Adaline's point of view:
I rush through the hallways of St. Mary's, a bottle of water in one hand and an iPad in the other. A bed rushes down the hallway, but I already heard it before my eyes could see it. Trauma. Several stitches in the abdomen. Nothing for me.
The bed rushes by along with three doctors, two interns and a nurse. The male patient was unconscious, the heart monitor showed that the BP was getting too low. Maybe they're going to page me in a few minutes anyway, I think as my eyes follow the moving bed until it turns right at the end of the hallway.
But until then I get to enjoy my break. I continue walking down the hallway, dressed in dark blue scrubs and Crocs. In the first few days I used to wear comfortable sneakers, Nikes, but I soon learned that they are not the best choice when it comes to an eight hour neurological surgery. So, ever since that day I wear Crocs.
I stop at the nurse station and place the iPad on the desk before opening the water bottle and taking a sip. I barely drunk anything in the last couple of hours and if it weren't for Rose, my favourite surgical nurse, I wouldn't have drunken anything at all. After two surgeries, I am feeling my low blood sugar levels. I had to remove one tumour from the lower spine, it was wrapped around the L5 and S1. Such a beauty. I enjoyed removing every inch of it. It was a rather difficult surgery, which is why I had the chief of surgery Dr. Joshua Fleming look over my shoulder. I felt his breath on my neck and he even dared to place his hands over mine for a movement. He directed my hands - I call it sexual harassment. He knows my hands have an insurance of over 200 million pounds. I am the hospital's best surgeon. I make more surgeries than all of those suckers combined. I finished my residency over three years ago. I only declined the job of the head of surgery because I didn't think I'd have the nerve to do all the paperwork that comes with it. I already saw the headlines in my head that this job position would create: Wonder child is UK's youngest head of surgery! Bolton is head of surgery at only seventeen!
So, Fleming got the offer instead. And he likes to rub it under my nose every single chance he gets. I hate him for that. Hate his arrogance, hate the way he struts through these hallways, playing God in his white lab coat. While I don't believe in God himself, I don't like the attitude that comes with the assumption a doctor is a god in white. That's simply nonsense. Doctors are humans that just devoted their lives to heal others, to help others, to save lives whenever and to end it, too. That doesn't make us God.
"Bolton,"
I pivot the left, following the sound. I gulp down my water before closing the bottle again, "Yes?" I ask, staring at the chief nurse, Stacy. An African American woman in her late fifties. She devoted her whole life to this, working her ass off every day. I never see her leave the hospital when her shift ends - that's where we're alike.
"Williamson wants to switch shifts." She says, standing across me in her dark purple scrubs. She's responsible for the shift plans and OR plans. She organises everything, while also assisting in the OR sometimes. She's wonderwoman - unlike, Fleming, she has every right to call herself doctor in white. Only that she's a nurse and that's why people often think less of her. Less because to them it seems like being a nurse is only the second choice. A choice you make if you didn't make it as a doctor through your foundation years.
People think so much shit that it wants me to rip their eyes out!
We are a well oiled machine, a system that doesn't work without a missing piece. In my eyes, nurses are as important as doctors. That's why I treat them as equals, not submissive.
"When?"
Stacy looks at the folder she's holding, "Friday 'til Monday. She has the night shifts, the whole weekend."
"Did she elaborate on her decision?"
"Something with the kids."
Dr. Williamson is a mid thirty old doctor with twin boys at the age of three. She started with me, being more than double my age as I started my internship with fourteen. She is one of the few that has come to accept me. It's why I occasionally take her shifts.
"I'm not switching, but I'll take her shifts." I answer, basically telling her I'll do the day shifts during the week and the very hated night shifts of the weekend. Night shifts on the weekends usually result in spending the whole weekend in the hospital, because once you took care of one patient, the other is already waiting for you. And if emergencies come in - I might as well move in.
"Alright, I'll let her know." Stacy nods before turning around and walking away.
I log onto the iMac in front of me to check on my patients as we have live feeds on the ones that are in the ICU. My tumour patient looks good and so does my aneurysm. I never remember the patients names. Not because I can't, but because I don't want to.
If I make a personal connection to the patient, the problem I have to fix, then the surgery is going to be harder. Harder in the sense of I'm going to be emotionally involved.
I learned the lesson the hard way. I lost my first patient only a year after starting my internship. Menning, my supervisor, wanted me to break down the news to the family. It was a simple procedure, breast implants, but the twenty five year old woman suffered from a heart attack. We were unable to bring her back. After thirty minutes of fighting, we gave up on her. The family stared at me in disbelief as I stepped across them, explaining that I was her doctor. Their boy said that I was suppose to be in school, not in a hospital. I mean, the lab coat I wore was the smallest they had and it still looked at least three sizes too big. I ensured him that I was right where I needed to be, being diplomatic and not arrogant. At my age, with my potential, I have every right to be arrogant. But I chose not to. At least not in front of any patients or their family members. They see me and think I belong to high school, but once I open my mouth they shut up. Their picture of me completely changes. Every single time.
Telling the family that her daughter, Chanel Surrey, died, was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life up until that point. Med school with all those pathetic students was easy compared to that. Ever since that one incident, I decided to call patients by their issues.
It's just easier this way.
I open the post surgery report that one of my interns wrote and read through it. In less than a minute, I've read through the whole fifty pages long document that is signed by Dr. Daniels. I correct some minor mistakes, but she did well.
I do the same on my spinal tumour before logging out and getting up. I need to chew on something before my next surgery. I have an hour before I need to start scrubbing in again. I wrap my long chestnut coloured curls into a loose bun that I secure with a hair tie as I walk down the beige hallway again. I should eat something. I stop at the glass double doors that divide the hallway from another hallway that leads to the cafeteria. I see a Spanish cleaning lady pulling her cart that's loaded with cleaning supplies. I push the button on my side of the doors and the doors swing open my way.
"Thank you very much, Dr. Bolton." She smiles at me, wearing a light green uniform.
I return her smile, "You're welcome, Luciana." I read her name from her name tag. I've never met her. But my parents taught me to treat especially those kind of people extra nice. Because they judge me faster than I would ever judge them. "Have a great day!" I smile at her as she walks past me with the cart.
After a few more minutes of walking I finally reach the cafeteria. I open the doors and get greeted by all sorts of smell and noise. I don't like the cafeteria and I try to avoid it as often as possible, but sometimes I just have to be here. The cafeteria on this floor is strictly for staff, but even that restriction doesn't make it better. I get myself a tablet and have a look at the dishes that are available today. My brain calculates the nutritional facts of each meal and as almost always, I pick the vegan option. Today it's chili sin carne. I like spicy food. It helps me to work a bit more efficient.
I take salad as a side with a simple olive oil-lemon dressing. I don't like all the other dressings, they are loaded with sugar and other stuff. Sugar makes me go crazy, it gives my brain too much to work on and I walk around the next hours being totally high. I can't operate like this. After scanning the cafeteria for an empty table, I finally find one in front of the French windows. I don't get along well with other surgeons. Most of them are afraid of me. A lot think I am a spoiled, arrogant brat. And some are too amazed by my skills to even talk to me.
I prefer being alone. No distractions.
