Page 13 of Deceitful Vows

“They didn’t havem?????´?, so I got????? ? ???????instead. I hope that’s okay.”

“Not now, dear. You have a guest waiting for you.” After blocking the blonde from my view for the quickest second to snatch a boxed cake from her hands and place it on the mantel, she introduces, “Arabella, darling, please meet Kazimir Dokovic, grandson of our beloved president, and hopefully your soon-to-be husband.”

Introducing me as a descendant of my grandfather instead of the architect behind one of Russia’s largest and wealthiest entities would usually raise my hackles to the point of no return. But since my ego is leading the procession of democracy today, I grind my back molars together before stepping closer to the blonde who’s had my cock in a constant state of erection for the past hour.

Her chips have been bartered.

Her hand has been exposed.

The game is over… until her chin lifts enough to expose her eyes.

They don’t hold Zoya’s intensity.

Her grit.

They’re as dull as every other pair pinned to the patient files Dr. Hemway compiled over the past month. But since they’re also not attached to a word that could end my crusade before it has truly begun—infertile—I accept the hand she is holding out in offering and return her sheepish grin as if I’m a wolf willing to hide under a sheep’s skin.

I’m not, but there’s no need to announce that just yet.

“Kazimir Dokovic. It is a pleasure to meet you, Arabella.”

5

ZOYA

“Are you sure you don’t want me to refrigerate that for you?”

The bartender, who has been serving me water for the past four hours without a single grumble of annoyance, nudges his head to the giant slice ofm?????´?I purchased from the restaurant of the Broadbent Hotel.

It cost me a fortune since they had to make it fresh, but because I was just as confident my effort would be returned tenfold, I acted like the dip in my bank balance was half what it was.

It seems as if karma took the night off.

I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Aleena, and I sat at this end of the bar because it had an uninterrupted view of the only restaurant in a fifty-mile radius that serves freshly madem?????´?.

“It’s looking a little worse for wear,” the bartender continues, reminding me that he asked a question.

“That’s the design. Its sour cream and condensed milk combination resembles curdled milk.” When he screws up his nose, I laugh. “Sounds disgusting, but it is actually quite delicious.” He gives me a look as if to say,Are you gonna cough up the goods?“I would if it was mine. I bought this for my sister.”

He stops looking like he’s on the verge of dying when my last word echoes in his ears. “Your sister?”

“Uh-huh. It’s her birthday today. She’s twenty-two and supposedly so in love with this hotel’sm?????´?.If I were to find her anywhere today, it would be here.”

“Oh…” The shortness of his reply and the fact he is a stranger shouldn’t make it seem as if he said so much more than he did, but you’d swear he didn’t shut up until he was blue in the face.

“What?”

Remorse darkens his eyes. “There was a group of girls in earlier when my shift started.” He lowers his focus to the container I’m sheltering like a bodyguard would a pop star. “They were seeking a slab of that but left with some other sickly combination and a heap of attention.” His jaw tics when he scans the patrons surrounding us. “Almost as much attention as you’ve been getting for the past four hours.” He returns his eyes to my face before dragging them down my body. He looks closer to my age than the thirty bracket I was placing him in when his teeth catch his lower lip, and he murmurs on a moan, “Almost.”

I’d usually be flattered by his compliment. I’m just too disappointed to respond how I generally would. Furthermore, even with hours whizzing by fast enough to make me dizzy, I haven’t been able to get my exchange with Andrik out of my head. It keeps leaking through the cracks and has me scanning the crowd as often for a dark-haired man as I’ve been seeking a blonde-haired beauty.

After swallowing my disappointment, I ask, “How long ago did your shift start?”

The bartender checks the time while tossing a tea towel over his shoulder. “Almost eight hours ago, which means I’m only half an hour from clocking out.” His eyes display his interest, not to mention his smile when he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to share that? I can rustle up some forks in my apartment. It’s only a couple of miles from here.”

I’d feel bad turning him down if he didn’t have the gaga eyes of a buxom trio at the other end of the bar. They’ve been eyeballing him all evening and seem more than eager to try out the position I falsely claimed I was a pro at earlier today.

“I’m—”

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