“Nikolai,” she whispers.
I turn my head and look down at her.
“Who is that blonde boy in the painting downstairs?”
I stop breathing.
Russia
1992
Two goddamn years pass in that hellhole. Some of the bigger boys leave and new children are brought in. Sergei turns sixteen. In a year he will be gone. The other gang members want me to take over, but I refuse. My goal is not to be leader. My goal is to escape with my brother.
I can see that the longer we stay here the more he becomes a shadow of himself. His personality has completely changed. He sits alone for long periods without interaction. Yesterday when we talked in the dining room he’d suddenly looked at me and there was something desperate in his eyes.
‘‘What is it, Pavel?’’
‘‘I wish I was strong and smart like you, Nikolai.”
“You are strong, Pavel. And you’re brave and kind.’’
‘‘No. Not like you, Nikolai. One day you’ll leave here and be free.’’
I frown. “I’m not going anywhere without you. We will leave together, Pavel, and very soon you’ll see.”
“‘I’ll never leave here, Nikolai.’’ He dabs his eyes with the back of his hand. My heart aches to see my brother cry.
“Of course we will. We will leave together and we’ll survive this world,” I tell him.
I should have known then. I should have understood that faraway look in his eyes. He was not strong enough for this place. I should have taken him away from here.
I am in my class when Vasily, one of the teachers, sends for me. My heart starts to race. Somehow I know why I’m being summoned even before I step into his office.
Chapter Forty
Star
“My brother,” he says bitterly. Before I can ask him anything else he gets up, pulls on his pants, and walks towards the door.
“Nikolai, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you.”
He doesn’t turn around. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he says coldly, before shutting the door quietly.
I close my eyes. Why on earth did I ask that? I’m so stupid. It’s so blatantly obvious he doesn’t want to share any information about his life with me. I don’t see him again that night. I fall asleep feeling sad. Sad that everything I believed in is gone. Sad that I can never have anything more than sex with Nikolai.
I sleep badly and wake up even earlier than usual. It is only six o’clock, but it is already bright outside. I go out onto the balcony in the cool air as I do every morning and drink in the beauty of the grounds. Far in the distance I see something. I crane my neck forward and squint my eyes.
Nikolai is riding Belyy Smert.
The way they move takes my breath away. They fly over the green grass. They are perfect together. Both achingly beautiful but hostile and aloof. I watch them until they are hidden by the trees.
Nikolai doesn’t stay for breakfast.
I can’t help the disappointment that settles inside me. Every time it looks as if Nikolai’s walls might be crumbling they repair themselves, right before my eyes, becoming stronger and more impenetrable.
I sigh deeply and tell myself it is better this way. Then I get into my riding gear and go for my riding lesson. Ray is pleased with my progress. I’m getting good. Obviously I can’t gallop the way Nikolai was doing this morning, but I can confidently put Miss One Penny into a brisk trot.
An hour later I am back in the house. After a quick shower I have breakfast with Celine. Halfway through I almost die of shock. My phone pings and when I look at it curiously I see that there is an email from one of the agencies I sent my manuscript to in my inbox. Nervously, I stare at it.
“What is it?” Celine asks.
“It’s one of the Literary agencies.”
“Open it then”
I chew on my bottom lip worriedly. “I read on the net that if you get such a quick answer it’s most likely a rejection.”
She makes a small movement of her shoulders. “I don’t think you should automatically assume that. Sophia did a very clever thing. She knew that all the other writers would be sending their applications in by second class post, so to make your submission stand out from everybody else she put it into handmade leather envelopes, and had it couriered to all of them. She thought, and I completely agree with her, that if you have the confidence to show that you think your work is important enough to deserve urgency, the agency will be sufficiently intrigued to give it priority too.”
My eyes widen with astonishment. “Wow, she did all that. She doesn’t even know me. I must send her a box of chocolates or something to say thank you properly.”
“Are you going to look, or shall I?”
I hand the phone to her. “I think you better.”
She takes it and taps on the email, her eyes moving across quickly as she reads the reply. She looks up from the screen. “What do you think they’ve sent?”
I stare at Celine. Surely, she wouldn’t be keeping me on tenterhooks if they said no. “They said yes?” I ask uncertainly, hardly daring to believe such a thing.
She grins widely. “Yes, they said yes. They want to see the rest of the book.”
“Give me that phone,” I shout excitedly.
She hands me the phone and I read the precious words from someone called Daria Elizabeth Bowen from Peter Thiel’s Literary Agency. Basically, she likes my first three chapters and wants me to send the rest of the manuscript as soon as possible.
‘Oh, my god. Oh my god,” I squeal happily, jumping out of my chair and doing a happy dance. Celine goes into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of champagne. We open it and knock on wood so we don’t jinx my luck. We toast to my success. We get a little tipsy together. I tell Celine that we must keep in touch even once my month is over. She gives me a funny look but doesn’t try to pry.
After about three glasses (champagne glasses don’t count as full glasses) Celine goes away to print out my manuscript and get it couriered over to the agency. I call Rosa.