I sit down on the round marble table and start eating my Chili sin carne. Doctors and nurses are chatting around me and about me. I can feel their eyes on me. It's been this way since I was little, wherever I go people start talking about me. First about my last name, because thanks to my parents we're in the tabloids daily, and then about my job and my skills. I'm highly talented and gifted, it's a combination that's rare to find and even rarer to work with on daily basis. This is why St. Mary's pulls me on every red carpet they lay out at their events. I am their grand prize - I only play along because I love the surgeries I get to perform here.
I reach into the left pocket of my lab coat and get out my iPhone. As I look at the screen I see three messages from my dad, two from my mom and one from Ana, my sister. Jesus, they can't even go a day without contacting me. I quickly reply to my family members, ensuring them that I am alright. I let my mother know that I won't be home before midnight today and that she shouldn't wait for me and tell Dad the same. One of them always waits for me to come home - no matter the time. It's completely nonsense, but every time I explain my situation to them they just tell me they feel safer when they know I'm home.
It's not like they don't have the hospital watched 24/7. I know Wladimir Krimov is hiding somewhere in the bushes outside this building, scanning everyone that comes in and goes out. It's ridiculous that they think I haven't noticed him. But I play along, because that's what gives them sanity.
I've given them enough heart attacks already. Totally unintentional.
Suddenly my phone rings. The patient I saw getting delivered earlier has a heart condition. I'm needed there.
I sigh as I pick up my tablet that's still half full. I hate wasting food. But there's no other option. I place the tablet where they collect all the empty ones before rushing out of the cafeteria.
I shut the mahogany locker close before locking it with my thumb. The lock snaps in place and I grab my purse before heading out of the women's changing room. It's almost midnight, I spent over 24 hours here again. I stayed longer than my shift, taking care of two minor injuries in the ER. I am in desperate need of a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. If I'm lucky I might have Daddy's tortellini for a midnight snack. Today was Italian night, which means Dad cooked with the triplets, Mom and Valentina. I love Italian food.
I step out of the hospital and tilt my head back as a wave of cold air clashes against my face. Fresh air! The sirens howl as new emergency patients get delivered, but they are not my concern - at least until the late afternoon.
Winter is starting to turn London into a winter wonderland. Snow is covering the pavements and the free spots on the parking lot in front of me. I love snow! Winter is my favourite season. The moon and stars are shining down on me as I march through the crunchy snow, to get to my car. I'm driving a Porsche Cayenne, although I prefer the fast sports cars. I walk by several Vauxhall, Audi and Mercedes before finally stopping at a hill of snow. My black Porsche is covered under a five centimetre blanket of snow. Shit.
"I'll give you a lift." A deep voice fills my ears as the Russian words ring in my ears. Goosebumps start forming on my skin due to the icy temperatures.
I twist my head to the left and stare at Wlad. My Russian bodyguard is dressed in a warm leather jacket and dark jeans with winter boots. His job is to watch and protect me. Not to drive me home. "I'm good, thanks." I unlock the car with a button on my key and orange flashlights appear. The trunk opens, removing the snow from the fifth door.
"Adaline, it's late. You're tired. Your car is covered in snow and-"
I twirl around at the sound of his voice. He's underestimating me. I hate it when he does that. "I said, I am fine. You can send my parents a message that I got out of the hospital four hours later than planned and that I'm on my way home." I march through the snow until I reach the trunk. I throw my purse in there before getting out a hand brush and an ice scraper.
"Come on, you're going to be cleaning that car for fifteen minutes in the cold. Let me give you a lift."
I start wiping off the snow from my black vehicle. It was a birthday gift. I love that car, but I would have loved a Ferrari or Lamborghini even more. Not because those cars have more prestige, but because they are simply faster, more fun to drive. Also that would make street racing a whole lot easier because I wouldn't have to borrow Daddy's cars then.
"Fine, then let me help you." Wlad says, knowing my stubbornness by now.
"I can take care of it myself." I hiss at him.
He growls in frustration. He's the only one who watches me. He tried giving the job to someone else once, but it didn't work. I escaped him faster than he could take another breath. Fucking idiot. The outburst from my Dad afterwards was worth the fun anyway. "Adaline,"
He has me by the tone in his voice, it's too dominant to ignore or fight. I hand him the ice scraper and feel a shock of electricity running through me, similar to when I shock a patient with paddles. He starts freeing the windows from the ice that has formed underneath the snow over the last 24 hours. I clean the front glass before moving over the the drivers side.
"How was work?"
"I don't know. You tell me." I counter, knowing him too well.
"It's my job." He starts freeing the front glass from the ice, being as efficient as me. After all, we've been doing this for a couple of years now. Three to be exact.
"You're lucky you're not keeping me from doing mine." I hiss at him. I'm sure he has some kind of tracker device in my phone installed. Quickly, I wipe off the white fluffy snow until the whole car is clean. I place the brush back into the trunk of the car and stare at Wlad as he scratches the drivers side free from the ice. His grey orbs are glittering in the dim moonlight. He is bulky underneath that leather jacket, I know that because I've seen him in shirts and shorts. He works out just as much as my Dad. They both don't look like they're in their late thirties. They have bodies not even twenty year olds have. My Mom's the same. A healthy lifestyle is what they call this. I hope I will age just as beautifully as my Mom when I reach her age. Thirty eight and she still looks like she could be my sister. But then again so does Grandma Vicky. It must be in her genes - in our genes.
"I'm done." He announces with a cocky smile on his lips. "It wasn't that bad to let me help you, was it?"
I shake my head, unable to not mirror his grin. Apart from my family, he's the only one who has seen me smile. At the hospital I'm known as the ice queen and wonder child. I don't smile towards my interns and especially not patients. Because then they start relating to me, start wanting to form a bond - it'll only be harder when I lose them on the table.
He places the ice scarper into the trunk before I close it. "You can tell my Dad and Mom that I'll be home in twenty minutes." I say to him, knowing my driving time is cut in half at night.
He nods, "I will."
"Great, you can drive home then as well. I'll see you tomorrow. Same place, probably same time."
Wlad takes a step closer to me and I feel my heart beat increasing. He tilts his head to the side, "You're not driving home."
"Yes I am." I lie into his face. How does he know that?
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am and I have no time to discuss this with you right now. I am tired from work, so if you don't mind I'd like to drive home now." I touch his shoulders to move around him, but instead feel the same electricity as before rush through me. "Krimov," I say as he doesn't move.
He licks his lips before stepping aside.
I walk around him without another word and get into the car. With shaking heads I start the engine and drive off.
How does he do that?
I park the Porsche in front of the only freestanding glass house in Kensington. I get out of the black SUV before walking to the front door. I unlock the door with a code before adding my thumb on the screen. I turned off the alarm system in my parents' iPhones, so they don't get the idea of what I'm doing here. I push the glass door open before stepping in. The lights switch on automatically as the whole house is filled with lights that have sensors. I can't believe my parents allow Ana to live in Oxford on her own, but don't give me the same privilege. If anything, I deserve it more! I am the one of us who is working after all!
I get out of my sneakers that are covered in snow before stripping out of my coat. I place the black Burberry duffle coat on the hanger before turning around. I stare at the white kitchen with the black marble countertops. I love this kitchen so much! I turn on the oven before I quickly get a variety of veggies out of the fridge. I wash and chop them into half moons. I toss them onto a backing tray before cutting two sweet potatoes in cubes. I tossed a bit of olive oil onto the veggies and I season them with paprika, salt, pepper and thyme. I push the backing tray into the oven before setting the timer for a good hour. Every cost I create here, I pay in secret. I hacked into the systems of my dad and the companies that bill this house. I pay the bill that my father never sees before the companies know what's really going on. I've been doing this since a year. Eventually I might tell my parents what's really going on. Just to prove them how wrong they are and how I can take care of myself.
