Page 129 of Konstantin

We drive through winding roads, the lights of the city fading into the distance as we approach a sprawling estate, nestled high above the sparkling coastline of Villefranche-sur-Mer with the most stunning view of the south of France, the Mediterranean stretching out in an endless expanse.

I can’t believe this is real. It’s breathtaking. I try not to stare, but the castle looming ahead is impossible to ignore, surrounded by acres of lush greenery. The staff is already waiting for us, dressed in black uniforms as they greet us with practiced politeness.

“Do you own this place?”

He turns to me, flashing that familiar Konstantin smirk, effortlessly charming. “Yes, and I hope you like it.”

“I do.” My smile that follows feels forced.

I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, and I don’t like it.

We enter the home, the gray marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers. His men carry our luggage up the stairs as we follow, the silence between us palpable.

When his guys open one of the doors and leave our luggage, we move in after them, stepping into a spacious bedroom where a sparkling chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the room.

Walking past the large bed, draped in rich, dark linens, I head for the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, which lead out to a terrace that overlooks the garden and the shimmering waters below.

The view is insane, but it doesn’t ease the growing anxiety gnawing at me.

Why are we really here?

When his hand rests on my shoulder, I flinch, startled by the sudden touch. Clearing my throat, I turn to him, forcing myself to look him in the eye, pretending I’m fine.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low, almost concerned.

I should be asking you that.

Instead, I nod quickly, my words coming out too fast. “I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Then we should get some rest. We have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

“What do you have planned?” The question slips out, my curiosity getting the better of me.

A half-grin tugs at his lips. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, malyshka.”

Oh, please, ruin the surprise. I don’t even like surprises.

“Can’t wait.”

I turn my attention back to the view outside, trying not to imagine whether we’ll be lounging by the glistening pool below or if he’s planning to drown me in it. Or maybe toss me off a cliff.

Though I was kind of hoping to try some French food before I die...

Eh, maybe there’s still time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

KONSTANTIN

The sun glintsoff the Mediterranean, casting its golden hues across the water, but I can’t seem to focus on anything other than her. She’s leaning over the side of the boat, her hair whipping in the breeze, and for a moment, I let myself watch her without interruption. She’s beautiful, perfect in every possible way, and all mine.

I don’t approach her immediately, letting the sound of the water crashing against the hull fill the space between us, wanting to hold on to this view of her just a little longer.

When I’ve had my fill, I step up behind her, the soft swish of my shoes on the deck the only sound that follows. Her body jerks when I come close, like she’s waiting for me to do something, but she doesn’t look back, her eyes locked on the horizon.

“How are you enjoying yourself so far, Mrs. Marinova?” I easily mask the frustration that’s been gnawing at me since before we evenflew here.

Something doesn’t sit right. Why did the DeLucas want her dead? What is she to them?