“Yay! That is amazing news. I’m so happy for you. Put a bottle of champagne on ice and we’ll drink it when the final verdict comes in.”
“Too late, I’ve already drunk it,” I say with a drunken giggle.
I only sober up when I have to speak to Nigel. I talk to him for about ten minutes but I don’t tell him about the agency. I can’t bring myself to. I’ll tell him if the agency actually accepts my work. After lunch Nikolai calls. He has never called me before and I feel nervous and tongue-tied. Like some schoolkid talking to her crush.
“Sophia tells me one of the agencies asked for the rest of your book,” he says.
“Yes,” I say awkwardly.
“Do you want to celebrate it?”
“Yes,” I croak.
“Dinner?”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a restaurant you’d like to go to?”
“I’d like to go somewhere local.”
“Local? The food is probably not very good.”
“I think I’d like to go to a pub and have fish and chips or pie.”
There is a silence. “All right. If that’s what you want. I’ll get Sophia to book something.”
“I don’t want to go to a place where we have to book. I just want to turn up, have a drink at the bar then eat in the restaurant.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun. Maybe we can go somewhere we can bring Storm too.”
“Storm?”
“The husky.”
“You want to bring the dog?”
I giggle. “Yes. I’ll ask around and find a place that allows dogs.”
“Er … right. If that’s what you really want.”
“It’s what I really want.”
“See you later.”
“Bye, Nikolai. And thank you.”
I hang up and smile with happiness that Nikolai and I didn’t argue. It’s funny, even though I just saw him last nig
ht I miss Nikolai. I miss his smile. I miss having him inside me. I miss his silver eyes raking over my body. I even miss his sarcastic sense of humor.
Before Nikolai arrives I get my first Thank-you-but-no-thank-you letter. Even though Peter Thiel’s agency have asked for more chapters, the rejection is still somehow hurtful, and I am again glad I did not tell Nigel. Peter Thiel could still reject me.
I am dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt when Nikolai comes through the door. He too is wearing blue jeans. They hug the tops of his muscular thighs and make him look rugged but really sexy too. He stops when he sees me and smiles.
“So, we’re slumming it today, huh?” he says.
I smile back, my heart in my throat.
Storm, Nikolai and I end up at the Bricklayer’s Arms. We have a pint of ale in the garden and Storm makes friends with a black lab. The man who owns her comes over to talk to us. He is a middle-aged Irishman and he just doesn’t get it that Nikolai doesn’t want to talk. Completely oblivious he talks for all of us. He tells us he lives around the corner from the pub. I think he is hilarious and I have a wonderful time listening to his jokes. When it is time for us to leave Storm cries.
“Ach … he’s in love,” he says with a wink.
He tells us he is thinking of having a barbeque at his place on Sunday afternoon. “Why don’t the both of you bring your dog around then?”
He thinks we are couple. “Yeah maybe,” Nikolai says.
“Here, put my number in yer phone and give me a call on Saturday,” he says.
For a second Nikolai doesn’t know what to do. He glances at me, then he takes his phone out and inputs the man’s number.
When he is gone I tease Nikolai. “Are you going to his barbeque?”
“I’d rather cut my arm off and eat it,” he says.
“So why did you take his number?”
He frowns. “I don’t know why. I’ve never done something like that before.”
We move to the restaurant. Just as Nikolai had warned, the food is not very good, but it is one of the best nights I’ve ever had in my life. Nikolai is so well read, so knowledgeable, that I just sit there staring at him in awe.
We finish the night in my bed. All the things I couldn’t say with my mouth, I say with my body. Nikolai doesn’t leave my bed until the early morning hours.
Chapter Forty-One
Star
I spend the next two days in London. The routine is the same. I wake up, have breakfast with Celine and then I go see my dad. I write for a while then I while away the hours and wait for the night to come. For Nikolai to come to me.
That day would have been the same if the Peter Thiel Agency had not called. Daria Elizabeth Bowen wants me to go in and meet them!
“Can you come today?”
“Sure,” I say, stunned.
I dress in a yellow shirt and a pair of gray trousers. I put my hair up so it looks more formal, and Alexis drives me to their office at the Embankment. My hands are clammy with sweat. I ring on the doorbell and identify myself. Someone buzzes me in.
I push the door open and walk down a short corridor. I open another door with the sign that says Peter Thiel’s Literary Agency. A woman in a bright red skirt and a dowdy green blouse walks up to me. Her short brown hair is full of grey roots. She extends her hand out to me. “Hey, I’m the one who read your book and just loved it.”
I grin at her. “Hello, Ms. Bowen.”
“Call me Daria. Everyone does.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t think you’d be so young.”
“Oh,” I exclaim worriedly.
She holds her hands up. “But it’s good. It’s all good. Youth is good 99.99% of the time.”
I laugh.
“Come with me. We’ll go get a cup of tea. Peter wants to meet you too, but he’s just finishing up another meeting.”
“Okay.”
