Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
She was no longer there—I like to pretend her soul left her body seconds into her assault—but I promised my father I would stay with her, so I remained at her side until she was placed in her final resting place.
With haunted memories holding my responses hostage, it takes Maksim coughing to remind me I’ve yet to offer an introduction.
“Gigi, this is Maksim Iv—”
“I knew you’d be back.” She greets Maksim like they’re long-lost friends.
Their hug doesn’t last as long as the one we shared, but she speaks to him freely in Russian, making me envious of her fluency. I’d give anything to know what they’re discussing. I catch portions of their conversation but nothing that makes any sense. Something about needing sleep and hoping I will never find out.
Maksim laughs during her last sentence before promising her that will be highly unlikely. “A man knows ways to encourage his wife to sleep.” I’m grateful he’s returned to using English so I can keep up, but he needs to keep the desires of my lust-driven heart out of the conversation when he’s talking with family. “She slept like a baby for almost three hours in the plane.”
He fails to mention I slept so long because he forced so many orgasms out of me I either collapsed from exhaustion or died—thank god.
“Wife?” Gigi questions, forever only hearing what’s important.
A tingle spreads across my chest, and my stomach clenches before I sheepishly nod.
You can’t miss the size of the diamond on my hand, but I raise it in the air as if you can.
Gigi gasps before stumbling back.
I prepare my ears to be slaughtered, and although they’re hammered by hundreds of words spoken in seconds, they don’t follow the path I’m anticipating. She isn’t upset I married without a single family member present. She’s delighted.
What the?
“Come.” She waves us into the apartment she’s made homely with the trinkets she’s collected over the years. “We must update Grampies. He’s been waiting for this for some time.” She cranks her neck to Maksim. “He knew it would be only a matter of time before someone snatched up his beautiful granddaughter. He just didn’t want it to be one of those козы she works with.”
“Capre? Più che altro dei codardi,” Maksim answers as his hand flattens against my back instead of hovering above it. I don’t know if he’s gauging my response to him being multilingual or ensuring I don’t stumble like my grandmother did when he spoke in her native tongue. “Codardi che stanno per ricevere una lezione.”
My grandmother peers at me and then back at Maksim before she spits out, “Good. Anche dopo anni di studio, la trattano ancora come facevano con sua madre. Come spazzatura.”
The only part of her reply I understand is mother, and it is enough to spring tears to my eyes, much less what Maksim replies, “That is done with now.” He isn’t looking at my grandmother. He is staring straight at me and speaking in a language I understand. “No one will ever hurt her again.”
Needing to do something before I maul my husband in front of my elderly grandparents, I shift my eyes in the direction I hear my grandfather’s respirator, then gasp like my lungs are as airless as his when I see his aging eyes smiling a grin his oxygen mask covers.
“Grampies.” I sprint to the man who has loved me as much as my father has.
“Missy Moo,” he breathes out slowly when a handful of tears I can’t hold back soak his gown. “The only sunshine in the world is you.”
“Before you go.”
My tears dried hours ago, replaced with laughter only ever released when your heart is so full it is about to spill over. There’s a chance of them returning when Dr. Muhamed steps out from the portable workstation at the side of my grandfather’s bed. Maksim didn’t solely contract him to safely move my grandfather. He is his new full-time caregiver.
“I thought you’d like to see these before calling it a night.” He hands me my grandfather’s latest stats and markers. “You would swear he is in the early stages of his diagnosis.”
“I wish he was.” I take in the stats that show a drastic increase in lung capacity. “His VTs and IRVs are exceptional. Are you sure these are correct?”
“Yes,” he answers, his voice choked with laughter. “I ran them twice just in case.”
I try to think with my head instead of my heart. “It’s not the surge, is it?”
Terminal lucidity, or death surge as some medical staff call it, is when terminally ill patients have abrupt and unexpected increases in alertness and energy. It often fills their family with false hope. I don’t want that to be the case, but it is a phenomenon I’m anticipating undertaking in the next six months.