Page 109 of Beautiful Secrets
My eyes close, and I lose myself in the strength of his arms, the solidity of his big body against mine.
How do we fit so perfectly against each other?
I want to hate him right now. And maybe, in a way, I do.
Mika Vasiliev always had a miserable life. It only got worse after Vanya’s engagement party. And, if I am being perfectly honest, running away would not have solved anything. For all I know, Russia might have been worse. The Vasilievs in Scotland uphold tradition with an iron fist, but the family we left behind—grandfathers and grandmothers—they do not need to uphold it.
Theylivedit.
To them, it is not a way of life. Itislife.
But I remember my grandparents being kind people, and that was who I had hoped to live with until I found a job, a house, perhaps a nice man to settle down with.
Now everything is happening out of order.
I found a nice man…but that is not enough. Cole is not enough. He is one man against a Bratva army—which is what he will be up against if he does not take me back to my father tomorrow like was arranged.
How can I fault him for that?
I would not want the entire Vasiliev Bratva after me, either. As it is, I am already on the bad side of the Barisovas.
Chyort! I need to pee again.
I sigh as I savor a few more seconds wrapped in Cole’s arms, and then carefully wriggle out so as not to wake him.
Before I go back to bed, I pause at the window and peek through the curtain.
It was difficult at first adapting to the days of unending light, but thankfully our rooms had thick blackout curtains. But tonight it is darker than usual this time of year. I assume the heavy clouds are blocking out the light.
But I can still see the vague outlines of objects outside. Cole’s car, parked haphazardly in the small parking bay.
We are the only patrons, it seems.
I turn, still looking out of the window, and bump against the vanity’s chair.
Something falls to the floor with a soft whoosh.
I hiss through my teeth, rubbing at the sore spot as I duck to pick up the thing from the floor. With the curtain again closed, the room is pitch black.
Cole’s suit jacket. I hold it up to my nose, inhaling deep, and then hook it over the back of the chair again.
I slide a hand over the soft fabric.
There is a difference between selfishness and self-preservation.
And it would have been an easy choice, if it was a different man holding me captive.
But Cole complicates things so much.
I put a hand in the pocket and pull out my passport. I rifle through the rest of the jacket until I find his wallet.
There are a few notes inside, but not enough to account for my cash.
Thief.
A flare of annoyance flashes through me before I can suppress it.
I could still run. Take his car. Head to the airport. I’m sure I can use his credit card to book the flight.
