I care about him more than I’ve cared for any man. If I want space, it’s not because he’s made me a woman on the run or put my life in danger. The reason I need to slam on the brakes is that he believes there’s nothing wrong with keeping me locked up as long as he’s convinced that it’s in my best interest.
Can I tie myself to a man who won’t give me freedom? Maybe Dania, the daughter of his business partner, was right. Maybe I don’t fit in Alex’s world. How much am I prepared to accept? Can I make peace with letting him dictate my life? No. Like I told him last night, that’s not me. Then how do I take back my power?
A shadow invades my sunny spot. I glance up at the skylight. The sun is setting. I check my watch. It’s close to five, and there’s still no sign of Alex. A shiver of unease runs down my spine. I hate being kept in the dark while anything can be happening out there.
Seesawing between worry and anxiety is exhausting. I’ve been lying here, thinking this thing through until my brain hurts, and I still haven’t decided on a course of action.
Putting the empty cup aside, I get to my feet. I find a bathrobe in the adjoining bathroom and pull it on over my swimsuit. My hair smells of pool chemicals and my skin feels dry. I need a shower to rinse the chlorine from my body.
After I’ve had a warm shower, I moisturize my skin and brush out my hair. Remembering Lena’s comment that Alex prefers to dress for dinner, I choose a blue cashmere dress. I don’t care what Lena and Alex think about my attire, but being underdressed puts me at an unfair disadvantage, even if it’s just in my own mind. After applying mascara and lip gloss, I’m ready.
At seven, I go downstairs. The big house is quiet. Alex and his most trusted bodyguards are still not home. Like the evening before, the table is set with a variety of dishes. I finish dinner in solitude, my only company the ticking of the clock.
Tima distracts me with his lively chatter, telling me the names of the dishes in Russian and explaining their ingredients as he serves dessert and finally clears the table.
Not ready to retire, I go to the library and curl up on a chair. Someone made a fire in the fireplace. I watch the shadows the flames draw on the wall and listen to the crackle of the wood. Soon, a warm glow spreads over my cheeks, and my eyes start to droop.
I give a start when the door suddenly opens. Alex stands in the frame, wearing a dark suit and a black button-up shirt without a tie.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says, studying me with cunning intensity.
Sitting up straighter, I rub my eyes. “I was dozing off.”
He steps inside and closes the door. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to take care of business.”
I follow him with my gaze as he crosses the floor and comes to a stop in front of the fireplace. “Business as in work, or business as in finding out who wants you dead?”
“Both.” He props his forearm on the mantelpiece and stares into the flames. “I hope the dinner was to your liking.”
“It was delicious, thank you.” The concern I can’t shake compels me to ask, “What about your dinner?”
He takes a log from the basket and throws it into the fire. “I ate at the office.”
“Oh. Do you have a private cafeteria for your employees?”
His lips quirk. “We do. But for the executives, we have a standing order from a catering company.”
“Convenient,” I say, studying my hands.
He turns to face me. “How was your day?”
I blink up at him. “Do you really want to know?”
He unbuttons his jacket and pulls it off. “Yes.”
Not in the mood for small talk, I shrug. “Good.”
He drapes the jacket over the back of the sofa and walks to my chair. Towering over me, he asks, “What did you do?”
“Don’t tell me you’re interested in the meaningless actions that occupied my hours.”
“Just because you didn’t save lives today doesn’t mean what we’re doing here is meaningless.”
“What you’re doing here, you mean.”
He gives me a patient smile. “Is it wrong that I’m interested in how the woman I care about spent her day?”
There are so many things wrong with the way I spent my day that I don’t know where to begin.
Dragging a chair closer, he sits down next to me. “Joanne called.”
I sit up straighter. “What did she say?”
“Just that she wanted to talk to you.”
“What did you tell her?” I ask, holding my breath.
“That you were at the spa and unable to take the call.”
I clench my hands on my lap. “Lying comes easily for you, doesn’t it?”
“You can speak to her if you behave,” he says without missing a beat. “In fact, I think it will do you good.”
My mouth drops open. I don’t know if I should be grateful for the concession or upset that he’s bribing me with selective contact with my friends.
Taking my hand, he rubs a thumb over my pulse. “I need you to think back to the night outside Romanoff’s.”
“The night when I got mugged?” I ask with surprise.
The line of his jaw hardens. “Yes, but I don’t think it was a mugging.”
I pull free from his touch as shock washes away the warmth of the fire. “You think it was related to the stealing of my card?”
“Maybe,” he says with regret.
I gasp. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t put two and two together at the time. The more I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple of days, the more it seems like a possibility.”
Unfolding my legs from under me, I shift to the edge of the chair. “But why steal my handbag? Was that also some kind of warning, a message to you?”
When he only stares at me with violence brewing in his steely eyes, another truth hits me between the eyes.
“You don’t think he was after my bag,” I say, jumping to my feet.
“Katerina.” Alex follows my pacing with his gaze. “I need you to think. Tell me anything you can remember about that night.”
The memory isn’t pleasant, especially given what I’ve just learned. “You were there. You saw what happened.” More truths pierce me like arrows. “Did you even give a statement to the police?”
“My men do their job better than your police do theirs.”
“Your men.” Right. “What did they find?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Nothing. That means the police would’ve found even less. At the time, I thought like you, that maybe it was just an unfortunate mugging, but now I suspect differently.” Getting up, he walks over and grips my shoulders. “I didn’t want to put you through this, not then and not now, but you have to think back to that night. What did he look like?”
I dig into my memory, trying hard to give Alex something. “He was stocky and big with a bald head.”
“What else?”
“He…” I swallow when I remember the cruel smile he’d given me. “He had bad teeth—crooked and yellow.”
“Did he say anything to you? Could you make out an accent of any kind?”