"Any coat? Even a raincoat?" I begged.
Anna spread her hands. "Nothing, madam."
I slumped.
It's not like I had a choice. I couldn't stay in this damp towel, right? Risk it dropping? Or go naked?
That would be worse.
Kirill said he had work. Maybe he wouldn't come back. Maybe crash in the study or guest room. He hated me that much.
The thought gave slim hope.
Slip this on, burrow under covers, lights out, fake sleep. No one sees. Tomorrow, I'll scrounge clothes.
Shaking, I grabbed the feather-light lace.
"Got it. You can go."
Anna set the tray, winked slyly, and bounced out. Probably to report to Olga.
Now, I was alone with the black tangle.
I closed my eyes and dropped the towel.
Chapter Six
Kirill
I stared at the tablet on my desk. Boris had sent the encrypted file five minutes ago—no bullshit, just photos and a scan.
Genevie looked like shit in the shots.
She'd been crying.
Even through the pixelated blur, her despair hit hard. Below were the divorce papers, signed that morning.
She was free. Finally out from under Julian Dante, that psycho, and the marriage that sold her like cattle.
Single again.
My chest took a punch. I snatched the vodka bottle, skipped the glass, and chugged. The burn tore down my throat like fire.
Fuck.
God had a twisted sense of humor.
Three years. I'd watched her like a masochist, playing perfect wife to another guy. And now, the day she got loose—same damn day—I tied the knot.
Swapped rings with a woman I didn't love and spouted meaningless vows to a priest.
Fucking ironic.
The booze kicked in, unleashing the rage I'd bottled up.
If I'd known Julian would bail so fast, no way I'd have stepped into that church.
One ticket, and I'd jet to San Francisco. Show up, clean up his mess, tell Genevie I'd been waiting.