I walk up the first glass staircase that lead from the open kitchen to the master bedroom. I had this place furnished in secret, too. But I only put in the most important items such as a bed, a couch, a few chairs and a table. I don't have a TV, I rather watch the cracking fire in the open fireplace. I strip out of my clothes and throw them on the bed before I walk into the marbled master bedroom. I put the hair tie out of my hair, releasing my curls from the tight bun that I wore for the last surgery. I open the glass door of the shower and step underneath the rain shower head. I put on the warm water and tilt my head back, enjoying the hot water stream. I haven't had a shower in 24 hours and it feels so good! Working a 24 hour shift is always exhausting, but it's nothing compared to a 48 hour shift - that's when I drive here without having an argument with Wlad.
I take my time in the shower, throughly scrubbing and washing myself. I wrap a towel around my body and hair before I walk out of the bathroom. I slather myself in coconut oil before wrapping my body into a silk robe. I feel so much better already!
I rush downstairs, smelling the baking veggies in the oven. The smell makes my stomach growl. The timer tells me that dinner will be done in ten minutes. I quickly make a salad with olive oil. Just as the timer goes off, I am done.
I get the backing tray out of the oven before dividing the veggies on two plates. I place a big amount of salad on both plates before getting out a fork for each plate.
I look out of the glass window and see his pickup truck parked across the street. It's getting a thin layer of snow as it's starting to snow again. Of course he knew I was lying. He always does. I pick up a plate and get into my snow boots before heading outside. I march through the snow that crunches from my weight until I reach his pickup truck. His grey eyes are wide as he sees me. Probably because I am only wearing a silk robe when it's below zero degrees here. I tear the door of the silver pickup truck open before placing the plate along with a fork on his lap. Without a word I slam the door shut and march back.
I eat my dinner in silence as I sit on the barstool at the kitchen island. My mind is racing, already reliving this day before I have fallen asleep. I've had lucid dreams ever since I can think. It's a blessing and a curse, to dream this awake that you are able to adjust the dream to your liking. At least that's how I never lose a patient, because in my dreams I always save them. Always.
I stare outside the window, seeing the silver pickup truck. I should probably invite him inside as it's icy cold outside, but I am too angry with him. I don't need to be watched 24/7 and he knows that. I promised him to stop with the street races and I keep my promises just like my Dad taught me. Really, I don't get this whole security thing. I am completely safe at work!
I load the dishwasher with my empty plate before going back upstairs. In the bedroom I change into a navy silk sleep dress and slip into warm slippers. I free my hair from the towel and leave that in the bathroom.
I walk back downstairs and get a Cabernet Franc out of the wine fridge. I uncork the bottle and stare out of the window. The pickup truck is still there. Damn it!
I leave the bottle on the kitchen countertop and slip back into my boots before going out into the cold again. The icy temperatures kiss my skin as I walk over to the pickup truck again. This time, the door opens before I reach it. Wlad steps out, his light grey orbs angry and worried at the same time.
"Get back inside!" He barks at me. "You're going to get sick." He gets out of his fur-lined black leather jacket and wraps it around my bare shoulders. It is only then that I realise how cold it really is.
"Then come with me inside. Otherwise you'll die here in your pickup truck." I say back, my fingers holding onto the jacket.
"Adaline,"
"You know, whatever. Stay here. Die in your bloody pickup truck but give me at least your empty plate." I hiss at him. He thinks I am stubborn, well he is just as stubborn.
"Adaline,"
"Empty plate." I wave with my hand and he sighs before reaching into his pickup truck. Of course he ate all of it, he must have been starving from watching the hospital I worked in all day. I want to snatch it out of his hand but he pulls back.
"I'll come inside." He says before shutting and locking his pickup truck.
I shake my head in disbelief before turning around and walking back into the house. He has never been in here, I realise as I slip back into my slippers. Nor after furnishing this place for me. I hang his leather jacket next to my coat just as he closes the front door. "Take off your shoes, I don't want dirt all over the house." I say before heading back into the kitchen. I open a cupboard and get out two wine glasses. "Wine?"
"You drink?" He asks me back, his grey eyes dance through the open kitchen and the living room that has only a couch and a dinning table with two chairs.
"I didn't ask for your permission, Krimov. I asked if you wanted to share a bottle with me." I turn around and narrow my eyes at him.
"Shall I put on the fire?" He asks me back instead. I notice how his black shirt stretches over his biceps and how it tries to hide the abs he has. The shirt emphasises his body structure, it doesn't hide it at all. But his dark jeans hide his toned legs.
I growl, "Fine!" I pour me a glass before pouring him a glass as well. I've known this man all my life, he can't say no to a Cabernet Franc with its pure notes of violets and blueberry, and its ripe tannins that often carry the scent of fresh roasted coffee. It's one of my favourite red wines as well.
I watch the fire cracking in the open fireplace and hand him the wine glass. The wine in it shakes as we touch, he must feel that strange electricity as well. I take a sip out of my glass to ease the nerves.
"I enjoyed dinner. You're a really good cook." He says to me.
Of course I am. My Dad taught me how to cook. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." I smile at him, complementing my skills is the only way to get my full attention and he knows that. Men complement me on my looks all the time, but only those who complement my skills, my brain, that's when I start showing interest back. Wlad has always done that. He always saw beyond the stunning looks that I got from my parents. He sees me, not the wonder child and the expectations everyone has. I'm just a seventeen year old woman with him.
I sit down on the couch, relaxing with the wine in my system.
"You shouldn't be drinking at your age." He looks concerned and for a moment I am reminded of the age gap between us. 22 years.
I sigh, "Wlad, I am fine with a little wine every now and then. I wouldn't drink the whole bottle, I'd just have this glass." I stop as his eyes widen at my words. "What?" Is he going to tell me that that's not okay as well?!
"You just called me by my first name for the first time." He says, clearing his throat.
I pat on the empty seat next to me, "Well, that's your name."
"It's just..." he sits down next to me and suddenly his smell washes over me. He smells like an ocean breeze, salty and rough - it gives me the same feeling as a surgery does. Confidence and safety.
"It's just what?" I ask back, tucking my knees it.
"Strange, I guess."
I roll my eyes, "I've known you my whole life. You've been watching me probably since I was an embryo."
"No, I started looking after your mother first and then after you when you started going to school."
"Since I'm four then." I say with a shrug. This man has been watching me since thirteen years - actively, that is. But I'm sure he looked after me even before I started going to school.
"Well, yes." He agrees with me, taking a big gulp of the red wine. "Cabernet Franc?"
I nod, "One of my favourites, but don't tell that my parents."
The chuckle that escapes his lungs resonates in my body, making my heart pause for a second.
"The wine will be out of my system when I start going to work."
"When do you start tomorrow?"
"Twelve."
He nods.
"And I took Williamson's night shifts on the weekend." I say because I know he will be watching me again. I can't remember a day he hasn't. He's like my shadow.
He nods again, emptying the glass.
