Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Sasha claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder and leans in slightly. “She’s lovely. I like her.”
“I told you,” Sergei murmurs, and I feel my cheeks heat at the way his gaze lingers on me.
“Well, I’ll leave you two,” Sasha says, stepping back. “Don’t scare her off, bratan.”
“I should be saying that to you,” Sergei replies dryly.
Sasha disappears back into the group, and Sergei takes a few slow steps toward me.
“You’re up early,” he says.
“Just excited to start my day,” I say, though truthfully it was my curiosity that got me out of bed. I didn’t even think to check the time.
He nods and glances past me to the path. “Walk with me?”
I nod, and we fall into step side by side, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes. Comfortable silence stretches between us, but I’m keenly aware of him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks after a moment. “You were sick yesterday.”
“Oh, that was nothing. Something I ate just didn’t agree with me,” I lie, feeling my cheeks flame. Of course he heard me. “I’m feeling much better now, and it helps to be in such a comfortable place. Your home is really lovely.”
“I wish I could take any credit for that. As I told you yesterday, so much of it was designed by my father. But this garden is all my mother.” He smiles, gesturing around us. “She’s always been obsessed with gardens. He gave her complete run of the place.”
I glance over at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.
“That’s really thoughtful,” I say.
“She still plants new flowers every spring herself,” he adds, gesturing to the bright flower beds around us. “She says it helps keep the tradition alive.”
There’s so much about him I still don’t know. Hearing him talk about his parents gives me more insight into who he is and what’s important to him. Family truly is everything to him, of that I’m certain. I’ve never met a man so devoted to family.
As we continue walking, I glance back once more toward the group of men. They’re still there smoking, laughing, and looking far too well-dressed and well-coordinated to just be old family friends. I can’t help the way my thoughts spiral. As lovely and comfortable as this home is, there’s something about the group that unsettles me. I watch as they all stub out their cigars and head back into the house.
Sergei must be watching me, because he says, “They’re here for a business meeting.”
“A business meeting?” I ask lightly, hoping to keep my tone neutral. That isn’t at all what Sasha said, and I feel like I’ve caught him in a lie.
“Yes,” he says. “They help with a shipping company I run. We were reviewing logistics.”
A shipping business—innocent enough, if I let it be. Part of me screams to leave it alone and accept his answer.
“It must be a lot to manage,” I say, for lack of anything else to add to the conversation.
“It is,” he replies simply, and we let it drop.
“I was thinking,” Sergei says, hands slipping casually into the pockets of his slacks, “maybe you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
“You want to have dinner with me?” Surprise edges my voice. I’ve been trying to stay professional, and this feels dangerously slippery.
He nods once. “Just the two of us. Now that you’re living here, I’d like us to get to know each other better.”
“I’d like that,” I say softly, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach.
His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he might say something more. But instead, he nods, offers me the barest smile, and turns back toward the house, disappearing down the path.
Once he is out of sight, I let myself sag slightly, pressing a hand to my belly. It’s still flat, but it won’t be for long.
A thousand thoughts swirl. Is tonight the time to tell him? Should I wait? What if he reacts badly? What if he wants nothing to do with it? What if he does?
I meander, fingertips brushing the flower tops, lost in thought. Dinner already feels loaded—one confession could shift everything between us.
12
NICOLE
When I get to the formal dining room, Sergei pulls out my chair like a gentleman. The small courtesy sends a flutter through me, as though this is a date rather than a routine dinner between a boss and his employee. I smooth my dress as I sit, trying to quiet the butterflies in my stomach.
The long table is set for only the two of us, with flickering candles and formal place settings. It’s all too grand. A woman in a tailored uniform glides in with two salads, setting them before us without a word.
“Do you always go all out like this for dinner?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
He smirks as he takes his seat beside me. “Most nights I eat dinner in my office, but I thought your first full day warranted the dining room.”