Winter's Gift: A poignant, funny and sizzling-hot billionaire romance (Bistro La Bohème Series) by Alix Nichols

Author:Alix Nichols [Nichols, Alix]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Sayn Press
Published: 2015-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Spring Thaw

After I refused to answer his questions, Anton hardly spoke to me. Neither of us slept for the remainder of the night. I curled into the fetal position and prayed for him to touch me. My back ached for the pressure of his chest, my waist longed for the weight of his arm, and my feet were icy cold without the warmth of his.

At dawn, I crawled out of the bed, packed, swallowed a coffee, and showered. As soon as I exited the bathroom, Anton went in, barking as he walked past me that a taxi would take me to the airport in half an hour.

I picked up my suitcase, shoved the thick envelope he’d left on top of it into my purse, and rushed out to wait in the lobby.

It’s been one month and six days since that Parisian weekend.

Anton hasn’t reached out through Filip or to me directly. My heart still hiccups every time I get a call from an unknown number. But, invariably, it’s a telemarketer or pollster.

Life’s gone back to normal.

I haven’t been sleeping very well, and I’m always tired and apathetic. When people notice, I blame the protracted winter. My pharmacist friend Nadya has gotten me a huge bottle of vitamin D pills. She calls it the “sunshine vitamin” and says it’ll energize me. I wish there were a pill you could take to erase selected memories and a specific person from your mind. I wish there were a pill to silence the stupid heart when it won’t listen to reason.

Mom has started her radiotherapy, and her blood work has been improving with every test. She’s put on a few much needed kilos. Her complexion is no longer gray.

On top of that, she’s rekindled a bunch of old friendships, and I often catch her smiling without any obvious reason.

Filip’s unconventionally entrepreneurial mind has hatched a new income stream for us. He’s made arrangements with a fertility clinic to which he’s now selling his sperm and I’m about to sell my eggs. Who could’ve guessed those tiny ovules, wasted on me month after month, could fetch enough to pay my rent? Filip is now carping about sperm being dirt cheap compared to eggs and dropping transparent hints that I should give him a cut for having come up with the idea.

Earlier this week, I asked him to keep my Sunday free. Not that I’ve grown complacent, but I really need to have a day away from everything and everyone—my day job, my night job, my clients, my friends, and even my mom.

It’s a day to stay in my pj’s, catch up on my reading, and treat myself to a Pride and Prejudice rerun on TV.

Which should start in exactly ten minutes.

I’m in the kitchen fixing myself a bowl of chocolate ice cream when a sound of shattering glass makes me jump. I walk over to the window and survey the courtyard. No broken glass, but a large icicle that has detached itself from the

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