I follow her to a room with a long table and chairs around it. “This is our conference room. Have a seat.”
I take a seat and look up at her.
“Isn’t this exciting?” she asks.
“You cannot imagine how much,” I tell her sincerely.
She smiles. “You deserve it. You wrote a really good book. Did you say that you have five more with the same characters already written?”
I nod.
She winks. “Tell that to Peter when he comes in. You’ll make his year.”
“I will?”
“Oh absolutely. He’s planning to sell your book for loads of money.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I sold a cat book last week for £15,000, but Peter will get more for yours.”
I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear. £15,000? I’ve never earned a penny in my life. “Really?”
“For sure.”
Then Peter Thiel comes in and the mood changes. I’d already seen a picture of him on the Internet so I am not surprised when he comes in with a straw hat and a red bowtie. Appearances are deceiving, because he is shockingly sharp and clever and plays his cards very close to his chest. He welcomes me to the agency, congratulates me on having written a fine book, and beyond that I learn nothing more.
When I get into the car I see him standing at the first-floor window looking down. I wonder what he must think to see me getting into a big expensive car with tinted windows. Unsure whether to wave or not I am saved when he raises his hand first and waves.
Funnily enough I tell Rosa, Cindy, Celine, Sophia, Nan, Grandad, Mum, Nikolai, and even Andrei about being accepted by the agency, but I don’t tell Nigel. I don’t know why, but I decide to tell him only if the agency actually finds a publisher who wants to buy the book. After all, I’ve read on the net that some people find agents, but then can’t find a publisher to take their book on.
My father comes out of hospital and moves in with Nan. It is a great relief for the whole family and it feels like a big burden has lifted off my shoulders. No matter what happens now my dad is safe. The hospital bills are taken care of and he is on the mend.
I meet Rosa and Cindy for lunch and I realize as I am sitting with them that this month with Nikolai hasn’t turned out to be the ordeal that I thought it would be. It’s actually become my greatest adventure. I’m learning new things. New opportunities are coming my way, and the time away from Nigel is making me realize how small my life was before.
I had made my own existence so small and insignificant.
Basically I was Nigel’s glorified housekeeper. I did nothing other than write, keep house, and garden. I hardly went out without him. I learned nothing new. I got my monthly allowance and I could spend that how I liked, but any big purchases I had to ask permission.
Even the thought that I would have my own money, money that I earned by myself, made me feel dizzy with excitement. Outside of the beyond amazing sex, Nikolai and I have settled into a cautious relationship. Sometimes he gives me the impression he wants more. Then at other times he pushes me away and makes it clear there is nothing between us but the sex.
There is just over two weeks left of our time together and a big part of me feels extraordinarily sad that my time will soon be over, but I understand that I can’t have Nikolai.
He is too rich, too handsome, too mysterious, too unreachable, too sophisticated, too cold, too sexually experienced for me. I’m just an ordinary girl who happened to take his fancy one night in a restaurant, but I know it won’t last. It can’t last. I don’t know much about how billionaires operate, but I imagine after a month, he will be bored with me and be on the look out for the next woman to fill his bed.
Anyway, I need to go back to my own life. To my real life. Not this fantasy adventure with a billionaire. My real life is with Nigel, my husband, the man I will bear children for and grow old with.
I need to mend the broken bits of our relationship and start again. Only this time I won’t walk around with rose tinted glasses.
This time I’ll keep my eyes o
pen.
Chapter Forty-Two
Star
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQTHB4jM-KQ
Wild horses
“Hello, Miss Minton. This is Peter Thiel.”
“Hello, Mr. Thiel,” I say, too shocked that he has actually called my number.
“How are you?”
I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
“That’s good. Well, the auction for your series is over.”
“The auction?”
“Yes. There was enough interest in your book for me to hold a little mini-auction.”
“Really?” I gasp.
“Are you sitting down?”
The first thought that crosses my mind is oh no, he received such lows sums, he’s preparing me for the bad news. I won’t be getting the £15,000 that the cat book got. Then I brighten up. What does it matter if it’s just a small sum? The main thing is I will be published!
I’m not sitting down, but I just say yes so that he can get on with it.
“Right. This is just for the UK and English speaking markets worldwide, but not including the US. We’ll do those separately.”
I frown, not understanding where the conversation is going. I’m going to need to do some serious research. English speaking markets? What are those?
“Right. Are you ready for this?” he asks.
Why on earth is he prolonging this? “Yes,” I say warily.
“Both Little Brown and Hachette offered £350,000 for the series of five with the option to buy the rest, but Hachette has the slightly better deal on royalties.”
I blink. What did he just say? But the cat book sold for £15,000 and I’m supposed to get a bit more. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said,” I croak.
He calmly repeats himself and my jaw falls open. For a few seconds I can’t say a word. “They want to pay £350,000 for my series?” I screech.
“That’s right.”
“Oh my god! I can’t believe this. This is soooooo brilliant.”
Submitting to the Billionaire: A Dark Billionaire Romance Page 17