Page 76 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride
Diomid’s phone chimes, and he glances at it, looking as though he’s fully prepared to ignore it.
“Oh, it’sOleg,” he says, picking it up.
“An update?” I ask, eagerly.
He reads aloud.
“Hi guys, if the princess is still with you, let her know too…” Diomid grunts, scrunching his nose at his brother’s message. “I don’t get why he’s suddenly calling you princess,” he mutters under his breath.
“What does the message say!” I demand, hiding my giggle, because I swear Diomid looks jealous about Oleg calling me princess. But Diomid calls me princess all the time in front of other people.
“Right, uh, it says… last night, three of the seven girls were dropped off at their families safely. Two are in the process of being assisted to relocate. One has no family but has a friend in Mexico whom they want to go and stay with for a while. One has been admitted to a private hospital for care. She’s ok but shaken and bruised from something that happened. The last one is trying to convince us to give her a job.”
Diomid chuckles. “Why would she want a job?” he asks me, with his eyes narrowed.
“Maybe she wants to thank you somehow?”
“She doesn’t need to thank us,” he argues.
“Maybe she thinks your brother is super-hot and she wants to stick around him a bit longer?” I suggest, shrugging.
“Oleg?” he says, his eyes darting to me. “Do you think Oleg is super-hot?”
“I didn’t sayme… I said toher. Maybeshethinks so.” My grin is getting harder to hide.
“OK, but you wouldn’t have suggested it if you didn’t think….” He notices my expression and shakes his head. “Cheeky,” he huffs. “Princess.”
***
After breakfast, we stay on the balcony, sitting in the warm sun on a windless day, watching the city far below us come to life.
It’s still on my mind. Love. Him. The future I can’t have. But I tell myself to enjoy this time because the mission is over, and after today, I have no more excuses to see him. I have no reason to pretend I need to message him or be around him. This is it. This is the last of it. So I need to make the most of it before I say goodbye.
But the thought of saying goodbye is like a knife slipping into my heart in slow motion. I’ve got no idea how I’ll manage that, but for now, I’ll leave that as a bridge I can cross only when the time comes.
***
Diomid and I are both tired from last night, and we laze about in his penthouse for most of the morning. Around twelve, he asks me if I want to watch a movie with him, and I curl up on the sofa next to him to watch a comedy. But Diomid falls asleep almost instantly.
I laugh, whispering about how cliché it is.
But then I realize, with heaviness creeping into my heart, that maybe this is my chance to leave without facing a goodbye. The goodbye I was dreading because I know I’ll cry, and I can’t explain to him why.
I bite my lip hard, already fighting tears.
Yes, this is the right time.
Let’s not back a big deal about this.I’ve said that to him in the past, more than once. And when the words pop into my head now, they make me want to cry even more.
He’s snoring softly, in a deep, comfortable sleep, his head resting back against the sofa pillows. Moving quietly, I stand up, pausing to watch him for a moment, then grab my phone and slip it into my pocket.
I slip out the front door in silence, although my footsteps are light across the floor, my heart is heavy in my chest as I pull it closed behind me.
The elevator ride takes an eternity. The walls are closing in. My chest is tight. My lungs are struggling to take a steady breath.
The doors slide open into the building lobby, and I smile at no one, determined to make myself feel ok. Stronger. Capable.
I walk out into the street to hail a taxi, but instead of stopping, I turn left and keep walking. I need to walk. I just need to be moving.
