Because this woman is just too perfect.
And she’s mine.
All mine.
She’s the only person in the world who knows who I really am.
Chapter Seven
Anna
I spend the day with Rocky in the garden, reading on the Kindle that was waiting for me in my bedroom when I got back from breakfast. Last yesterday – between frantic lovemaking sessions – I’d offhandedly mentioned to Artem that I’d lost my Kindle during the kidnapping.
It all felt so strange, discussing the kidnapping and not feeling the same whelm of fear I’d felt while it was actually happening. But with Artem’s thick arms wrapped around me, I found that I didn’t have to be afraid as I was once convinced I did.
I lose myself in the story like I used to in high school, hiding in the world of words because the real world was too much to take. But this is different. I’m not hiding this time. I’m willingly throwing myself into the escapism, feeling relaxed and calm.
Artem’s childhood origins nibble at the edges of my consciousness, my belly dropping every time I think about what he had to endure, the hell he went through.
A gentleman is ushered in by the guards in the evening.
He must be around sixty-five and has a proud crown of grey hair, wears a comfortable sweater despite the heat, and sports a warm smile. He tells me he’s the dog-sitter, here to take care of Rocky while Artem and I go on our date.
“Mr. Elgort asked me to tell you that the code word is chicken salad, and said you’d know what that meant. As proof, you see, that I am who I say I am.”
I smile slyly.
Chicken salad.
Is that going to become our secret language for sex or something, since chicken salad is what I was making him before we got swept away with our lust and our irrepressible desire for each other?
“Yes, that’s fine,” I say. “Please take good care of Rocky.”
“I’m the most qualified dog-sitter in the city,” the man says proudly. “Your boy is safe with me. Don’t worry.”
I kneel down next to Rocky in the garden as the limo waits out front of the estate, ready to whisk me away to our date. Artem left instructions for me to wear whatever I want to the venue, since he has my outfit waiting there for me.
My mind swirls with possibilities.
Satin?
Lingerie?
A flattering dress?
Where are we going? What sort of game is he playing?
“You be a good boy, Rocky,” I tell him, giving him a tickle under the chin. “Mommy and Daddy are having a date night and …”
I trail off, a smile tweaking the corners of my lips.
Mommy and Daddy.
The words felt so natural.
They felt like they belong.
I stand up and let my hand fall across my belly, pressing down firmly and feeling the warmth of my sweaty palm through my T-shirt and against my skin.
I’m sure I can feel my womb swelling in there, a child growing, life beginning.
My life, Artem’s life, our lives.
Together.
I sit in the back of the limo and let my head fall back on the head rest, still unable to believe that this is real, that this is my life.
A car follows behind us. The guards, keeping me safe, making sure that whoever kidnapped me isn’t going to return.
Except, why would they? Artem bought me.
He bought me.
I find that, ever since Artem and I realized how much we care about each other, I just can’t bring myself to care about that as I should. Even before I knew how much he meant to me, it was difficult, but now it has entered the realm of the impossible.
The limo drives us right to the heart of the city, to the uptown section with sleek roads with not a single crack in the sidewalk, the buildings all towers with glistening metal or stylish red brick facades.
I’m led into the back of a restaurant by a suited host who wears a thin brown mustache and a fancy British accent.
“This way, ma’am,” he says, waving me deeper into the building.
My curiosity is doing backflips as he leads me, not into a changing room or the restaurant like I expected, but into a kitchen of metal and style and size. It’s the sort of kitchen I used to close my eyes and dream of cooking in as a kid.
I walk around it as the host leaves me – with a stiff bow – and catch sight of myself in the reflection of the polished refrigerator.
I’m wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a baggy pink T-shirt, with a bag slung over my shoulder, empty, ready to stow these clothes when this mysterious outfit is finally presented to me.
I turn at the sound of the door opening behind me.
Artem strides in, clad in a silver suit, the same shade as the sleek metal surfaces. The corners of his lips twitch and there’s a new light in his eyes, hinting at a playfulness that was never there before, our rapport blossoming so that we cover ground in days most people take years to achieve.