"Shall I-"
"I'll do that." Wlad interrupts me and rises from the couch. He practically runs back into the open kitchen and for a moment I think I did something wrong. I stare in the cracking fire for a moment before I turn my body to the side, so I see what he's doing. His tensed backside is facing me as his big hands hold on to the black marble countertops. His knuckles are white and his biceps and triceps are tensed. He is more than just in good shape. Besides my Dad, he's the only one I've met that's this ripped. I once operated on a boxer, but even that man wasn't nearly as ripped as Wlad.
"You're mad at me." I say as he stares out of the window, seeing how his pickup truck gets covered in a fresh blanket of snow.
"I'm not mad."
"It doesn't look like it." I counter back.
Suddenly, he swings around and I stare into his stormy grey eyes. The dining table and the kitchen island might be between us, but I can see his eyes clearly nevertheless. I always see him, no matter where I go and where I turn. He's always there. He always has been.
"You should go to bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
"I don't have an extra set of bedding." I breathe out. I never planed for anyone to be here with me. This is my sanctuary.
"I'll be fine."
I lick my lips before rising from the couch. I place the wine glass that's still full on the round dining table before heading upstairs. Something tells me wishing him a goodnight would piss him off completely, so I don't.
Over the next few days I spent more time at home than in the Kensington house. Ever since that night, Wlad has been different. I don't know why, but I think it's my fault.
"Morning!" I announce yawning as I walk down the marbled staircase that leads into the kitchen. The smell of Crêpes, baked banana pancakes and waffles fills my nostrils, awaking my stomach. Only my Mom is able to do that.
The kitchen island is covered with half empty plates. I heard how Valentina shoved my brother and two sisters into the car before driving off to bring them to school. My Mom is already fully dressed, sipping on her cup of black coffee. She's wearing black stilettos with red soles and a grey fitted dress. Her dark brown curls are in an half-up-do. She has given me her curls, but my Dad has given me his hair colour. I brush with my fingers through the birds nest that has formed overnight, trying to divide the curls. Maybe I should try one of Ana's straighteners. Just once, only to see how my hair looks when it's sleek and not an unruly, frizzy mess.
"Morning, sunshine!" She greets me before kissing me on my cheek. "How did you sleep?"
"Good." I get a clean plate out of the cupboard before I start filling it with waffles. "You?"
"Good, too."
"Is Daddy already at work?" I ask, although I know the answer. He is always the first to leave the house.
"Yes." Her voice is lower and I look up. She looks as sad as she sounded. But then again, she's always like this when Daddy's gone. I swear, my parents can't even live a second without each other.
"When are you leaving?"
"In five minutes." She finishes her cup of coffee. "Are you working today?"
"Yeah, I might have to spent the whole weekend in the hospital."
"Why's that?"
"I took the nightshifts of someone."
"You shouldn't be working so much. Couldn't someone else take it?"
"She has two kids. Something concerning them."
My mother opens her mouth, but quickly closes it again. Kids. That's how I get her. Every time. "Fine, but make sure you take enough clothes to change and sleep whenever you can and please don't forget to eat-" I place my hands on her shoulders, causing her to shut up.
"Mom, this is not my first nightshift. I will be fine." I ensure her, staring deeply into her chocolate brown eyes. I am seventeen not seven. After all, I've doing this job since three years now.
"I know, Sweetie, I'm just so worried that something could-"
"Nothing will happen to me." After all, I have Wlad who watches every one of my steps. But my parents don't know that I know.
Her iPhone rings before I can say another word. She looks at it and sighs. "I gotta go."
"Drive safely."
She embraces me tightly and kisses my left cheek. "Call me during your break."
"I'm sure you're going to be stuck in a meeting then." I tease her, knowing her crazy schedule.
"Call me." She insists, brushing through my curls. She's the only one that can brush through my curls without ripping out my hair.
"Okay."
"Okay." She echoes before hugging me again. "I wish we could talk for longer."
There's no way I get up at six o'clock unless I absolutely have to. I love sleeping in and sleeping until nine is sleeping in for me. "I know, we'll catch up soon."
"Ana's coming home over the weekend." She rushes out of the kitchen and I follow her as she clearly didn't end our conversation yet.
"Yeah, I probably won't see her." I say as we reach the foyer. Dad always makes sure there's a bunch of pink peonies on the marble table. I don't know why he does it.
"I know but if maybe you could-"
"I don't switch shifts. I never did and I'm not going to start now." I don't like asking for favours.
"I just would like to have a normal family dinner again. We haven't had the whole family at the table in forever."
"Not forever. A couple of months."
"It feels like forever to me." She opens one of the massive black wooden doors. "Call me." She reminds me again.
"I'll try." That's all I can promise her. The nights in the hospital can get crazy and she knows that.
I park my Porsche on my usual spot and get out of the car. The sky is dark, the clouds are pregnant with snow. I'll definitely have to clean my car again. I sigh as I finish my coffee that I carried with me from home. I love the coffee machine we have at home. Best coffee in the world!
I stop as I notice the silver pickup truck. It's half past seven, my shift starts in thirty minutes but he's already here. Of course he's here. He always is where I am.
I decide to walk over to the silver pickup truck. I tear the passenger door open before taking a seat. "Are you still mad at me?" I ask him bluntly. I got that from my Dad, he always gets to the point as well.
"I was never mad at you." His grey eyes stare into mine. He hasn't shaved as his chin is covered in stumbles. It makes him look darker... I think, I like it.
"Good. My shift should end at eight." I say before getting out again. Suddenly, his hands wraps around my wrist and I shiver from the touch.
"I was never mad at you. Really, I never could."
"Okay," I say and he lets go off my wrist. I get out of the car and slam the door shut. I walk into the hospital, ready for my twelve hour shift. I love the night shifts, they are exciting and sometimes boring. But that gives me enough time to work on my study. Right now it's only theory, but I'm starting to look further into the details and during most nights I can do more research. I want to heal Parkinson. And one day, I will.
"Bolton," I look up from my paperwork as I hear Stacy say my name. A blonde woman is standing next to her. She's wearing dark blue scrubs as well, that means she's a surgeon, not a nurse, intern or resident. But a full trained surgeon, like me. "This is Robins."
"Hi."
"You guys will be friends." Stacy says to us before turning in her heel.
"Wait, what?!" I ask confused and bend forward, but Stacy is already gone.
"Sophie." The blonde doctor with bright blue eyes says, striking out her hand.
"Adaline." I shake her hand.
"I know."
I roll my eyes, of course she does. Every freaking person on this planet knows who I am.
"I mean, Stacy told me your name." Sophie says with a smile on her lips. "Do you mind?" She nods towards the empty office chair next to me.
"No, take a seat." I tell her before closing the highlighter that I left open.
"What you're working on?"
"Something private." I'm not ready to share my idea yet. It's a theory that could take years to prove... but one day, one day I will win a Nobel prize for healing Parkinson. I know I will.
"Oh, I see."
"Are you new here?" I ask her. Not that I would know, since most of the staff doesn't talk to me unless it's work related.
"Yes. Just moved here from Liverpool."
"First day?"
"First week."
I nod and think of something else that I could ask her, "Do you like it here?" I'm horrible at small talk.
"Private care is very different than working for the NHS."
