Page 42 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
I wouldn’t opt for a hike or anything, but I’m feeling so much better.
I reach across the bed to grab my phone and grin when I see Georgie’s name.
“Hi girrrrl,” I say excitedly.
“Hey, raccoon. Why are you ignoring me? I miss you,” she says playfully.
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I just had a bit too much of a party last night and then woke up this morning feeling like someone dragged me backwards through a bush. I promise I was going to reply to the hundred messages you sent last night.”
“Two. I sent two,” she huffs. “You’re so dramatic.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, you went out dancing? Are you partying up a storm there? Have you met any cute guys?” She throws questions at me.
I giggle and stretch my legs out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as we chat. “No, I’m not here to meetguys,” I laugh.
“Oh, come on. It’s beenyearssince you broke up with him. It’s time to move on. You deserve to fall in love again, Anya.”
She knows what I went through when I left Emmanuil. She knows that it tore me apart, but she doesn’t know the real reason I had to do it. Her version of the story is that it was a mutual decision because we lived so far apart. It was a stupid reason to tell her. Something like that would never have kept me from being with him, but she accepted it and was there for me when my heart broke and I couldn’t get out of bed. She came over every day to make sure I was eating and slowly healing. She’s the best friend I could ever ask for. She’s my family. And that’s why I would never let anything happen to her. That’s why I will protect her. Because that’s what family does for each other.
“I know, but it’s—it’s not that simple,” I sigh.
“Actually, it is. You meet someone nice. You let them take you for a romantic dinner. You kiss them under the moonlight, and you fall in love. Done.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I grin.
“Just do it. Stop putting off your life for someone who is so far in your past. Let yourself move past him. You haven’t even letoneguy have a chance since you ended that relationship.”
Something spikes in my memory.
It intrudes into my thoughts, and my eyes shoot wide. What did I say to Emmanuil last night? I cringe, covering my face with my hand.
“Mouse, I have to go,” I say. “I’m heading to the beach, but I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, don’t forget, okay? And send me some photos.”
We say goodbye, and I sit on the edge of my bed, dreading what I have to do next.
I’m so embarrassed, and I’m not entirely sure exactly how much of it is my head messing with me or what really happened last night.
But either way, I have to go and clear things up with Emmanuil. Whatever I did say, I have to tell him it was just because I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.
One image is very vivid. I, half naked, with him standing looking down at me.
I chew on my lip as I walk through the mansion in search of him.
Emmanuil is in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee.
I walk in and hesitate, wondering how angry he is with me for how drunk I got.
“Hi,” I say nervously.
He turns to look at me with a smirk on his face. “You’re alive,” he teases.
“Barely,” I huff, narrowing my eyes at him, reading his expression. He folds his arms across his chest and carries on grinning at me.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asks.
“Yes, but first, I need to just say—um, last night—I didn’t really mean what I said.” My cheeks are already burning hot from embarrassment.
“And which partexactlydidn’t you mean?” he asks, walking closer to me.
