Page 131 of Contract of a Billionaire
“No.” I felt like there was a story to his answer but I knew he wouldn’t share it. It took me a whole week to get his name out of him. Kian was the one who stuck to me, like he was my personal bodyguard. But conversations were non-existent. Another shiver rolled down my spine. “Are you cold?”
“No,” I lied.
He sighed and pulled me over. “You’re not my type,” I grunted, though his body heat felt so fucking good. “And I’m in love with someone else,” I added. “I was going to marry him. I’m not even sure why I didn’t drag him to the courthouse right away. It was all stupid. Four years apart, I finally get him back and then I can’t set the date. The best part was me rushing here and now this.”
The vibration of his chest pressed against my back had me turning my head over. He was laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Don’t worry, Autumn,” he said, closing his eyes. “You’re not my type either. We’re just sharing our body heat. Go to sleep.”
My body relaxed, enveloped in his warmth.
The last thought lingering in my mind before I drifted off to sleep was that neither one of us smelled that great anymore.
* * *
Oh my God.
This couldn’t be my life. Another fucking month. Maybe more. I couldn’t keep track of days. The local military was on our tail. We had to backtrack, go down the mountain, then back up. If I never saw another damn mountain in my life, it would be too soon.
“What month is it?” I asked Salma. “January?”
“February, I think,” she grumbled. “The Olympics were scheduled for February,” she remarked for no good reason. I glanced over at her, wondering where that even came from. She just shrugged. “My parents love watching ice skating.” I blinked. Okay, that was bizarre. “And I just finished my period. Yeah, definitely February.”
Period. I haven’t had my period since–
I blinked. It had to be all the stress. And lack of food. My stomach growled.
“Do you want my bread?” she offered, but I immediately shook my head. She was nursing her baby. She needed food more than me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you,” I muttered, though my mouth salivated.
If we ever make it back, I’d beg Maman to bake me some fresh bread. Nothing on it, just bread. On second thought, maybe it’d be wiser to go to a bakery. I couldn’t risk food poisoning.
“Are your parents in the States?” I asked her.
She nodded. “They left thirty years ago. I was born in the States, but five years ago, I got the bright idea to move back here. My roots and all that. I thought it’d be safe. I guess the joke’s on me.”
“I don’t think anyone thought it’d end like this,” I muttered. “I’d kill for a nice warm bath right now though.”
“And a five course meal,” she added wistfully.
Both of us laughed but there was no humor in it.
Her baby slept peacefully in her arms. I brushed my fingers through her dark hair. We were lucky the baby slept. In a few instances where we had to take cover and hide, I could feel the tension from the men, flickering anxious looks the baby’s way. One wail and we would have died. But little Azaia never woke up.
“What are you going to do when you get back?” Salma asked. The men barely talked to us so it left only the two of us to get acquainted. I felt like there were no secrets left between us, not that I had many. Only one.
The sound of gunfire resumed somewhere in the distance. Neither Salma nor I flinched. We were used to it by now. We could recognize when it was too close or when it was safe enough in the distance not to worry about it.
It only took us a few days to get used to those sounds.
I looked over the horizon. The valley and city of Bagram stretched in front of us. I guess you could call it a city. It was once an ancient city located at the junction of the Ghorband and Panjshir Valley. Salma was good at history too. The view would be breathtaking if not for the constant fear looming over our heads.
The camera still hung around my neck. I hadn’t taken a single picture since that day in Kabul. But as I stared at the horizon and mountains on the other side of the valley, I picked up my camera and looked through the lens.
“I’m going to marry Alessio,” I murmured, staring at the view. “If he’ll still have me.”
Salma chuckled. “He’ll have you.”