I remember when I worked at the NHS section here at St. Mary's before going to the Lindo Wing, that focuses on private care. I loved the ER, everywhere I looked there was a trauma patient. It was so much work that I almost chose to do trauma instead of cardiology and neurology. "do you think it's better?" But in the end, I knew private care is a better fit. It gives me the time I need for my Parkinson project.
"Yeah, the staff seems nice. Especially the nurses."
"Have you met Fleming yet?"
"Yeah, he said hi on my first day but not ever since."
"Wait until he hovers over you on a surgery."
"He does that?"
I nod, "Did it almost a week ago at one of my surgeries. I removed a spinal tumour."
"Where was it located?"
"Between L5 and S1."
"And you got it out?"
I nod, "Every inch."
"The patient?"
"Is going to start rehab in a week. I'm pretty sure he'll be on his feet again soon."
"That's so wonderful."
"That's our job."
"How old are you?"
She hasn't read anything about me? Where the hell did she live in the last years? Don't they have internet in Liverpool? "Seventeen."
She tries to hide the shock, but I can see it nevertheless. "Wow, that's... that's young."
"They say that a lot. How old are you?" She doesn't look like she's in her mid thirties like most of the fully trained doctors that are working with me here.
"Twenty five."
25. I can work with that. "That's pretty young as well."
"I finished med school with twenty one. Jumped up several classes in school. Becoming a doctor was the only logical choice for me."
As it was for me. Maybe we will become friends. Maybe Stacey's right.
Stacey's always right.
I yawn as I shut my locker before locking it with my thumb. I changed back into my light washed skinny jeans, a black turtleneck cashmere sweater and my winter boots. As predicted, I stayed longer than the twelve hour shift. It's half ten and I'm ready to head out, when I should have been out at eight. There was a shooting somewhere in West London and I don't know why, but most of them landed here. Getting bullets out of people is the least exciting thing I ever had to do. Control the bleeding, clamp the veins, get that bullet out, look for more damage and stitch the patient up. It's a waste of my efficiency, a waste of my skills. But I did it anyway - because I vowed to help every patient that ever got in here. I pick up my black purse and swing it onto my shoulder just as the doors to the women's changing room opens again. Sophie steps in, looking not much fresher than me. She's a paediatrician. I could never work with children, all the smiles and high voices - no, that's not the field for me.
"I thought you were already gone." I breathe out.
She looks up, her bright blue eyes are blood shot. "So did I." She enters the code into her mahogany locker and it snaps open. She quickly gets changed into normal street wear. She's wearing a white cable knit sweater with a black wool skirt and black tights. Her feet are kept warm in black UGGs. I don't ask her how her night went, because I heard some of the shooting victims were children - and a few didn't make it. I hate nights when people die.
She locks her locker before turning over to me again. "Were you waiting for me?"
I was lost in thoughts - I wasn't waiting. "Yes." I decide. "I thought I'd give you a lift after a night like this."
"That's nice of you." she smiles at me. She definitely has the straight pearly white teeth for a paediatrician - or a dentist. She also looks much less scarier than me. Her blonde hair is straight, nothing compared to my chestnut coloured curls.
"If you continue smiling like this, your nickname will be Dr. Smiles."
"I don't mind be calling that. What's your nickname?" she asks me as we walk out of the hospital.
"Wonder child. Or Ice queen." I say with a shrug.
Her blue eyes widen, "I mean, I get wonder child... but ice queen?" she asks back frowning.
"Let's just say Dr. Smiles will never be my nickname." I say as we reach the parking lot. The sun has already risen, coating the fresh layer of snow that formed overnight in brilliant lightening. I love the icy temperatures, the cold wind, the fluffy snow... winter is my favourite season.
"Which car is your's?" Sophie asks me.
"The black Porsche Cayenne." I nod towards my car, that's, once again, covered in snow. It'll take me at least fifteen minutes to free it from all the snow and ice - and it's even colder today than it was yesterday.
"More like white." she says and chuckles.
"Well, yeah... the beauty of winter." I say before unlocking the car. "I'll brush off the snow, you'll scratch down the ice." I announce as I open the trunk.
Suddenly a car stops next to me. I don't have to turn around to know who that is. The door opens without a word from him. Wlad has never been much of a talker. He likes to let his actions speak.
"Sophie, do you mind if we get a lift from someone else?" I ask her, looking to the left as she still stares at my white Porsche Cayenne.
She shakes her head, "No, not at all. It would safe us the labour."
I turn around and stare at the person inside the silver pickup truck. "Just this one time." I tell him.
He nods but can't hide his grin.
I don't know why I reflect it right away. It took him three years to finally be able to give me a lift. "Get your ass over here!" I say as I shut the trunk and lock my car. I climb into the pickup truck that has only one bench in the front. Sophie marches through the snow before climbing into the car and shutting the door of the silver pickup truck close. He has shaved, I notice that right away as my eyes dance over his face. He has chiselled features, that are typical Russian. I move closer to Wlad, inhaling his smell again. Still that salty fresh ocean smell. It gives me chills that I try to hide from him.
"Sophie, this is..." I stop as I have no idea how to introduce him. Wlad is not just a friend. He's my bodyguard, but I can't tell that Sophie. She'll think I'm insane - more than everyone already does. This could spread rumours all over the hospital and then I'll be hated even more than I already am - not that I care. "My shadow." I say instead.
Sophie frowns before smiling at him. "Nice to meet you, Shadow. I'm Sophie."
He just nods at her. He's probably making a mental note to make a file about Sophie for my Dad.
I roll my eyes and look back at Sophie. "Where do you live?"
"Chelsea."
We drive in complete silence for the next twelve minutes. The address she told Wlad is not too far away, actually in walking distance. Perhaps a thirty minute walk, but not more. Wlad hasn't turned on the heating system, but I feel hot anyway. The body heat that radiates between us is warmer than any fire. We stop in Gloucester Walk, in front of a red bricked building. She lives right around the corner of the Kensington house.
"That's me. Thanks for the ride." Sophie says, smiling at Wlad.
He glances back at her with his dark stormy grey eyes and I almost expect him to say nothing, but then he opens his mouth. "Anytime. Every friend of Della's is one of mine."
Della. He never called me that before. He always referred to me as Adaline. And sometimes he used my full name, especially when I pissed him off.
"I'll see you tomorrow." I say to Sophie, knowing she has today off.
She nods before shutting the door close.
I inhale sharply as we're alone in his pickup truck. I didn't pay attention to the interior earlier, but it looks just like I imagined it to be: Simple, narrowed down to the most important parts. Wlad's a millionaire, but he doesn't spend his money recklessly.
I slide to the other door, not being able to cope with the heat that's coming from him any longer. But once I'm away, I feel cold.
"Kensington?" he asks me.
I'm surprised he asks me, but I nod. "Please." I need a few hours of silence before going home. I need a hot shower, a filling breakfast and some off-time. Home will be a mad house - especially with Ana. The triplets will be all over her, wanting to spend every single second with their sister. That doesn't really leave us any time as sisters. I miss her. I miss her a lot, but I will never tell her. She made her decision.
She chose law over me.
He parks the pickup truck next to the free standing glass house and we both get out. I unlock the door and leave it open, knowing he is going to follow me. He's my shadow after all.
"I need a shower. Have you had breakfast already?" I ask him as I get out of my coat and shoes.
"No."
