Billie and the Russian Beast - Theodora Taylor Page 0,36

voice dropping to a whisper. “You will see I am not just pretty boy. I am husband and father you can trust for rest of your life.”

He says these heart-melting words, and then he lowers me down to kiss me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back.

And I don’t feel crazy.

I just feel happy.

Like now that I’ve agreed to marry a man I barely know, everything will be alright.

Chapter Twenty

Okay, no more secrets.

The next day, I call Cynda with the news of my move, pregnancy, and apparent engagement.

She’s ecstatic. “Finally, you’ll be in the same time zone as me! But how are you just now telling me about this pregnancy? How are you feeling? And what’s this hockey player’s last name? I want to look him up!”

She’s firing so many questions at me it feels like I’m randomly picking one to answer when I reply, “Rustanov. His last name is Rustanov.”

“Whoa, Rustanov, like random Russian dude or Rustanov like he’s related to Alexei Rustanov?”

“Who?”

“Sorry, girl, sometimes I forget not everybody’s in the medical industry like me. But Alexei Rustanov is the head of the Rustanov Charitable Foundation. He’s Russian but based here, and his foundation gives like crazy amounts of money to hospitals all over the world. His cousin is Nikolai Rustanov—that crazy hot former hockey player from the Indiana Polar—they used to call him Mount Nik? Remember?”

“The truth is, I didn’t know much about hockey, and I still kind of don’t,” I answer with an apologetic wince. “But yes, he mentioned that Nikolai was a relation. So his family’s worth millions?”

“More like billions,” Cynda answers. “Some people say trillions—and real talk, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were on that Illuminati kick.”

“Whoa.” My mind is spinning with all this new information. “Why would someone from a family worth that much be interested in me?”

“Probably because billionaires have great taste,” Cynda answers, her voice frank.

“Cynda, I’m not…”

“Girl stop. You’re beautiful, smart, kind, and deserving of all the hot Russian billionaires. He’s lucky to have you. Not the other way around.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I answer.

And this time, I’m not being humble.

True, Cheslav can be a beast—especially in bed. Also, when we’re playing board games. He talks all the trash, and if he doesn’t win, best believe he’ll be making you replay him until he does.

But he’s also super sweet. After going hard in bed, his favorite post-coital activity is snuggling for ridiculous amounts of time. He makes the Russian language sound soft and sweet—but only when he’s talking about me. He makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful, interesting woman on earth. And sometimes it’s hard to believe a fairytale like him is really happening to a sensible accountant like me.

But I know Cynda’s too true blue of a friend to agree with me, so I say, “Thanks, girl. I just wish Gina was here to share in the good news.”

“Me too,” Cynda says, her voice becoming a lot more somber.

I’d sent the email from Gina and everything else we had to Cheslav. But Vlad’s “sources” had only been able to trace her as far as Wisconsin before her trail went cold.

And as for the only somewhat reassuring email she sent us, the ISP she’d used to write it had been completely untraceable. In Vlad’s words, “The kind of thing prepper crackpots set up to make sure they stay off the grid.”

If that wasn’t weird enough, when one of Vlad’s “associates” based in Atlanta tried to check in on her boyfriend to ask him a few questions, he reported back that Tommy had asked for a month of leave from work. The small house he’d shared with Gina was empty, and none of his friends knew where he’d gone.

So now we were even more confused than we were when we first began seriously looking for her.

“Maybe she’ll get in contact again,” Cynda says hopefully.

“Yeah, maybe…” I agree, trying to keep my tone as light and hopeful as hers. “I just want to know she’s alright.”

“Me too,” Cynda agrees.

“Is that Cynda?” Cheslav’s voice suddenly booms on the other side of the bedroom door I closed to make this call. Then he says, “You said you don’t like when I spy. So now I am announcing I am here standing outside door.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or congratulate him for the minor progress in learning to respect my privacy. “Yes, Cheslav, it’s Cynda.”

“Good. You will open door, so I can meet her.”

“Yes! Open the door!”