Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(117)

90

PAIGE

Every thirty minutes, someone is in my room. They’re taking my blood pressure, checking the IV bags, asking if I need anything.

Peace and quiet. That’s what I need.

I’m pretty sure Misha is the one who put them up to it. He said he wanted around-the-clock care and that is precisely what I’m getting. But there’s really no need for this much attention.

Misha is lying on a narrow cot in the corner of the room. He has spent most of his time typing out what seem to be important messages on his phone. Otherwise, he’s staring at the ceiling looking surly and bored.

But he’s here. He’s still here.

That’s as much of a miracle as the rest of this.

After what feels like the hundredth nurse comes and goes, I roll onto my side to face him. “Misha, I can’t rest with this army of nurses parading through. Can you make it stop, please?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I want to ensure you’re improving.”

“I just… just a little peace and quiet? An hour of it? Is that so much to ask?”

He exhales slowly and gets to his feet. “I’ll go and talk to them. While I’m out there, I’ll just check on a few things. You okay to be on your own for a bit?”

It’s sweet that he’s even checking with me. A month ago, he would have just walked out and sent someone else in his place with no conversation in between.

I call this progress.

“I don’t mind being on my own for a bit.”

He nods. “Okay. You rest. I’ll be back.”

He hesitates next to my bed. Is he fighting the instinct to do something affectionate, the same way I am? To hold my hand or kiss my forehead or brush the hair back behind my ear?

A girl can dream, right?

In the end, he gives me a courteous nod and heads out of the room.

When no nurses appear for five and then ten minutes, I take a deep breath and nestle into the silence.

I’m just relaxing into a doze when I hear the subtle whoosh of the door opening again.

That didn’t last long, I think with a sigh.

But when I open my eyes, I’m not looking at a nurse. Or even Misha. I’m staring at the dark circles and hollowed cheekbones of someone I never wanted to see again.

“Anthony!” I gasp, struggling to sit up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He moves to my bedside, reaching for my hands. I yank them out of his reach and scramble back as far away from him as I can get.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter how I got here,” he croons. “The important thing is that I’m here.”

“Don’t touch me!” I cry out, plucking my hand out of his reach when he makes another grab for them.

“You can’t be in here. I don’t want you here.”

“The nurse said that you had an allergic reaction. I was so fucking scared.”

I can only gawk at him in disbelief. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that. But don’t pretend like you give a shit about me, Anthony. You drained our accounts and abandoned me to a failed business and a repossessed house, and even when I told you to leave me alone forever, you still have the gall to show up again. The only person you care about is yourself. Which begs the question: what are you doing here and what’s in it for you?”

He does a good job contorting his face into something vaguely recognizable as regret. “There’s nothing in it for me. I just want to apologize properly for how badly I treated you. I want to try and make it up to you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Anthony,” I snap. “Fine, I accept your apology. The only way you can make it up to me is by leaving and staying gone.”

He looks dumbfounded. I’m not sure how he expected to waltz back into my life and have me be happy about it, but it seems undeniable at this point that that’s exactly what he was expecting.

“This is about your new ‘husband,’ isn’t it?” he says, adding finger quotes around the word.

“You were my ‘husband,’” I say, adding the same finger quotes. “Misha is my actual husband. I’m fully, legally married this time.”

“Baby, that’s why I’m here. I heard you were married to him and—”

“You thought I could lend you some cash?” I interrupt.

“No, of course not!”

“Then what the hell do you want, Anthony?”

“I want you to come away with me,” he whispers huskily, as though we’re two teenagers in a romantic drama. “I want to take you away from here.”

“So you’re insane. Great.”

This time, when he lunges for my hand, I don’t pull back in time. His grip on me is firm, and I can’t wriggle free. His breath is sticky and sour in my face. “He’s dangerous, Paige. You have no idea who you’ve gotten yourself involved with.”

“I know him better than you.”

“No, you don’t. He’s the don of a freaking Bratva. He’s murdered countless men. He’s responsible for the—”

“Stop it,” I growl. “Stop it, Anthony. I know who I married, and I’m staying married to him.”

It’s not like those things don’t bother me, but I was aware of who Misha was from the beginning. I’m not going to pretend like he’s some saint now. He’s done what matters: kept me safe. So regardless of what else he’s done, I’m loyal to him.