Of course he hasn't. He was probably busy watching the entrances of the hospital. "Okay. I'll be upstairs, how about you start making breakfast?"
"Adaline."
I turn around at the sound of my voice. "Yes?"
"I can't cook."
I smirk, somehow that doesn't surprise me at all. I should have known. "Okay, how about you get out five eggs from the fridge and whisk them together. Add a bit of flour - any kind you find in the cupboards. About a cup, you can use a mug to measure it and use the same mug to add a cup of almond milk and maybe a little more if the batter is too thick. You want it to be very runny, runnier than syrup. Add a bit of salt, about half a pinch. Mix it all with a whisk." I instruct him.
He frowns at me, "What's that going to be?"
"Crêpes. We're making Crêpes, or well, more like you. I'll be in the shower while you cook them in the pan."
"Cook them?" his eyes widen at my words.
I chuckle, "Yes. You'll heat a pan until it's hot. Put in some butter to grease the pan and then you pour a ladle into the hot pan, immediately tilting the pan until the batter covers the button. Cook until the edges start to dry and the centre is set. Then you flip it." I don't tell him that I like my Crêpes with a banana almond butter filling, because that would confuse him even more. "But until you're there, I should already be out of the shower."
"And what if you're not?" there's a hint of panic in his voice.
I place my hand on my hip. Wlad and panic? That's a combination I never thought I'd see. "Then you'll do the same until you run out of the batter." I twirl around and head upstairs. "Don't burn down my kitchen. I love it!" I say and chuckle as I walk upstairs. Crêpes are one of the first things my Dad taught me when I started showing interest in cooking. I was six at the time and I loved the time I got to spend in the kitchen with my Dad. It was our time. When Ana was brought home it was still our time - just now we were three instead of two. I loved cooking with him, dancing to the Italian music when we had Italian week or dance a Salsa with him. I loved getting my hands dirty when I baked with Mom as well, but cooking with Daddy... It's something I will never forget.
Wlad asks for God to help him in Russian before turning around. Hearing him speak in Russian makes the hairs in my neck stand up. Another shiver goes down my spine, coating my arms and legs with goosebumps.
I reach the bathroom and strip naked before getting into my shower. I enjoy the few minutes under the hot water stream. I wash off all the bullets I had held in my hands and all the crying and panicking people in the waiting room. It was a tough night and I hope the next is going to be better. I don't wash my hair today, so I'm quicker than yesterday.
I wrap a towel around my body before getting into my panties, a black pair of Lululemon leggings that I had lying around and a plain grey cotton shirt. As I head downstairs the smell of something burning fills my nose.
Shit, I shouldn't have left him alone in my kitchen.
"Wlad," I ask as I see him standing at the kitchen island, whisking eggs.
"I'm making another batch. I burned the first one and destroyed every single Crêpe I tried to flip." he explains as he mixes the eggs with the flour, almond milk and salt.
"Okay..." At least that explains the smell. I walk over to him as he puts butter into the pan.
"I'll be better this time." He moves the butter in it, until the pan is completely covered in it. "I learn from my mistake. I-" he stops talking as I wrap my fingers around his wrist.
Another electric shock runs through my body. No one gave me electric shocks ever before. Only Wlad. "It's okay." I calm him down. I didn't think cooking would be such a tough thing for him to do. I didn't think it would end up him panicking over a simple batch of Crêpes. He looks up from the pan and into my navy eyes. "We'll do it together." I say with a soft smile on my lips.
"Okay." he whispers.
"Okay." I say and pick up the ladle. I pour half of it into the pan before my hand around his wrist moves the batter in the pan until the whole pan is covered.
"You didn't tell me to use only half a ladle." he points out.
Right, I didn't. "Good thing, we're doing it together then." I say back as I let go of his wrist. The smell of ocean fills my nostrils mixed with the cooking Crêpe in the pan in front of us.
"I'm sorry."
My eyes widen at the words. He never apologised towards me. Not when I yelled at him for following my every step. Not when I cried in his arms because my colleagues didn't like me when I just started at St. Mary's. He never said those words. "Don't worry about it. I burnt a few Crêpes myself." I lie to him casually with a shrug. I learned that at the hospital - lie to make the other party feel not as bad. I think a lot of people do that, so I try to adapt. But most of the time I stay honest. Because that's my nature. Usually people hate me for my honesty. "How about you get out some yoghurt and berries?" I tell him and he opens the fridge before getting out the items.
He washes the strawberries and blueberries in the sink just as the edges are done and the centre of the first Crêpe is firm.
"Come on, I'll show you how to flip that thing." I tell him as he dries the berries on a paper towel.
He walks over to me again and I fill his body heat radiating behind me. It's hotter than the pan in front of me. "Pick up the spatula." I say and he picks up the white spatula. My hand wraps around his. "Okay, first you make sure the edges are not sticking to the pan any more. So, carefully move the spatula around the edges." I say and move the spatula around the edges, leading the way like I would whenever I danced a tango with my Dad in the kitchen. He always complained that I took the lead, but it's simply the way he and Mom raised me. I don't follow. I lead.
"And now?"
"Now you wiggle the pan a little." I say and wrap my other hand around the grip of the pan just a second before Wlad does. His grip is tight around my hand as we wiggle the pan together. My core contracts at the touch. "See how the Crêpe moves?"
"Yes."
"That's how you know it's not going to stick to the pan when you flip it."
"Okay."
The hairs in my neck rise at this simple word. Suddenly, I'm aware of his muscular chest behind me, his hand on mine around the grip of the pan and mine on his as he's holding the spatula. I've never had so much body contact with him before - and it feels nice. "You can let go of the grip now. We'll do the easy way first." If we swing the pan together, the Crêpe might break apart.
He lets go of my hand and I show him to how quickly flip the Crêpe, using the spatula. "That's it?" he asks me confused.
I chuckle, "Doesn't take a wonder child to do that, right?"
He grins at me before staring down at me. Wlad's a head taller than me as he's two meters tall and I'm only 180 cm tall. I got the height from my Dad, he gifted me the long legs that drive men wild. My Mom's genes paired those legs with 36C boobs, making me look like the women on the advertisements for lingerie. "No, but apparently a bodyguard can't do that by himself."
"No, apparently not." I say and wink. "Anyways, how about you cut the berries and I'll finish with the Crêpes?"
"No."
"No? Don't tell me you've never cut berries-"
"No, I'll do the Crêpes. You're a great teacher, I'm much more confident now."
"Okay." I say as I let go of his hand. I miss the heat right away. He takes a step back to free my way, to leave him. I almost don't want to go. I bite on my lip as I slice the strawberries. I've never felt that way around another man before.
We cook the remaining Crêpes in silence. I don't know what to say and I think he doesn't know either. But I don't mind the silence. It's like we're alone together. I like that. I like that a lot.
I place strawberries and blueberries on the dollop of yoghurt before pouring a little maple syrup on top. I slice into the thin crepe and take my first bite. Crêpes have never tasted better. "They turned out good."
"Did they?" he asks before taking his first bite. "Not bad."
"Not bad at all." I tell him with a smirk.
"Well, I didn't burn any the second time." He returns my smirk.
"If you continue learning this fast, you'd be a master in the blink of an eye."
He chuckles before taking a sip of his coffee, "Only if we continue cooking together."
