Page 110

On Monday morning, a new message finally pulls me out of my fog.

[Vadim

Got off the plane a while ago. On my way to the Champs-Élysées. Damn traffic. I missed you.]

Those few simple words immediately lighten my mood, but they’re not enough. He and I should be able to communicate better than this.

Forty-seven minutes later, he texts me again, and I rush through the corridors of King Productions, an irrepressible smile on my lips and my heart bursting with anticipation. This man is my drug. Seeing him, touching him, kissing him, curling up in his arms, letting my orange blossom perfume mingle with his Ciao Amore—that’s all that matters right now.

I don’t even bother knocking. I throw the door open with a bang, slam it behind me, and throw myself against his chest. Vadim laughs softly and holds me tight, his chin buried in my hair. After a few minutes in this silent embrace, I lift my head and kiss his lips. His mouth is warm and soft, but his mind is somewhere else.

I step back, taking a moment to properly look at him. His complexion is unnaturally pale. His eyes, though bright, are ringed with dark circles, and his cheeks look hollow.

“How long has it been since you last slept or ate?”

“I had things to deal with.”

“You look so… exhausted.”

“It’s over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I paid Max and Abby, to buy some time. But I’ve put my men on it. I’ll get back every cent they extorted from me.”

“Then what is it, Vadim?”

“Nothing, everything’s fine. Come here.”

He wraps his arms around me again, his lips capturing mine.

But something is wrong.

“You’re not telling me everything,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Alma, please, I just want to be with you without thinking about anything else, without letting myself be consumed by—”

“By what?”

“Not now.”

“Yes, now! You look like hell. You dived into a pool fully clothed and showed up at my door completely wasted. When you were mad at me, you ghosted me for a week, and now that you’ve reappeared, you’re dodging my questions. All of this needs to stop. You can’t treat me like this, Vadim. Not if you want me in your life.”

“I know.”

“Yes, we’ve been through a lot; we’ve had our ups and downs, and our story has never been simple,” I murmur. “I know you work seven days a week and you’re under tremendous pressure. But even when we argue, disappoint each other, or hurt each other, I deserve an explanation, don’t I? We aren’t twenty anymore. We can’t punish each other with silence or words that sting, then kiss and make up by tearing each other’s clothes off.”

“Alma…”

“It’s Dimitri Monkov, I’m sure of it. Something happened between you two that day. Seeing him again affected you. It pained you.”

“It broke me, Alma.”

His answer takes my breath away.

“Why?”

“…”