Page 41 of The Russian's Forced Bride
Brandon then muttered something under his breath about trying. It was cute watching him act like he wasn’t interested in meeting anyone else, and I found myself wishing we had grown up together. He probably had a tough childhood, taking care of himself and his mother until she passed away.
I still had a lot of questions for him, but I figured we could take it slow. Besides, I was beginning to enjoy his presence more than I ever would’ve expected.
It was nice not to feel paranoid or scared at every turn, but just to be with someone and talk.
I missed that normalcy.
By evening, I returned home after dropping Brandon off at his apartment. The day had gone quite well since I spent most of it with Brandon and working.
As I stepped into the house, a gust of air swept through—a sign that I was the only one home. I took a deep breath, closed the door behind me, and headed to the master bedroom that Rafael and I now shared.
My expression saddened further when I switched on the light to reveal that Rafael hadn’t been home all day. The king-sized bed situated at the room’s center was properly laid in its usual velvety sheets, and the black floor-to-ceiling curtains were drawn closed.
The room also reeked strongly of Rafael’s scent—woodsy, mixed with hints of tobacco from the cigarette he usually smoked—and while these scents usually comforted me on days when he wasn’t around, they suddenly made my stomach churn uncomfortably.
I scrunched my nose, walking over to draw the curtains and open the windows so the strong scent could leave, then began to take off my clothes and shoes as the day’s toll started to affect me. After that, I headed to the bathroom to take a shower.
Walking in, I was hit by a sudden wave of nausea like a bus, making me double over as I gasped for air and hurried to the sink, holding onto it tightly.
My body felt weak and strained in a matter of seconds, and I felt tears burning in my eyes as the contents of what Brandon had cooked for me spilled inside.
Shit.
My head was spinning, but I didn't let go of the sink until I finished throwing up. Afterward, I cleaned everything up, even though it felt like I was floating outside of my body.
I then had a warm shower before retreating to bed in my robe. The gust of air seeping in through the windows made me shiver, and I yearned for the warmth Rafael’s body usually gave me.
I really hoped I wasn’t sick. Maybe it was because of the pasta Brandon gave me. After all, it had so much garlic in it.
I nodded to myself.
Yeah, that was probably it.
Pulling the duvet closer to my body, I couldn’t help but think of Rafael. I hadn’t seen him since he went up to the VIP room at the club while I danced with Eleanor. He said he wasn’t pissed, but I wondered why he hadn’t come home.
What was happening?
Why was I being kept in the dark?
I hated it—not knowing where to stand or what to do. It made me feel useless.
As my eyelids dropped, I thought of the many things I could do to help out Rafael in finding Joaquin.
Chapter 13 – Rafael
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Joaquin said. His words kept echoing in my mind, distracting me as much as possible.
It wasn’t that I had never chanced upon a conversation with him. By now, I should’ve been used to the way he always spoke in riddles. Then, I had taken the bastard to be cocky just because he had a lot of money. But it seemed like he had wizened up over the years—so much so that his riddles held a weight to them.
And for him to show his face in the open simply meant he had some sort of assurance that he couldn’t be killed.
And he was right.
It was now past midnight, and I was back at the office, sipping a glass of vodka as my office overlooked the streets. My eyes watched the city lights and cars speeding down the lanes, with deep frown lines etched into my forehead.
I should’ve been by Arlette’s side, watching her sleep—especially since she usually had nightmares—but my thoughts kept bugging me. Every part of me resisted the yearning I had to be at her side.
As long as Joaquin Saavedra was roaming the streets, things weren’t safe.
