Page 60 of Brutal Promise

“You don’t.”

I freeze, my eyebrows raise in disbelief. “You just bought all this stuff,” I argue because it seems silly to leave it behind.

“I know. Take your necessities and a few outfits. You won’t need anything else,” he replies flatly, showing no emotion.

“Am I walking around London naked?”

He sets his luggage on the floor. “Of course not. It’s too cold. Everything is taken care of.” He rolls his luggage across the tile and parks it at the door. “Your clothes will be shipped.”

“What will I be wearing, exactly?”

“The best of everything.” He smirks, flashing me a naughty smile.

My face grows warm under his suggestive gaze.

“Is this entertaining for you?” I put my hands on my hips as I face off with him.

“Kinda.” He shrugs on his way to the kitchen. I watch him put glasses and soap in the dishwasher and push the start button. He looks up at me standing in the doorway. “Go. Pack. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

Shit.

I return to my closet and take one last look at the red dress I wore to the MET. It breaks my heart to leave it even for a week. I want to make works of art like it one day. Sure, it’s a pipe dream. But I need to have goals. Inwardly, I wonder if it’s another dream that will never come true. I run my hand over the fabric, remembering the night and the incredible sex we had as soon as I stepped out of it.

Dmitry’s phone rings, and he answers in Russian. I need to learn some of the language to understand what he’s saying.

I busy myself with packing my toiletries from the bathroom. I grab my phone that was charging by the bed all night and pack the charger. I realize I haven’t had time to check in with Alena.

She won’t be up, but I text her anyway.Heading to London with the billionaire.

Come to think of it, he probablyisa billionaire, or his family is.

I open my luggage on the bed, tuck my intimates in a side pocket, and choose a few outfits in the closet that will fit. I still have his dress shirt and tuck it under my clothes. He doesn’t have to know I’ve kept it. I’ll be happy to have it on nights he’ll be out. It will remind me of him and prevent any more terrible nightmares. I’m assuming he has work to do and won’t be babysitting me. I’m equally sure he’ll always have a man to guard me.

I slip my black sketchbook into my purse with the intention of working on designs during the long flight. Lately, I’ve been too distracted to be creative. I finish looking around the room for items I might have overlooked, and Dmitry is suddenly next to me, closing my suitcase.

I glance at my phone screen, noting the time. We have ten minutes before I fly off into the unknown with the mafia enforcer.

I follow Dmitry to the door. He opens it, and Anton enters.

“Hello, Izzy,” Anton says.

He’s dressed in a black suit and has a mic in his ear. Our plans this morning require a coordinated effort, so the drivers need to be able to communicate with each other to avoid a tail.

“Hi, Anton.” I smile at the man who’s kept us safe this week. He’s in great shape for his age, mid-forties, if I had to guess. Grabbing our luggage, he heads to the elevator.

I’m sad to be leaving New York but understandably excited for my first real adventure since leaving home.

“I trust you have my passport,” I ask Dmitry.

“Of course,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Did you get to enjoy yourself? I mean, your trip was about visiting your friend, Kirill.”

“I met you, didn’t I?” He answers with a riddle. I watch him fiddle with his phone and imagine he’s closing a huge deal or arranging a drug shipment. Who knows? I follow Dmitry’s lead and grab my purse from the bedroom, double-checking to ensure my cell phone, charger, and wallet are in it.

I’m cautiously optimistic we’ll have fun in London.

“Are we going to eat before we leave?” I ask as he types on his phone.

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