I like the idea of cooking with him. I mean, I've always cooked for two when I stay here anyway. Because I know he's out there, sitting in his silver pickup truck. Watching me. At first I started to feel bad that he spent the whole night there alone - I mean without decent food. So, I started cooking for me and him. But I guess now, we can cook for two together. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What do you do the whole night on the parking lot? Do you just sit there and wait for me to return to my car? Doesn't that get boring?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On your working schedule."
I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my camomile tea. "Why?"
"Because when you're working during the day, I often ask my best man Dean to take over the hours while you work."
"So you send him to sit in your pickup truck and watch the hospital building while I work?"
"Yeah, but for the last thirty minutes I take over again."
I nod, that's why I never met Dean. "And what do you do then?"
"I run my firm."
Right. Scorpion is his security firm. The one my parents helped him build. They made his biggest dream come true and I think he'll be forever grateful to them, no matter how many millions he makes. "What about when I have the nightshift?"
"That's when I sit in the pickup truck and wait."
"Don't tell me you've sat in your pickup truck the last fourteen hours, staring at the exits and entrances of St. Mary's?" I ask him shocked.
"No, I worked on emails and had a couple of phone conferences as well. All work I can do wherever I am."
"Like in a pickup truck." I point out.
He nods, "Like in a pickup truck."
"So, you never leave me out of sight?"
"No, it's my job to know where you are. Your safety is my biggest concern. It always has been. It always will be."
"Why aren't you watching Ana?"
He smirks, "Trust me, she's pretty safe where she is."
I don't push my luck here. Wlad knows how to keep a secret and he sure as hell won't tell me the deal he has concerning my little sister. "Fine, but when do you report to my Dad then?"
"I inform him by text or email."
"Not in person?" I'm surprised. Usually, my father likes to look into his eyes when they talk about my safety.
"No. He trusts me."
After over eighteen years of working together, I think Wlad has earned my father's trust.
"How was work?"
"Good."
"Care to elaborate?"
"No. I don't like to talk about work right now." I say before continue eating my Crêpe. It'll bore him because he won't understand a word I say. Plus, whenever I leave the hospital I'd like to leave the patients and their problems there as well. I try to separate work from pleasure. That's something my parents taught me as well.
"Okay. How did you meet Sophie?"
"Stacy introduced us to one another. Sophie's only a few years older than me. She's twenty five." Almost ten years older than me, but in my life that's like a few years since everyone working in my job is in their late thirties or even older.
"She seems nice."
"She is. She's all smily which is probably why she's a paediatrician."
He grins, "Must be the reason."
I return his grin before taking a sip of my tea. "How about you? How was your night?"
"Good. I had a few conferences with Asian people that want to work with my firm."
"Are you going to fly over there to discuss this in person?"
"I won't leave you."
Of course. He never does. "So you'll send Dean?"
"Yes, he is better at closing deals anyway. He's a talker. I'm not much of a talker."
"You don't say." I tease him.
His chuckle awakes something inside of me. I like seeing him smile, hear him chuckle... see that sparkle in his grey eyes. I haven't seen it a lot over the years.
I yawn, suddenly feeling my tired body.
"You should go to bed."
I nod and rise from the chair before grabbing my plate. "Yeah, I'll just clean up real' quick." I say because I hate a dirty kitchen. Something I have from my mother. She hates dirty kitchens as well.
"I'll do the clean up, you go to bed." Wlad says to me in a firm voice. It's like he switched on his bodyguard-mode. I can't argue with him when he's like that, because he doesn't let me. No one has ever had that kind of control over me - not even my Dad.
"Alright." I say and place the plate back on the table. "But you had a long night as well."
"I'm good."
I roll my eyes at his words. "Wake me in a few hours if I don't wake up myself." I should probably go home for at least a few hours in order to not give my parents another heart attack.
"You should sleep." he says as I walk up the glass staircase.
I turn around half way up the stairs, "Wake me."
"Fine."
Wladimir's point of view:
I sit down on the chair, my hands are shaking from the intense feelings she awakes inside of me. She left for bed half an hour ago and I stared at the empty glass staircase for the last thirty minutes, not realising how fast time went by. She amazes me. She always has, but ever since she started working at the Lindo Wing at St. Mary's, she leaves me breathless every time I look at her. Troy and Gabriella raised a remarkable human being. A wonder child as the media likes to call her. To me she's just Adaline. Just Adaline.
She will change the world. She already did. She's the youngest surgeon to ever work in a hospital in UK's history. But that's not the only thing that's so remarkable about her. She's funny, she has a very special sense of human and I don't think a lot of people get that, but she's funny. Really funny. And she's beautiful. Stunning, from head to toe. With just seventeen.
I knot my fingers together and see how much they shake. The first time I felt it, I thought it was a coincidence. I thought my feelings for her started because I haven't fuck a woman in a few weeks. So, I found myself a lady at a local pub and fucked her until she forgot her own name. Della had a day off and spent it at home, which meant my heart was at ease. She was safe, I knew that. Because the only one who guards her as much as me is her father. He'll die before anything happens to her - just like me. It's why we're such good friends. We bonded over her, over his daughter.
And now I started to develop feelings for her. Unprofessional feelings, really unprofessional feelings. I have to find a way to stop them. I have to find a way, but I think fucking women is not going to be the solution to my problem.
The moment Della climbed into the car and slid next to me, I got hard. Hard like a fucking teenage boy! That never happened to me before. I can control my dick like the rest of my body. But with her it's the other way around - she controls me, not I her. She always controlled me, always had the upper hand. It's driving me mad - and making me hard, obviously.
I think that blonde, Sophie, noticed it too. She stared at me like a guard dog before she climbed out of the pickup truck when we dropped her off.
I have to find a way to stop this. I have to!
I wrap my hands around the coffee mug and see how hard the mug shakes form my hands. I place it back on the table and bite my lip. Adaline Bolton is so deeply under my skin that I couldn't get rid of her even if I die. I mean, I've been watching her all her life. I know she likes her coffee black, she loves cooking and work. I know she likes to drive Troy's fast cars even more than he does. I mean, she stole his red Ferrari once. I got into the car before she could say another word. I've never seen her drive the motorway that fast before. The grin on her lips as we hit 200 mph has burned it's way onto my brain. I was scared as hell, although the motorway was empty at 3:45 am. But she... she was free. Her sixteen year old hands were wrapped around the wheel like she was in her mid twenties, her chestnut coloured curls were waving through the convertible... Gosh, her smile! I will never forget that smile. I never saw it again.
Just on that one night, at 3:45 am as we drove with 200 mph down the motorway.
I run my fingers through my short brown hair. Maybe I should send Dean in. Maybe he should do some shifts... Perhaps distance will cool that down. I can't be developing feelings for my client - especially not Della. She out of all clients, is the worst to fall for. Because of her age. Because of her parents. Because of her brilliant mind.
After a while, I start calming down, my heart starts pumping normally again so I decide it's time to do the dishes. I pick up our empty plates and mugs before walking over to the sink. I place the dishes over the pan that's still in there along with the spatula. The spatula.
Shit, when we were so close earlier, I almost kissed her. Kissed her! My seventeen year old client! This can't be happening. It just can't.
