Lucy
A gorgeous penthouse suite with views of Lake Michigan, an in-suite massage and chocolates. What’s to complain about?
Nothing if I weren’t a prisoner. If it weren’t all being forced on me by a mad man.
But no, that’s wrong. Ravil’s not crazy. He’s playing a game here. Teaching me a lesson. It’s a soft lesson, no doubt because I’m pregnant. Any stress he inflicts on me goes directly to our child.
I’m grateful he at least understands that much.
He’s not a mad man.
I look at the pretty red-headed massage therapist. She has strawberry blonde hair and pale, unfreckled skin. I’d guess her to be in her mid-twenties.
I’m dubious about her skills. Can I trust that the training and certification in Russia is the same as here? Does she really know how to massage a pregnant woman safely?
