you with sunblock, don’t worry.”
My stomach pitches in a peculiar, almost queasy way.
No. I can’t possibly be turned on right now. Not after he’s just done that horrible thing to me. I should be repulsed by the mere idea of his hands anywhere on me, but apparently, my body has other ideas.
Then again, maybe I just ate something off and am actually feeling queasy.
I yank my hand out of his grip. “I’ll sunblock myself, thank you very much.”
Without waiting for his reply, I march back into the bathroom and cover every inch of my exposed skin with a thick white layer that I purposefully don’t rub in all the way, so he can see it. I even do it on my face, even though everything inside me cringes at the way I look afterward—like the ghost of a geisha.
Mineral sunblock does not go well on top of makeup.
Fighting the urge to remove it and fix my face, I return to the bedroom, where Alexei nods approvingly at the white cast.
“Where’s yours?” I ask, just to be difficult.
