Page 85 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
I only wanted him to tell me he trusted me. I wanted him to say sorry for the accusations and to stop smothering me.
If he followed me out here and told me he was wrong, I would have come back inside. I didn’t want to leave him in the first place.
But the longer I stand here waiting for him, the more of a fool I become. And the deeper the hurt gets.He’s not coming, Ulyana. Accept it. Leave.
I tug the car door open and climb inside, my heart sinking low into the pit of my stomach as I start the engine and with one last glance in the rearview mirror, one last thread of hope that he would come after me.
I drive away.
I thought we were past the trust issues. I thought that he understood why I hadn’t told him.Because I’d never told anyone, it was a deep hurt, a deep fear that I’d always carried alone.
After I shared the truth with him, I thought he understood, but clearly, he didn’t.
I drive through Vegas, not sure where to go, until I finally stop at a well-known hotel, a luxurious place with good security.I’ll be safe here. It’s somewhere to lie low until I can figure out what to do.
I leave the car with the parking attendant and pick up my own bag, carrying it into the foyer. It’s a statement hotel, luxurious with gold walls and mirrored tiles that cover the massive pillars towering over the reception desk. A young man with a crisp blue and gold suit smiles at me as I set my purse on the counter.
“Good afternoon, miss. Would you like to check in?”
“I don’t have a reservation. Do you have a room available?” I ask, hopeful.
“We do—it’s not the penthouse, which seems to be where a lady of your standing would prefer to stay.”
I smirk, these guys are all the same, trying to get you to want the most expensive of things, chase luxury and status.
“Any room will be fine, I’m happy with something small and comfortable.”
He purses his lips in disapproval, realizing I’m not one of those girls here to flash wealth.
I grew up with wealth. I married wealth, even though money wasn’t exactly part of the decision.
Wealth doesn’t mean much to me.
What means a lot to me is connection, safety—Benedikt.
“Alright, we have a standard room on the fourth floor.”
He says ‘standard’ as though the word might be poisonous.
I chuckle. “Sounds great.”
He takes my credit card and completes the booking before sliding my card and the key across to me. “Do enjoy your stay. And if you want to upgrade at any time, just ask for me.”
I nod, picking up my things again and heading towards the elevator. I wave away the man that tries to help me carry my bag. It’s small enough, and I want to be alone.
In the room I dump everything at the door and flop down onto the bed, letting out a long, frustrated moan.
“What are you going to do now, Ulyana?” I ask, rolling onto my back. I wrap my hand over my belly. “What doyouwant to do, baby?” I ask.
Knowing the answer, I scoot to the edge of the bed and pick up the room service menu. I saw a restaurant downstairs, but I’m not in the mood for people or noise. I’ll be perfectly happy to curl up under the blankets, eat dinner alone and fall asleep.
Hopefully in the morning I’ll be able to decide the best course of action. Maybe it’s time for me to go back to San Francisco.
The thought sets a knot in my stomach. I don’t like the idea of leaving Benedikt.
Selecting my option from the menu, I dial reception and order the tagliatelle and a crème brûlée for dessert. Then I wait.
And while I wait, I stare at the ceiling, and I think.