But she smells so wonderful! I start filling the sink with warm water before adding washing-up liquid. She smells of blueberries and warm summer nights. She reminds me of the days I used to spend in our dacha at home in Siberia. There was nothing but our wooden cabin for miles to see. The woods surrounded my parents and me, the nearest super market was three hours away. I loved spending my summers there. We went swimming in the lake that was in front of the dacha and grilled the fish in the evening that my Dad caught. For a moment, I was right back in my childhood days - right back to my best memories.
No other woman ever reminded me of that. No one but Adaline.
As I start washing the plates with a sponge I go through the night again. She felt it, too. I know she did. She gave me all the signs, her body spoke worlds even though a word never left her lips. I know what it means that she smells so good to me. I know what it means that she awakes those memories within me. I know why I get hard just by one glance of those navy orbs. I know why my heart races whenever we look at each other or stand next to one another. I know why my heart nearly exploded whenever we touched tonight. A fucking volcano erupted inside of me when she wrapped her sleek fingers around my wrist earlier while I was cooking the Crêpes.
I've fallen for her.
I just wish I didn't. I wish she was older. I wish she wasn't Troy's and Gabriella's daughter. I wish... I can wish for as many things as I'd like, but it doesn't change the facts.
I'm in love with my client. My seventeen year old client.
I'm in love with Adaline Elizabeth Grace Bolton.
I stop in the doorway of the master bedroom. You can't really call it a bedroom, since it only has a queen sized bed in it. The first time Della broke into the house, I nearly killed her - that's how angry she made me. But she didn't give in as I demanded her to stop doing it. No, she made me furnish this place. I hated her for that. I hated her so much that I only could love her for it in the end.
My heart starts pumping faster as I see her sleeping figure. She's a head smaller than me, but I'm sure in a few years she'll be just as tall as me. She got the height from Troy and the beauty obviously from her gorgeous mother. She has her cheeks, her face really, only with Troy's eyes. She also has her mother's curls that I always found beautiful, but she has them in Troy's chestnut hair colour. Her long body is wrapped in a blanket and her head is resting on a pillow. Her chest is sinking and rising with every breath she takes. I could watch her sleep for hours.
There were nights when I did exactly that. I would sit on the edge of the bed or stand in the door way and just watch her. Watch her until the sun woke her up. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Fuck, I'm so deeply in love with her that a Nicholas Sparks novel is nothing compared to that.
I have to get it together. I have to fall out of love. And I have to do that before she starts getting a hold of her feelings for me. Right now they just seem weird and confusing to her. It has to stay this way, otherwise this will end in a disaster.
She rolls over in the bed, giving me a view of her full tits. The voluminous 36C cup sized boobs awake my dick in less than a second. I close my eyes and inhale - like a fucking teenager again! She's the only one who has ever done that to me. Usually, it takes more for a woman to get me hard - at least a seductive word, a touch, a kiss... But Della... she does it without even realising. She does it in her sleep.
I'm in deep shit. Very deep shit.
Adaline's point of view:
The smell of an ocean breeze fills my nostrils and I slowly open my eyes. I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to get used to the bright light thanks to the sun that's shining into the bedroom. I see Wlad standing in the doorway, his jeans tight and his shirt black as the night. I watch how the materials stretch over his muscular body, to emphasise his body shape, not hide it.
"Good morning." he smiles at me as he looks deeply into my eyes.
I feel my body react with a rush of heat, although we're not close together. My nipples start hardening and I'm suddenly aware that my boobs are not covered by the blanket anymore. Shit. But being the gentleman he is, Wlad only stares at my face, not my boobs. I quickly pull the blanket up to hide the boobs that I got from my mother. She has full boobs as well. It's definitely a blessing whenever I go out clubbing, since I never have to pay for my own drinks. "Morning." I say, hearing my hoarse voice. It must be late noon now. "What time is it?"
"Half past three."
I only slept five hours? Weirdly, I feel as rested as if I slept ten hours straight. I rise from the bed and pull the blanket with me, since I slept naked.
Wlad turns around, understanding my naked state without me voicing it. "How did you sleep?" he asks after clearing his throat.
I start looking for a fresh pair of panties in my drawer, "Good." I say as I change into it before throwing on the grey shirt and the leggings I wore before going to bed. I decide to not tell him about my sex dream with him. I woke up soaking wet a couple of hours ago just as I climaxed in my dream. It must be the hormones in my body that go crazy. I stripped naked without bothering to put on something else. I didn't expect Wlad to be in the doorway when I wake up.
"Good." he says back. "Can I turn around again?"
I smirk, he can't even go five minutes without watching me. "I thought you had eyes in the back of your head as well." I counter as I start making the bed.
He chuckles, "No, but I do have a mirror across this room."
I frown, "What?" I walk over to him and see the open door of the guest bedroom. A mirror is right at my eyes, showing my bedroom. "Did you hang it there on purpose when I asked you to furnish this place?"
He looks down at me, "No, but it does come convenient."
"I see." I walk past him and downstairs. Suddenly, I need distance because I can't breathe with him next to me. My hands start sweating and my heart starts beating so fast that I'm afraid it'll break my rips, although I know it's impossible. I rush down the glass staircase and stop at the clean kitchen. "You cleaned the whole kitchen." I breathe out as my eyes dance through the black marbled kitchen with white drawers. I love the contrast of black and white.
"As I promised." he says, suddenly standing behind me.
I feel a heatwave rushing through me again and I gulp. He never breaks a promise - he's just like my Dad. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, after all the mess I created while whisking the eggs."
I walk into the foyer and get into my boots and coat. It's time for me to go home.
He parks the silver pickup truck on the free parking spot next to my Porsche Cayenne. Thanks to the merciless sun, the snow has melted down, cleaning my car. I open the door of the pickup truck and jump out.
"Adaline," I hear him calling my name.
I turn around, "What?" the drive here was filled with silence. With silence and heat. The kind of heat my mother writes songs about. I used to find it strange, I never understood it, but suddenly it's crystal clear. It scars the shit out of me.
"Your purse." he says, holding up my black Dior bag that my mother gifted me for my seventeen birthday. I think she implanted a tracker somewhere into the purse, but I took it nevertheless.
"Right." I climb back into the car and reach out for the purse the same moment as Wlad. Our fingers touch, our skulls crash against each other - and I feel a kind of fire like never before. Shit, this is not good. I feel his hot breath in my face and I cherish the feeling. It soothes me, calms me in a way I didn't think it could. As I open my eyes, I stare into his light grey orbs, that are raging with fire as well. He feels it, too. I know he does. I know it.
"Your purse." he breathes out after minutes of staring at me. I can feel his lips moving against mine as he speaks, feel how they tingle my skin.
"My purse..." I echo, totally mesmerised by the fire in his grey orbs. I've never seen that before.
Suddenly he moves away from me. He lets go of my hand, giving my brain fresh air to think clearly. "You should go. Dean will watch you tonight. Don't mess with him more than you would with me." Wlad says to me.
I pick up the purse without a word and get out of the car. I slam the door shut and he drives off, not looking my way once more. I unlock my car, get into the driver's seat and throw my purse on the passenger seat. My hands wrap around the wheel and suddenly tears roll down my cheeks. I start sobbing for no reason as a huge wave of pain washes over me.
It takes me forever to start the engine and drive home to Richmond.
Chapter one of the background story to Adaline and Wlad.
I hope you enjoyed this first glimpse into their story. I will continue switching between Della's and Wlad's perspectives, however I focus more on Adaline than Wlad, since this is her story.
Please review!