Page 6 of Savage Lies
Our supposed engagement at a vineyard outside the city. Wedding photos from a ceremony that never happened. Candid shots of us at various Moscow landmarks with her face carefully photoshopped onto the body of a model who resembled her enough to be convincing.
She walks slowly through the room, stopping at each photograph with growing wonder.
“I look happy.” She picks up a framed image from our fake honeymoon in Italy.
“You were. We both were.”
“And this?” She points to a photo showing her in an elegant red dress, standing beside me at a charity gala.
“Last year’s cancer research fundraiser. You wore that dress because you knew it was my favorite color on you.”
She touches the glass like she’s trying to reach through it and grab hold of the memory.
“I hate that I can’t remember,” she muses with a sigh.
“Maybe you will. The doctors said it’s possible.”
What I don’t tell her is that I’m hoping she never remembers. That Alexandra Volkova stays buried, and Katya Kozlov becomes the only woman she knows how to be.
I move behind her, close enough to smell the harsh chemicals from the hospital’s soap on her body, and point to another photo. “This one was taken last summer at my family’s dacha outside the city. You said it was the first place that ever felt like home to you.”
“Your family?”
“My younger brother Alexei and our sister Sasha. They adore you.”
She leans back against me, tilting her head up to look at me. “Do they know what happened?”
“They know you were in an accident. I haven’t told them about the memory loss yet. I wanted to see how you’re adjusting first.”
She turns to face me, and the movement brings us close enough that I could count her eyelashes if I wanted to.
Sharp cheekbones. Straight nose.
The kind of face that demands attention, even when she’s in sweats. But it’s her mouth that distracts me, wondering what those lips would feel like wrapped around my cock.
“You’re protecting me.”
“Always.”
“Why?”
The question is simple, but the answer is anything but.
Because you tried to destroy everything I’ve built.
Because I want revenge.
Because somewhere in the past year, the line between hatred and obsession became impossible to define.
“Because I love you,” I say instead, because it feels like something a husband would say to his wife.
The smile that crosses her face is so innocent it guts me. She has no idea what kind of man she’s giving that smile to.
For a second, I want to ruin it, crush it, just to prove she shouldn’t trust me. Instead, I swallow the urge and step back before I take what isn’t mine to have.
I force my voice steady, like nothing dangerous just slipped through. “Are you hungry? I’ll order something.”
“Actually, I’m exhausted. The doctor said that’s normal.”
