She couldn’t tell him what she really wanted for her birthday.
Freedom from this terrible choice.
Bree’s knees trembled as she slowly climbed out of bed and fell blearily into the shower. She got dressed in a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. She combed out her long, wet hair. She pulled it back in a severe ponytail.
Cold, she told herself as she slowly pulled on her black stiletto boots. My heart is cold. I am an iceberg. I feel nothing.
Tucking the document Kasimir had given her beneath her black shirt, she went down the wide, sweeping stairs in Vladimir’s
eighteenth-century palace, as if she were going to her death.
After so many gray, snowy days, brilliant sunshine was pouring in through the tall windows, leaving patterns of golden light on the marble floor. She’d been happy here, she realized. In spite of everything. She’d loved him.
Looking back now, Bree saw it had been enough. They’d been happy. Why hadn’t she appreciated that happiness? Why had she fretted, worried, groused about Vladimir’s one major flaw—that he didn’t want her to ever leave him? What kind of stupid flaw was that? Why hadn’t she just fallen to her knees in gratitude for all the blessings she’d had—so unappreciated then, and now so swiftly gone?
Creeping softly to the open door of his study, she peeked inside. Empty. Holding her breath, keeping her mind absolutely blank, she swiftly walked inside and stuck the page in the middle of the pile of papers she’d seen him working through yesterday. She would distract him today, and if luck was on her side, he would sign it without reading it. She felt confident he wouldn’t suspect her.
He trusted her now.
As Bree left the study on shaking legs, she hated herself with every beat of her heart.
Perhaps having his company stolen wouldn’t hurt him too badly, she tried to tell herself. Hadn’t Vladimir insinuated that it had become a burden? “Money is just a way to keep score,” he’d said. Perhaps he would someday understand, and forgive her.
But even now, Bree knew she was lying to herself. Even if he was able to accept losing Xendzov Mining—even if he started over and built a successful new company, as Kasimir had—she was making herself his enemy for the rest of his life. The fact that she’d done it to once again save her sister would not gain her any points, either. He would despise her. Forever. Everything between them, every good memory, would be lost.
Bree walked heavily down the gilded hall, past the arched windows. She heard the sharp tap of her stiletto boots against the marble floor. Brilliant January sunlight reflected off the white snow and sparkling Gulf of Finland. She looked out the windows, and saw sun as warm as his touch. Sky as blue as his eyes.
Suddenly even walking felt like too much of an effort. She stopped, staring at the floor, her heart in her throat.
“Breanna. You’re awake.”
Blinking fast, she looked up. Vladimir was coming down the hall toward her, looking impossibly handsome in a white button-down shirt and black slacks. An ache filled her throat as she looked into the perfect face of the only man she’d ever loved. The man she was about to lose forever.
“I have something for you. A birthday present.”
Her voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t have.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “You can’t already hate it. You don’t even know what it is yet.”
The warmth of Vladimir’s grin lit up his whole face, making his soul shine through his eyes, making him look like the boy she’d known. Like everything she’d ever wanted.
Swallowing, she looked down at her stiletto boots. “I’m just not in much of a party mood.”
He took her hand. She felt his palm against hers, felt his fingers brush against her own as he pulled her gently down the hall. “Come see.”
He led her into a high-ceilinged room centered around a glossy black grand piano. The conservatory had a wall of windows overlooking the sea. Antique Louis XIV chairs flanked the marble fireplace, and expensive paintings covered the walls, along with shelves of first-edition books.
“I know you said you didn’t want a fur coat,” Vladimir said. “But if you’re going to live in St. Petersburg, you need some Russian fur to keep you warm....”
Bree saw a lumpy white fur stole on the pale blue couch beside the window. With an intake of breath, she cried, “Vladimir, I told you—”
He gave her a crooked half grin. “Just go look.”
Hesitantly, Bree walked toward the blue couch. She got closer, and the lump of white fur suddenly moved, causing her to jump back with a surprised little squeak. From the pile of fur, a shaggy white head lifted.
She saw black eyes, a pink tongue and a wagging tail. Vladimir lifted the puppy into her arms.